Shrunk! (9 page)

Ow.

‘BAAA.'

Over by the miniature bowling green I can see the sheep, and they're looking enormous. In fact they're looking almost full-sized.

Are they growing?

I stare at them for a second longer. No – that's impossible.

Shame there aren't any underneath the window, they'd make a nice soft landing pad.

I look back inside.

‘Jacob?' I say nicely.

‘Hm?'
His mouth is jammed with something green and sticky. A forgotten jelly baby?

‘How are you on heights?'

‘Can't do them. Sorry, mate.'
He smiles at me.

‘Not even to save the planet?'

He shakes his head and crawls off under the bed. Interesting – he didn't call me ‘Model Village'.

I sit on the windowsill and swing my legs over. They dangle in space. This is not a nice feeling. It's like sitting on the top board at the swimming pool, but instead of water there's crazy paving. I look up instead of down. It's nearly dark now and the meteor showers have got going again. Another firework display.

If Eric was here he'd tell me that the meteor showers were getting more frequent, or closer or something. But I don't want to know. I just want to get Jupiter back, and get it up in the sky.

My feet settle on the ledge. I swing round so that I've got my back to the world, my toes on the ledge, and I'm facing the wall.

Then I creep along. One step. Another step, a third, and I can feel the opening for Tilly's window.

Whew.

I take one more pace and I'm right there. The curtains are drawn – there's nothing to see. I slip my fingers under the edge of the sash and pull.

Nothing happens.

‘BAAAA.'

I pull again.

Nothing happens again.

I peer in. Nothing's going to happen. She's put the window lock across.

No.

I slip my fingers under the edge – perhaps I can slide the lock over. But it's too stiff and stays just as it is.

I look back at my window, just in time to see it slide shut.

CRASH.

NO!

DON'T PANIC.

‘EEYORE.'

I swallow. I won't panic. Instead, I'll stretch my leg as far as it will go, and I'll edge back along the ledge until I'm standing on the sill.

Then, I'm sure there'll be a way in.

‘EEYORE.'

But when I get to my window, Jacob's on the inside, looking surprised. He bends down as if he could push up the sash, but there's no chance, he's too tiny. I try pushing too, but it won't move – there's nothing to hold on to out here.

Oh no. This cannot be real.

I scrabble with my nails against the wood, but the paint just flakes off in my hands.

‘MOOOOO.' I glance down. Below me, a cow plucks a tea towel from the washing line.

I stare at Jacob through the glass.

He's got this Jacob grin on his face. I can't hear him, but he's saying something, and now he's laughing.

‘Jacob!' I say. ‘Do something.'

But all he does is jump up and down on the windowsill, pointing and laughing.

And then I see something behind him. Something's moving in the shadows.

It's the squirrel.

‘Jacob – the squirrel.'

He shakes his head and goes on laughing.

But it
is
the squirrel; it's coming up behind him. Frantically, I tap on the window. ‘Squirrel!' I bellow. ‘Squirrel – behind you!!!'

Jacob rolls theatrically on the windowsill.

The squirrel seems bigger now – much bigger than Jacob. Like a T-Rex hanging over a short, fat Father Christmas.

I hammer on the window. ‘Jacob, you nit! It's right there.'

Jacob turns and sees the squirrel. His eyebrows disappear inside the hood of his devil costume and he claws at the inside of the window.

The squirrel lunges forward.

No!

And then, just as I'm ready to smash the glass, Grandma steps into the room.

Don't get me wrong – I'm grateful when Grandma opens the window, and it feels good to step inside on to the old rug, but this is the moment I've been dreading.

‘Oh, Tom,' she says.

Jacob's cowering against the wall. He's holding my toothbrush out between him and Grandma. I stand in the middle of the room, staring at Grandma staring at Jacob. She doesn't look as shocked as I'd expect. Nor as angry.

The squirrel takes its chance and leaps out of the open window. Funny, it actually looks like a full-size squirrel now.

‘Oh, Tom,' she says again. ‘Who's this?'

