Dottie Blanket and the Hilltop

by Wendy Meddour

  Contents

  About

  Dedication

  Title Page

  1. The Job that got Lost

  2. The Flat that Wobbled

  3. Goodbye Dottie Stank-It!

  4. The Middle of Nowhere

  5. Meeting Winnie Crisp

  6. The Secret Den

  7. The Lamb with No Name

  8. Tom Tractor

  9. Not From Round Y’ere

  10. The School that was Half a House

  11. Losing Things

  12. The Smell of New Beginnings

  13. A Woolly Surprise

  14. Home

  Copyright

  Wendy Meddour is an award-winning children’s author and illustrator. Her debut novel was picked as one of the Guardian’s ‘Outstanding children’s books of the year’ and she won the John C Laurence Award for ‘writing that improves relations between the races’. Wendy was brought up in the hills near Aberystwyth and spent many years teaching English at Oxford University. She is also the author of the bestselling ‘Wendy Quill’ books.

  Mina May is one of the youngest professional illustrators in the world and has been illustrating the ‘Wendy Quill’ series for Oxford University Press since she was ten. The Bookseller described her debut as ‘a visual inspiration’ and Dottie Blanket and the Hilltop is her fourth book. Mina May is thirteen. She is also Wendy’s daughter.

  To my brave, bold and outward-bound parents –who fostered my big love of hilltops.

  WM

  To my amazingly fabulous Mum,

  who somehow does everything at the same time!

  MM

  Dottie Blanket

  and the Hilltop

  by Wendy Meddour

  illustrated by Mina May

  Chapter One

  The Job that got Lost

  Dottie Blanket believed in magic.

  Not the witch and broomstick kind.

  Not the rabbit in a top-hat kind.

  Not even the pillow and Tooth Fairy kind.

  No. There was only one kind of magic that Dottie believed in and that was the ‘Close your Eyes Tight, Stand on One Leg and Make a Wish’ kind. And she practised every night before bed.

  Of course, it didn’t always work. When Dottie wished that her baby brother would turn into a guinea pig, he didn’t.

  And when Dottie wished that she could do the splits, she couldn’t.

  And when Dottie wished that her hair was the colour of candyfloss, it wasn’t.

  But Dottie never gave up. She knew that magic only happens when you’re not expecting it. So she just kept on trying. Every night.

  And there was one wish that she wished for more than any other...

  ‘I wish,’ said Dottie, closing her eyes and trying her hardest not to wobble, ‘that I lived on a bright green hilltop.’

  Now, you might think that ‘a hilltop’ was an unusual wish for a girl that wasn’t quite nine. And you’d be right.

  But Dottie had a very good reason. In fact, she had two.

  The first was

  Trains

  and the second was

  Fish!

  I think I’d better explain.

  When Mr Blanket lost his job in the city, Dottie’s family had to sell their house.

  At first, Dottie thought Mr Blanket would find his job again. But the city was ENORMOUS so he didn’t.

  This meant that the Blankets had to leave their big house with a blue garage and rent a flat with no garden or upstairs! The flat was tiny and squeezed right between a fishmarket and a railway station.

  Mr Blanket said it was ‘perfect’ because he’d always loved trains.

  And Mrs Blanket said it was ‘perfect’ because she’d always loved fish.

  But the flat wasn’t perfect for Dottie. It wasn’t perfect at all!

  They weren’t allowed posters or pets or bright paint because the landlord was strict and said ‘no’.

  But that wasn’t even the worst bit.

  The worst bit was this: however many times Dottie had a bath or changed her clothes, she still smelt of trains and fish!

  (And if you think that trains don’t smell, please go and sniff one – they’re sort of sweat, hot metal and feet all mixed up.)

  This meant that, although Dottie was kind and funny and really good at cartwheels, she wasn’t very good at making friends.

  (You probably know this already, but children can be very cruel to people that smell of trains and fish.)

  At her school, they called her

  ‘Dottie Stank-it!’

  or

  ‘Dottie Twice-with-Chips!’

  This made Dottie very sad.

  Very sad indeed.

