AniMalcolm

“So! Everybody! The last animals on our tour – and the last animals you’ll be helping us to look after while you’re here – are! … the goats!”

Gavin, who ran Orwell Farm and who had been giving Year Six their first trip round it, proudly gestured towards the pen behind him. All the children – except for Malcolm – peered towards the animals.

“Does anyone know what we get from goats?” continued Gavin.

A girl called Ellie put her hand up.

“Yes?” said Gavin.

“Milk?”

“That’s right!”

“I thought cows produced milk?” said her twin brother Fred.

“And burgers!” said Morris Fawcett, who was also in Year Six, although some people thought he should go back to Year One where he would almost certainly be more comfortable.

“They don’t produce burgers, Morris,” said Morris’s sister, Isla.

Morris frowned. “I thought beef comes from cows.”

“It does.”

Morris frowned even more. “Well, how do they make it then?”

Gavin smiled, which made his beard (he had a big bushy beard, and wore a flat cap, even though he was quite young) go up at the sides. “We get milk from goats as well. We make our speciality cheese out of it!”

Maven, who may or may not have been Gavin’s wife but who ran the farm with him, held up a plate on which rested a big triangular piece of what looked like rotting soap.

“Stinky Blinky!”

“Urrgh!” said various children. Even though they were out in the open air, a few of them covered their mouths and noses so as to avoid the terrible scent of cheesy goat wee.

“We sell it at the local artisan market!” said Maven. “Goes like hot cakes! Who wants a bit?”

The children all looked down.

Malcolm, though, was already looking down, at his watch. The time was 5.43pm. He had known that for a while (well, at least since it was 5.42pm). But he wasn’t looking at his watch to find out what the time was. He was looking at his watch because he wasn’t interested in what Gavin or Maven were saying about the goats.

He hadn’t been interested in what Gavin or Maven had said about the chickens either; or the sheep;

or the cows; or the horses; or the sheepdog, Trotsky; or the farm cat, Zsa-Zsa; or the tortoises, Benny and Bjorn, which they kept not because they were farm animals, but just, in Gavin’s words, “for giggles”.

He – Malcolm – still couldn’t see the point. The animals just walked or sat around in their pens looking at the humans while the humans looked back at them. It was like a very dull episode of Big Brother. Which was a show he never watched because it was very dull.

No, Malcolm wasn’t looking at his watch to check the time.

He was looking at his watch to check the date.

And thinking: Three days. Three days till I can go home.

Meanwhile, Gavin and Maven had walked over to either side of one of the goats. It was a very old-looking goat, with a very long tufty beard, not entirely unlike Gavin’s. It had a sad face, and bulging amber eyes.

“This old guy, though …”

Gavin said, “he’s our favourite. He might even be our favourite animal on the entire farm.”

“We call him K-Pax,” said Maven. “Do any of you kids know that movie?”

Year Six, collectively, shook their heads.

“Oh, it’s great,” said Gavin. “We love it.”

“Yuh! So we, like, found K-Pax when we were trekking in the Himalayas!” said Maven. “And the village were going to, like, slaughter him. Which would’ve been …”

“Gross!”

“Yeah, gross.”

“I mean, they weren’t even going to sell the meat organically at the local market or anything …”

“So …” said Maven, “we bought him. And shipped him back to live with us here at Orwell Farm!”

Malcolm raised his eyes from his watch. They felt heavy with boredom.

“Anyway,” Gavin continued, “because he’s so old, and he’s seen so much of the world, we think K-Pax is really wise and clever! So if any of you have any questions – any big life issues you’ve been wondering about – ask them now!”

There was a long pause. Year Six, collectively, looked back down at the ground. Not because Maven was still holding up the Stinky Blinky – although she was – but because all the children were a bit embarrassed about the idea of asking a goat a question. Malcolm shook his head and imagined it.

Hello, K-Pax. Can you please tell me what life holds for me? Should I follow my dreams of being a great inventor of computer games or settle for being someone whose apps never get made, like my dad?

Sorry, what’s that you say? Baaa? Baaa-Baaa? Oh, and you’ve done a stinky goat wee. Great. Thanks.

“Right!” said Gavin. “First tour over! Everybody back to the farmhouse for …”

Malcolm finally looked up. At least there would be nice food. And he was peckish.

“… Stinky Blinky sandwiches!!” said Maven.

(#ulink_07f7b26c-6256-5965-aab3-6045b6691ce7)

Led by Gavin and Maven, Year Six shuffled off towards the farmhouse, which was an old, thatched building, encircled by all the various animal pens.

Malcolm, suddenly less peckish, watched them go. He let out a deep sigh. At this moment, three days felt very long indeed.

“Hey, Malcolm, you coming?” said Barry.

“Yeah,” said Malcolm, about to join his classmates when he stopped. Because he had a weird sense that someone was watching him. He looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. He shrugged, and tried to think nothing of it … but no, he could feel eyes on him, somewhere.