AniMalcolm

“No!”

“It’s got nothing to do with chinchillas at all …?”

“Nothing.”

Slowly, Malcolm turned round. He looked at his father suspiciously.

“All right then,” he said.

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Stewart walked over to Malcolm, then took something out of his pocket and handed it over.

The last present.

It was slim: perhaps some kind of card, wrapped up in the candles paper.

Aha! thought Malcolm. A voucher! I can use that to buy the Apache 321!

“Oh, thanks, Dad!” he said, as his fingers took off the Sellotape on the back. “And Mum! Sorry, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful about the chinchilla! Can we go to the shops today with the vouch—”

Malcolm stopped speaking, as the word vouch ended on his lips, never to be added to with an er. He frowned, looking at the piece of card, on which were many, many pictures of animals.

For the second time that day, Malcolm looked up in confusion at his beaming parents.

“It’s a card! That we all made together!” said Libby. “BT!”

“Oh … that’s nice …”

“Look inside,” said Jackie. “We saved up!”

Malcolm looked inside. There were more pictures of animals, plus the words, “Happy Birthday!”

There was also a piece of paper, folded up. Ah, he thought, the voucher. Right.

Malcolm unfolded the piece of paper.

It wasn’t a voucher.

It was an invoice.

An invoice from his school: he knew this because the words Bracket Wood Primary School were printed on top of it.

On the main bit of the paper were the words:

YEAR SIX SCHOOL TRIP

With a stamp across them that said:

PAID

Malcolm looked up.

“Oh. Thanks!”

He meant this, even though it wasn’t a voucher that he could use to buy an FZY Apache 321. Malcolm knew that his mum and dad would have struggled to pay the £300 required for the Year Six School Trip. In fact, as he looked at the invoice, it occurred to him that possibly it was a good thing that Ticky and Tacky had torn down his birthday list – and it had then been spread on the bottom of ’Nana’s cage – as maybe, he realised now, his mum and dad couldn’t actually afford an FZY Apache 321.

And Malcolm did want to go: the Year Six Trip was exciting. It was three days long – the first time he’d be away from his family! – and most other children he knew would be going. So he would’ve sounded more enthusiastic about his thanks were it not for the fact that he didn’t actually know where the school trip was going to this year.

So he said:

“No, really, Mum and Dad, thanks. That’s really nice of you. By the way – I know I should know this, but – where is it to, this year? The trip?”

“Um …” said Jackie and Stewart, both at the same time.

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The Bracket Wood Primary School coach was having trouble getting down the hill.

This might seem unusual: you would expect most vehicles as old and creaky as the Bracket Wood Primary School coach to have trouble getting up this particular hill, a hill in the middle of the countryside renowned for its steepness. And of course it had done when it had driven up the other side – the climb had taken an hour and a half, and at one point most of Year Six had started screaming, “It’s going to roll backwards! It’s going to roll backwards!” and cowering under their seats.

But once over the top, even the rustiest rustbucket should be able just to glide all the way down. As it was, though, it seemed less to glide than to … cough. And splutter.

None of this was helped by the weather, which, though it was spring, was rainy and foggy.

Malcolm sighed, closed his eyes and tried to rest his forehead on the shuddering window. Up ahead he could see a flock of sheep running away from them as the coach belched its way forward. The vehicle finally managed to gain some speed and pass the sheep, but Malcolm noticed that they carried on running, even though there was nothing behind them any more. In fact, that they were now basically chasing the bus they were supposed to be running away from.

Some boys at the back – a boy called Barry, and his friends Lukas, Jake and Taj – turned round to point at the sheep, running away from nothing, and laughed. But Malcolm just felt annoyed at the stupid stupidity of the stupid sheep.

Eventually they made it to the bottom of the hill, and their destination.

“We’re here!” said their teacher, Mr Barrington, peering out of the front window. “I think …”

He said “I think” partly because his eyesight was not of the best – he had very, very thick glasses – and partly because the sign he was looking at was obscured by mist.

But as he said “I think”, the mist cleared to reveal the words:

ORWELL FARM

“Yes, this is definitely the place,” he said. “Drive on, driver, quick-smart! Let’s waste no more time getting the children out of this bus, on to the farm, and starting to look after all the animals!”

“Hooray!!” went all the children.

Well, all except one.

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