But even though nothing birthday-ish happened to him that day – only to Ruby – Sam was still not entirely, entirely sure that the birthday magic was over. When the grandparents left, later that night, Sam made sure to say a proper goodbye to Grandpa Sam.
“Are you OK, Grandpa? Are you all right to go back to Abbey Court now?”
“Don’t worry,” said Carmel. “I’ll make sure he gets more time in the garden. I think that’s what he needs: to be outside. Isn’t that right, Sam?”
“That is right, Carmel,” said Grandpa Sam. “Back to naughty nature. As I like to say.”
“You do, Sam. You do …”
“Otherwise I might be off! Into the wollocking wild!” he said.
“Yes,” said Carmel. “You might be. And then what would we do?”
“I’d have to send out a distress signal! With a telegraph. Or a radio! SOS! SOS! Only bit of Morse code you need to know, that.”
“What’s that, Sam?” asked Carmel.
“Dash dash dash. Dot dot dot. Dash dash dash. Never forget that. Scout’s honour!”
“Or …” said Sam – the boy – “You could do that with a torch, couldn’t you, Grandpa?” He was thinking of the light on the island, and its peculiar rhythm. “Three short flashes …”
“Three long flashes, and three short flashes! Yes! I’ve taught you well.”
“Yes, all right, Samuel,” said Grandma Glenda. “No need to rub it in. We know you think you’re Sam’s favourite!”
“I do not think that.”
“Oh, don’t you?” said Grandpa Mike.
“No!” said Grandpa Sam. “I know I’m his favourite!”
Following which, all hell broke loose. Within seconds, they were all shouting and screaming as usual.
Sam watched as his grandparents continued to shout and scream at each other for ages, with no one telling them to stop. And he smiled. Because he knew then that no one was going to think it was his birthday again until the next eighth of September.
Which made it a very, very happy ninth of September.