by Georgia Byng
Dedication
For Jennie.
Life is very special whenever you are around.
I couldn’t have asked for a better mum.
Contents
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ad
Other Books
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
Molly Moon sat alone at a teak table on a hotel balcony. A cream stone church stood on the opposite side of the square. Grand old whitewashed buildings flanked the other two sides. Trees, flowerbeds, and a fountain decorated the paved open spaces between.
On a tray in front of Molly was her breakfast, her favorite food—tomato-ketchup sandwiches on white bread—and a pot of tea. And on her lap lay a spiral-bound notepad.
Molly sucked her pen, not realizing that its ink was dyeing her lips and mouth blue. She had lived an extraordinary life and so had decided to write about it.
Name: Molly Moon (after the Moon’s Marshmallow box I was found in as a baby).
Age: 11.
Born: In a hospital in Briersville, England.
Looks: Curly brown hair, potato-shaped nose, closely set green eyes, messy, thin, clumsy.
Grew up: In a filthy, disgusting, horrible, revolting, cold, falling-apart orphanage called Hardwick House.
Orphanage Siblings: Rocky (also aged 11), my closest person; lives in Briersville with me.
Also: Gemma (8), Gerry (8), Jinx (6), Ruby (6)—all lovely, but they live in Los Angeles now.
Other Orphanage Siblings: Hazel, Gordon, Roger, Cynthia, Craig . . . This lot weren’t very nice to me when I was growing up but maybe they have changed. They live in LA now, too.
Living in Briersville with me and Rocky are . . .
1. Real sibling: Micky—TWIN.
2. New adopted brother: Ojas (from India).
3. Parents: Primo Cell and Lucy Logan. Unknown until last year.
4. Forest, a nice old hippie.
5. Petula the brilliant black pug. She is the coolest dog ever—has a funny habit of sucking stones.
Home address: Briersville Park, England. Big posh house—completely the opposite to the orphanage.
School: Not much good at anything but . . .
Skills: Hypnotizing, time stopping (only if I have one of the special clear crystals), time traveling (as long as I have the red and green crystals), morphing (changing into animals or humans that I can see), mind reading (shouldn’t really write this down as I don’t want anyone to know).
Molly paused and sucked her pen again. Then she clipped it on to her pad and took a bite of her ketchup sandwich. When she took it away from her mouth, she noticed that the bread was blue.
“Urgh! Look, Petula! Weird bread!”
Petula had just trotted out of Molly’s bedroom. The pug scratched herself behind her collar and looked up. Cocking her head, she gave a little whine, but of course Molly couldn’t understand her.
“Is Micky up?” Molly asked. Micky often slept in later than Molly.
Petula scratched her chin. Molly looked over what she had written. Her life looked fantastic on paper. Hypnotizing, stopping time, time travel, morphing, mind reading. But no doubt Lucy and Primo (her “new” parents) would make her, Rocky, Ojas, and Micky have regular school lessons when she got home. There would be no encouragement for her to use her special talents. In fact, Rocky and Ojas had probably started work already. Molly remembered that Lucy had promised she’d call today with details of Molly and Micky’s flight back home from Ecuador.
“Petula, you’re so lucky.” She rubbed the glossy black fur on Petula’s neck. “I mean, it might be nice to have parents who care, but mine are so . . . so controlling.”
Yes, there definitely was a downside to having parents. They were bossy. Molly knew that that was the deal kids got, but she still resented it. Molly, Micky, Rocky, and Ojas weren’t like normal kids—Micky had grown up in the future, Ojas was from the past, and she had her weird and wonderful skills. Even Rocky was reasonably good at hypnotizing people using just his voice. They were definitely different.
Fueled by this sense of injustice, Molly decided to morph. She looked around for a creature to morph into. Petula looked up.
“Don’t worry, Petula, I’m not going to morph into you.” Molly laughed. Petula cocked her head questioningly. “You’re worried I won’t be able to get back to myself, aren’t you? Well, don’t be. It’s like riding a bike. Once you learn, you never forget.”
With that, Molly began to focus her mind. Petula watched. She could tell Molly was up to something because of the look of concentration on her face. And then there was a BOOM and Molly disappeared, leaving nothing but a pile of clothes.
Petula looked about.
A bird on a telephone wire strung high across the square flew toward her and landed on the balcony where it began flapping its wings. Petula brushed the air with her paw to show that she knew the bird was Molly and then she barked. The bird took off, swooped and dived above the square, then landed back on the balcony again. A minute later Molly suddenly materialized in different clothes, black jeans and a red T-shirt, while the bird sat on the balcony rail recovering from the shock of having its body and mind taken over.
“That was a cinch!” Molly beamed at Petula. “Flying is so cool. Maybe, Petula, in England, when the tutor arrives, I can just morph into any animal or insect that’s nearby. I mean, they can’t stop me doing that, can they? They can’t make me do schoolwork.” A worried look crossed Molly’s face. “Actually I suppose they can.”