‘Jacob,' I say.

‘The lad who's gone missing?'

I nod.

‘Oh, Tom!' And then she laughs and sits back on the bed. ‘I did wonder. The sheep, the donkey – what a racket it's been making – and the boats disappearing. You can shrink things – am I right?'

I nod.

‘Fancy that – another shrinker in the family. I bet you didn't
wish
you could shrink things? Did you?'

I shake my head. I daren't speak.

‘Exactly – very funny the way the whole thing works.'

‘What works?'
asks Jacob.

‘The meteorite thing – the wishing thing – the village,' says Grandma, pushing the toothbrush to one side and staring at Jacob. ‘It's a funny old place, Bywater-by-Sea. There are quite a few of us who've caught the meteorites, and not one of us got the thing we wished for.'

‘You mean that there are more people like Tom wandering about? More nutters who can shrink things?'

‘I certainly do,' says Grandma, tapping Jacob's huge stomach with a pencil. ‘We can't all shrink things – we have different skills. There's Mr Albermarle, he floats – and Miss Darling . . .'

‘Does she really have green fingers?'

Grandma nods. ‘Oh yes, dear, she really does, and she really can make things grow awfully well. Miss Darling was in her father's greenhouse when the meteorite smashed through the glass, but I'm pretty sure she wished for Love. Eventually, a man from the Royal Plant Society came and inspected her garden, and they did fall in love – but it took twenty years.' Grandma smiles at the thought. ‘And, there's Mr Albermarle. In case you've ever wondered – he
is
an inch or two off the ground. That's how he lays such beautiful concrete. Of course, he was at the airfield when the stone fell – and that's
why
he floats. He wished for work – and he got it, eventually. He's always in demand.'

We must be staring like we've no idea what she's talking about, because Grandma tries to explain it again. ‘You see, the whole thing depends on where you are when you see the shooting star fall – you might wish for one thing, but your ability to get it will depend on where you are when you pick up your meteorite. If you were by the sea, for example, and you wished on a shooting star, and then picked it up, you might have wished for –' Grandma sees an empty sweet wrapper on the floor – ‘chocolate . . . well, you wouldn't actually get chocolate, but you might get the ability to swim really well – and then, a few months later, you might win the Bywater Regis Swimming Cup, which as you know is entirely made of milk chocolate, or find yourself sponsored for the Olympics by a chocolate company. Do you see? So you sort of get your wish, but it just might take a while to happen.'

We stare at her, and I think about my wish – it could take years to happen.

‘Oh – I get it,'
says Jacob. ‘
That's why you two can shrink things. Your skill is all about making things small – cos you were in the model village when you saw it fall.' He glances from me to Grandma. ‘But what did you actually wish for?'

‘It's a secret,' I say, quickly.

‘Fair enough, dear,' says Grandma. ‘If it hasn't come true yet, you must keep it to yourself.' She looks at Jacob again, and frowns. ‘So when did you get shrunk? Jacob.'

‘Yesterday evening. Why?'

‘I'll bet you started out smaller than this?'

Smaller?

Jacob stares about him. Eric's treasure chest is lying on the floor. We both look at it. I glance back at Jacob. He'd never fit in there. Surely? He couldn't have done.

‘D'you mean he's growing?'

She nods. ‘Look at your sheep out there – they're doing nicely.' She puts Jacob on the windowsill and gazes out at the model village.

I look at him. He's about six inches tall. He was about two inches and he should be four foot six. And there are the sheep, almost full-sized, waddling round the model village like footstools.

‘All except for that one.' Grandma points at a single sheep skulking by the church.

‘Why is that one smaller?
' asks Jacob.

Grandma shrugs. ‘I don't know. Growing's a funny thing – it's patchy. But most things do return to normal. More or less. There's nothing you can do to
make
them grow, nature just has to take its course.'

‘So not everything grows back?' I ask, thinking of Jupiter and feeling sick again.

Grandma shakes her head. ‘Some things stay small for ever. Some things only get halfway. Like I said, it's patchy.'