  ‘If I lived on a bright green hilltop,’ she wished, squeezing her eyes extra tight, ‘then I’d smell just like normal people and everyone would like me again.’

  Chapter Two

  The Flat that Wobbled

  ‘Get into your positions!’ yelled Mr Blanket. ‘The Hurtleford Express is coming through!’

  Without even stopping to finish his prawn sandwich, he clambered over some bicycles, squeezed through the hall and pressed himself against a bookcase in the lounge.

  Mrs Blanket ran in the other direction, sweeping Baby Joe up off the floor and popping a little cycling helmet on his head!

  ‘Dottie,’ shouted Mr Blanket. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m here,’ said Dottie, bursting out of her bedroom and fiddling with the strap digging into her chin.

  ‘Quick! Positions. Now!’

  Mrs Blanket clung onto Baby Joe and crouched down by the sink. Dottie dived under the kitchen table.

  Suddenly…

  ...nothing happened.

  ‘Leaves on the line?’ suggested Mrs Blanket.

  ‘Engine failure?’ said Mr Blanket.

  ‘Burp,’ said Baby Joe (which probably meant, ‘Why’s that silly train late again?’).

  ‘Maybe it’s been cancelled?’ said Mrs Blanket.

  ‘But I can feel it in my slippers,’ said Dottie.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Mr Blanket.

  ‘Nor can I,’ said Mrs Blanket.

  But Dottie and her slippers were right.

  First the pots began to shiver.

  Then the plates began to shake.

  Soon the whole flat was wobbling like jelly!

  CRASH

  KERPLUNK

  BANG

  ‘Ouch!’ said Mr Blanket, catching a dictionary as it bounced off the back of his head.

  ‘Oh dear!’ said Mrs Blanket, as Mr Blanket’s prawn sandwich fell off the table and splattered across the floor.

  SMASH

    BANG

      THUNK

  Baby Joe began to cry.

  ‘I wish,’ said Dottie, lying on her tummy and staring at the prawns by her nose, ‘that I lived on a bright green hilltop where nothing smelt of fish or fell off!’

  Suddenly, the flat stopped shaking.

  Dottie picked up the prawns and peeped out from under the tablecloth.

  Baby Joe was still wearing his helmet and chewing on a crab stick in his high chair.

  ‘Is it safe to come out now?’ Dottie asked.

  ‘Yes. Just mind your feet,’ said Mrs Blanket, sweeping up some bits of broken mug. ‘And help yourself to a crab stick.’

  ‘No thanks, Mum,’ said Dottie, as she undid her strap and tiptoed into her bedroom.

  She stopped and gasped. ‘Oh no!’

  There were ten pence pieces

  EVERYWHERE.

  Some were even stuck between the floorboards.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mrs Blanket.

  Baby Joe blinked and d
angled from her hip.

  ‘My piggy bank’s smashed! I’ll never be able to buy another house now!’

  ‘Another house?’ asked Mrs Blanket, picking up the pieces of pig.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dottie. ‘I’ve been saving up for ages.’

  Mr Blanket’s head popped into the room. ‘Why do you want another house? I thought you liked it here.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dottie. ‘I do.’

  ‘What do you mean, you “do”? You either “do” or you “don’t”.’

  Dottie blinked back a tear. ‘Well, I tr … tr … tried to like it here because you’d lost your job in the city … and I thought it would be easier to find it again if we lived in the city too. But actually, I don’t like it here. It makes me feel wobbly and squashed and…’

  Dottie took a deep breath. ‘And I HATE smelling of TRAINS and FISH.’

  ‘Fish? But you don’t smell of fish, Dottie!’ said Mrs Blanket.

  ‘Yes, I do. My friends call me “Dottie Stank-it” and “Dottie Twice-with-Chips”.’

  ‘Well!’ huffed Mrs Blanket. ‘They don’t sound like friends to me.’

  Mr Blanket sniffed Dottie’s jumper. ‘At least you don’t smell of trains,’ he said. ‘Trains don’t smell.’

  ‘YES THEY DO!’ shouted Dottie. She just wished that someone understood.