Petula watched. A bitter smell caught her attention. It was coming from Molly’s bag. It was a horrid smell, like rotten lemons with a touch of electricity that made her nose tingle. Petula wondered what was causing it. Then she was distracted as Micky plodded out of his room.
Molly’s twin brother was still half asleep, his skinny frame clad in baggy pajamas. His brown curly hair, a bit shorter than Molly’s, was stuck to one side of his head and his cheek bore indentations from his pillow.
“Feels like a hippo slept on me,” he mumbled. “What time is it?”
“It’s about nine thirty. You were up late last night.”
“I know. That for me?” He lifted a silver dome off a plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. “Nice. Yes. I was up with ‘ze boyz.’”
“What boys?”
“The three Japanese boys.” Micky sat down. “The ones staying here. They’re in a band. They’re playing tonight. Want to see them? They’re superstars in Japan. Oh, I forgot—we’ll probably be on a plane by then. Has Lucy rung yet?”
Molly shrugged. “No. Should do soon.”
“Did you pick up the
passports from the concierge lady?”
“Yup.” Molly poured herself a cup of tea and took a gulp. She reached for a canvas bag under her chair and felt inside it for a pouch where she kept special things. She dropped the pouch on the table and unzipped it.
“Yours, mine,” she said, dealing the two passports. Then she flipped them both open and compared pictures. “You look sweet! Like a little scarecrow boy!”
Micky nodded resignedly.
Next Molly tipped a very large gold coin out of the pouch. It had a raised musical note embossed on one side and its edges were crosshatched. She took another sip of her tea and picked up the coin. It had belonged to a horrible, cruel woman whom Molly and Micky had recently had the misfortune to meet. Luckily they wouldn’t be seeing her again. But Molly wouldn’t forget her.
The woman’s name was Miss Hunroe. She’d had a penchant for beautiful objects and had many collections of wonderful things, from great works of art to remarkable pieces of furniture and valuable instruments. This coin had been one of her favorite things, something Miss Hunroe had carried with her always. Just before she disappeared, she had dropped it and Molly had found it. So it now belonged to Molly. She turned it over in her hand. It was heavy. Solid gold.
“I love this coin,” she said. “Why does gold seem so nice?”
Molly tried to roll the coin along her fingers as she had seen Miss Hunroe do.
“Makes you feel safe and secure,” said Micky, through a mouthful of eggs. “You know that if you ever needed to, you could melt a bit of that coin and buy food. It’s magic stuff, gold. Even if there were mountains made of it and even if there was so much of it that buildings could be covered in it, I’d still think it was magic.”
“I’m not melting it down,” said Molly, running her finger around the grooved edge of the coin. “This is extra special. It makes me feel good. Powerful.”
Micky laughed.
“No, it does!” said Molly, stroking the coin’s embossed note. “No wonder Hunroe kept it with her all the time.”
Just then the phone rang. Molly carefully put the coin back in its pouch and walked through the heavy wooden doors to answer it. She threw herself onto the sofa. For some reason she had started to feel rattled. It was because of this, she told herself, that on hearing Rocky’s voice she was in a mood.
“Uh, hi. Oh, hi. So, you’ve rung to tell me when Mr. and Mrs. You’d-Better-Do-This-or-Else want us to come home?”
Rocky said something.
“Well, I can’t be nice, Rocky, because you know, I’m really annoyed. I mean, we don’t actually need to come home. I don’t want to have lessons from some stupid tutor. Have you ever noticed that the school word ‘term’ is the same word that’s used for time spent in prison?”
On the other end of the line Rocky said something else. “. . . No, just because they’re my blood parents doesn’t mean they have a right to control me like some sort of remote-control toy. I should never have wished so much for parents. You and me and Micky and Ojas could easily get by without them.” She paused as Rocky spoke. “I am not ranting,” she replied. “Tomorrow?” Rocky spoke again. “. . . What? . . . I’m not being unreasonable . . . OK, OK, I’ll do it . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah. Tickets at the front desk. Gerry at one o’clock. Got it . . . No, I don’t need to write it down.” Molly paused. She was in a filthy mood. “I’ll see you later.” Molly clunked the phone down.
Micky stood in the doorway. “Never seen you so grumpy.”
Molly snarled at him, “Don’t want to go back, that’s all. The flight’s tomorrow. Also, Gerry arrives at Quito Airport today. I have to go and pick him up. He’s coming back to England with us.”
“I’ll go and get him.”
“Don’t be stupid, Micky. You don’t even know what he looks like.”
Petula came up to Molly and sniffed her. She smelled of burned sticks. Petula knew Molly really well. This smell meant that she was very, very cross. Petula wondered why. Molly had woken up in such a good mood.
“I’m pleased we’re going home,” Micky declared. He pulled his bag out to start packing. “It will be really nice to see Ojas and Rocky.”
Molly shut her eyes. She felt a bit weird. Everything felt extra irritating. Maybe it was the tea. She usually drank concentrated orange squash. Perhaps the tea had some angry-making spice in it or maybe it was full of caffeine. It should have a warning on the side of the box. Instead of saying “May cause drowsiness” like some things do, it should say “May cause anger and irritability.”