‘But I'll be big again, won't I?'
says Jacob, his voice extra squeaky
. ‘I'll be normal. Surely? Otherwise . . .'

There's a really long silence.

‘Probably, dear. Almost certainly,' says Grandma, picking up the cardboard box full of miniature poos. ‘It's perfectly true. You
are
growing. With any luck you'll get most of the way. It's just . . . it's not always 100% like it was before. Sometimes things are a little . . . lopsided.'

We both stare at Jacob. He stares at his hand. He looks terrified.

But Grandma's talking again. ‘Anyway Tom –
if
, Jacob
is
the worst of your crimes then we needn't worry too much. It's unfortunate, but not . . . catastrophic.'

‘D'you mean am I the only thing he's shrunk?'
Jacob glares at me.

‘Nothing more important, I take it?' she asks.

There's a dangerously long silence, while I think about telling Grandma about Jupiter. But although I am now 99% worried about Jupiter, and only about 5% worried about Jacob, I'm still too scared to tell her. So I ask a question instead. ‘Grandma, did you ever shrink anything – important?'

‘I was lucky,' says Grandma. ‘He grew back.'

‘He?'

‘Oh – “it” – I meant “it”.' Grandma looks flustered. ‘Not “he”. Now, I must get on.' Grandma tilts her head to the side and smiles. But it isn't a full smile, it's the smile a grown-up does when they're trying to convince a child that everything's all right. She looks at Jacob. ‘I'm sure you'll grow back in no time. You'll be fine; you'll see.'

‘Will I?'

‘Oh yes, love. Don't worry – I'm almost completely sure.'

She picks up a sock. ‘Now, something's going on with your sister, Tom, so I'll go back to the landing if you don't mind. I'm waiting for her to come home; I'd like a peek in her room. She's not let me in for a few days and the naughty girl's locked the door.' Grandma pushes herself up from the bed. ‘She must have found a key in my bedroom. Something's up; I'm beginning to wonder if she can shrink things too.'

She opens the door.

‘Grandma, what
did
you wish for?'

‘Oh, it's silly, really – I wished for a baby brother. I wanted someone to play with.'

A baby? ‘But . . .'

She steps out and closes the door.

I look down at Jacob. He's staring at his hand as if he's never seen it before. His face is completely white. And I know I shouldn't, but I can't help saying, ‘Did you hear what she said – about things not always growing back?'

And for once, he doesn't say anything, just nods his head, and looks sick.

Eric answers the door eventually. The shooting stars crash through the sky, crackling and spitting all around us. It's really warm too. Like Spain, not like Devon.

Jacob's so big his head sticks out of my pocket now. He hasn't said a word since Grandma. He keeps measuring himself against a pencil. I don't think he's grown in the last ten minutes though.

‘Have you got it? Did you find it?' says Eric.

I shake my head. ‘But I know where it is. It's in Tilly's room, and the thing is, Eric . . . it's growing.'

‘Growing?'

I nod my head.

‘Like – how much is it growing?'

‘I don't know. Apparently, according to Grandma, most things grow back – look here.'

I lift Jacob out of my pocket. He sits on my hand. He's completely glum, and quite heavy. He's almost as long as the pencil now – although he resembles a pencil case more than anything else.

‘Woah. Now that really is freaky,' says Eric.

‘But Grandma says there's no way of knowing how big or how fast things will re-grow – or even if they'll grow back at all.'

‘She said I'd grow back,'
says Jacob.

‘Probably,' I add. ‘But I know Jupiter's getting bigger, because the magnetic pull's bigger – far more than five centimetres. It reaches right out into my bedroom,' I say, clinging to the only thing that's making me feel even 5% better. ‘So that's good.'

‘Hmmm. Getting from the size of a bead to the second largest body in the solar system is a long grow,' Eric says, staring up at the sky. ‘Anyway, I need to look some stuff up on the computer – do some calculations. C'mon up – Dad's on the roof with the telescope. He thinks the meteor showers are signals from the mother ship. He's trying to make contact.'