  Baby Joe burped. Then Baby Joe sniffed. Then he burped and sniffed again and said: ‘Choo. Choo.’

  Dottie laughed. She didn’t mean to. But sometimes you just can’t help it.

  (And between us, she was secretly quite glad that he hadn’t turned into a guinea pig after all.)

  ‘So you wouldn’t mind moving school again?’ asked Mr Blanket.

  ‘No,’ said Dottie. ‘Not even a bit.’

  ‘And to think…’ Mrs Blanket smiled, ‘there was us worrying about telling you.’

  ‘Telling me what?’ asked Dottie.

  ‘About my job,’ grinned Dad.

  ‘Have you found it?’ asked Dottie.

  ‘No. Not that one. But I have found another one.’

  ‘Is it “Somewhere in the City” again?’

  ‘No,’ said Mr Blanket, tapping his nose. ‘This time, it’s completely somewhere else.’

  ‘Where’s Somewhere Else?’ asked Dottie.

  ‘Show her,’ said Mrs Blanket.

  Mr Blanket beamed. Then he took Dottie by the hand and led her into the kitchen, where he pulled a big brown envelope out of a drawer.

  ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Have a look. There’s even a photograph of where we’ll live.’

  Dottie took the envelope out of his hands.

  Suddenly the flat began to

  SHAKE

  Then the flat began to

  TREMBLE

  Then the flat began to

  WOBBLE

  The Whizzlechester Western was coming through!

  ‘Quick!’ shouted Mr Blanket. ‘Positions.’

  Dottie thrust the envelope under her arm,

  put on her helmet and threw herself under the table again.

  Mrs Blanket clung onto Baby Joe and crouched by the sink again.

  Mr Blanket clambered over the bicycles, squeezed through the hall, and pressed himself against the bookcase in the lounge again.

  Dottie tightened the strap beneath her chin, again.

  And then, as pots and pans clanged and banged above her, she opened the big brown envelope and carefully unfolded the letter.

  SMASH

  KUDDOING

  KERPLUNK

  It was covered in lots of tricky words – and the shaking made them harder to read — but there was a photograph stuck right in the middle. It was a tiny white house surrounded by fields.

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Dottie in surprise. ‘It’s my very own bright green hilltop!’

  And that’s how she knew that magic worked.

  Chapter Three

  Goodbye Dottie Stank-It!

  When your friends call you ‘Dottie Stank-it’ or ‘Dottie Twice-with-Chips’, it doesn’t take long to say goodbye.

  Or to squeeze everything into boxes.

  Or to help pack things into the car.

  And it didn’t take long for the man with the lorry to completely empty the flat.

  He even took the lampshades and the fridge!

  ‘Positions!’ shouted Mr Blanket. ‘It’s the Crumpleton Central.’

  ‘But Dad,’ giggled Dottie. ‘There aren’t any “positions” anymore. The table and bookcase have been taken away. And there’s nothing left to fall off!’

  Mr Blanket smiled. ‘No flies on this one,’ he said, ruffling Dottie’s ringletty hair.

  (Mr Blanket often spoke nonsense but Dottie didn’t mind. It was just his way.)

  So they all stood in the empty kitchen and wobbled a bit and laughed.

  ‘Half-price haddock,’ shouted a voice outside the window.

  ‘I won’t miss this,’ said Mrs Blanket.

  ‘Nor me,’ said Mr Blanket.

  ‘But I thought you both LOVED fresh fish and trains,’ said Dottie.

  Mr and Mrs Blanket went pink.

  ‘Burp,’ said Baby Joe.

  (Which probably meant, ‘Grown-ups don’t always tell the truth!’)

  When the flat stopped wobbling, they all went downstairs and closed the door for the very last time.

  Dottie stared at the knob very hard. Then she squeezed her eyes very tight. This was a moment she wanted to remember. A moment she wanted to ‘collect’.

  (She collected lots of moments and kept them in her head. It was one of her very best hobbies.)

  ‘I will never forget the sound of the door going CLICK,’ she thought to herself. ‘Goodbye Dottie Stank-It.’