Molly glanced about the room and then her eyes fell upon a painting on the wall of flowers in a golden pot. It really was exquisite. At once she felt better. Like fire put out by water, her anger was quelled. And suddenly she felt that these emotions were all new. It was as if she had never felt anger before and never appreciated beauty. All of it seemed new and fresh. She stood up and stretched. As she passed Micky she patted his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” she apologized. “I don’t know why I got so annoyed. Sorry.”
“That’s OK. It’s just I’m not used to you being bad-tempered,” Micky said. “You’re usually so nice.”
Outside on the main street they heard the sound of cheering. Molly went to the balcony and looked over.
The Japanese boy band was leaving in a limousine and fans had gathered to snap their pictures and gawk. Molly watched as bodyguards guided the boys into the car. Then she noticed more bodyguards shepherding a smaller person in with them.
“I thought there were only three boys in the band,” Molly said to Micky, who had come to peer over the balcony with her.
“There are. That tiny man’s their manager. He’s called Mr. Proila—and he’s mean. He controls them. You think Lucy and Primo are bad, but they’re nothing compared to him.”
Molly shrugged and glanced at her watch.
“Petula, come on. It’s time to collect Gerry from the airport.”
Two
Petula sniffed at Molly. The nasty smell had gone. Seeing her open the door, she dropped the stone that she’d been sucking and trotted after Molly along the hotel’s carpeted corridor. At the top of the stairs they paused. Molly gave Petula a competitive look and then, suddenly, they both raced down.
“Next time I’ll win.” Molly laughed, arriving at the bottom of the stairs. Petula wagged her curly tail.
Molly half walked, half skidded across the white marble lobby and through the revolving hotel door, and she and Petula stepped out into the Ecuadorian sunshine.
“Hat for dog? I make she small one.” A woman in a trilby was selling hats outside the hotel.
Molly smiled. She felt sorry for this woman, who worked such long hours and sold her hats for so little. “All right. You can mail it to me when it’s done. Thank you.”
“Thank you. You good girl,” the woman said with a wink. “See you later.”
Molly and Petula walked to a queue of black-and-white taxis. Molly waved at the driver of the first cab and she opened its door.
Soon they were driving up the steep, narrow streets that climbed out of central Quito to the suburbs beyond. Little houses and small apartment blocks clung to the slopes, patchworking the mountainsides with brightly painted brick walls and corrugated roofs.
Molly looked at her watch. A little bored, she decided to entertain herself by dipping into Petula’s mind to see what she was thinking. She loved reading Petula’s mind for it made her feel closer to her. Focusing, she asked, “What are you thinking?”
Instantaneously a bubble popped up over her pug’s head. Inside the bubble were pictures of the fields outside the window, and of Petula running through them, and then of the fields back home. Molly let the bubble pop. She gave Petula a big cuddle.
“So you’re feeling homesick, are you, Petula? Yes, it is very selfish of me to think of staying out here. We’ll go back to England soon.”
When they arrived at the airport, Molly discovered that the plane was late. To fill the time, and
because she liked to help people, she decided to use her skills to fix a few things. She hypnotized a fretful baby so that it went to sleep in its stroller and a spotty teenage girl to stop her worrying about her acne and to eat less greasy food and chocolate. She hypnotized a bad-tempered man to be more charming. Still with time on her hands, Molly made friends with the airport-café waitress and helped her clear tables, and then she rounded up luggage carts and parked them near the entrance of the airport. Three and a half hours later, she stood leaning against a rail in the arrivals area with Petula on the ground beside her.
“LOS ANGELES WW328 . . . LANDED . . . 15:45,” the arrivals board finally read.
Molly and Petula watched as travelers of all shapes and all colors rolled luggage out of the baggage-claim area. The travelers popped out as if they were coming off a factory conveyor belt, until at last a tanned eight-year-old boy burst through the swinging doors, his eyes dashing from left to right as he looked for someone.
Gerry was in a white shirt with flowers on it and wore a blue straw hat with a small brim that he kept tapping down as though worried it might come off. His face lit up when he saw Molly.
“MOLLY!” he shouted. He turned to a uniformed flight attendant who was walking alongside him, said something to her, and pointed his finger at Molly. The flight attendant nodded. Gerry rushed forward, ducked under the rail, one hand firmly keeping his hat on, and threw his free arm about her waist. Molly hugged him back. They hadn’t seen each other for a long time.
“I can’t believe it! It really is you, Molly! I can’t believe it!” His accent was as Cockney as it had been when he lived at the orphanage. Then Gerry spotted Petula. “Amazin’! Is that Petula?” He bent down and hugged her, too. Petula licked his face. Odd, she thought. Gerry had a strong smell of mouse about him.
“Uh-hmm,” coughed the tall flight attendant beside him in an official tone. “So, Gerry, where is your guardian? I have to sign you over to a guardian, you see. I can’t let you go until then.”
“This is ’er,” Gerry blurted out.
“Oh no, sorry.” The attendant laughed. “The person has to be a grown-up. Young lady, is your mother or aunt about? She’s called Mrs. Moon.”