  ‘Come on. Hop in the car,’ called Mr Blanket, as he turned the engine on in the busy street.

  ‘Goodbye flat,’ shouted Dottie, waving at the old front door. They drove through the traffic lights.

  ‘Goodbye fishmarket,’ she called, as they drove past the stinky fish.

  ‘Goodbye railway lines,’ waved Dottie, as they drove past the metal and rushing feet.

  ‘Burp,’ said Baby Joe.

  (Which probably meant ‘Goodbye trains.’)

  ‘Goodbye city smoke,’ smiled Mrs Blanket.

  ‘Goodbye rat race,’ laughed Mr Blanket.

  Dottie peered out the window. She couldn’t see any rats. And she definitely couldn’t see a race. But it didn’t really matter. They were leaving the city for good.

  ‘Goodbye rats. Goodbye race,’ shouted Dottie.

  And off they went – in their puffety, old, filled-to-the-brim car – ready to start a new chapter.

  Chapter Four

  The Middle of Nowhere

  Dottie fell asleep on the way. She didn’t mean to. But she couldn’t help it. It was all the twists and turns.

  But finally, after one picnic by a river, two toilet stops behind some bushes, and forty-six ‘Are we there yets?’ the Blankets arrived at the photograph in the letter.

  ‘IT’S THE HILLTOP!’ squealed Dottie. ‘And it looks exactly the same!’

  There were three stone cottages all stuck together, perched not far from the road. And at the front there was a big white square of a house with a gigantic window full of jars!

  ‘Can I get out? Can I get out?’ shouted Dottie lots of times. She unbuckled her seat belt and waited.

  Mrs Blanket normally said ‘No’.

  Or ‘Not yet’.

  Or ‘Be careful’.

  Or ‘Wait a minute’.

  Or ‘Watch out for cars’.

  But this time, she just said, ‘Of course you can petal.’

  So Dottie leapt out, ran along the muddy, cobbled path, and pressed her nose against the glass.

  There were bottles of milk, boxes of matches and big jars of strawberry bon-bons inside!

  ‘Wow!’ gasped Dottie. ‘It’s a sweetshop!

  We’re living next to a sweetshop! An actual sweetshop!’

 
; ‘Fancy having a shop,’ said Mrs Blanket, ‘right up here in the sticks.’

  ‘Well, it sure beats a train station and a fishmarket,’ grinned Mr Blanket.

  ‘B … b … but it’s a sweetshop!’ stammered Dottie, still not believing it! ‘With actual real sweets inside. Look. Aniseed b … b … balls, c … c … cola c … cubes and p … pear drops!’

  ‘Burp,’ said Baby Joe (which probably meant ‘HOORAY’).

  Mrs Blanket just smiled.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ said Dottie. ‘It’s magic. But I didn’t even make a wish.’

  ‘Sometimes, magic just happens,’ said a voice.

  Dottie spun around. It was a little old lady with a twinkling smile.

  ‘Hello, we’re the Blankets,’ said Mr Blanket, holding his hand out for her to shake.

  ‘And I’m Mrs Evans. Blodwyn Evans,’ said Mrs Evans. ‘But you can call me Blod. Everyone does.’

  ‘Can I call you Blod?’ asked Dottie.

  (She’d never called anyone ‘Blod’ before. It sounded a little bit funny.)

  ‘Of course you can, bach,’ said Blod.

  ‘But I’m not called “Bach”,’ said Dottie. ‘I’m called “Dottie”.’

  ‘“Bach” just means “little one”, bach,’ smiled Blod. ‘You’ll get used to it soon enough. So … you must be the new people for the cottage?’

  Dottie didn’t feel very new (or little), but Mrs Blanket said, ‘Yes. That’s us.’

  ‘Then come with me,’ said Blod. ‘Let’s try and make you all at home. Your lorry’s already been.’

  ‘We haven’t got a lorry,’ said Dottie.

  ‘Well, whosever lorry it was, it’s dropped off all your bits and bobs. And that’s the main thing. Go on now. In you go.’

  Blod nudged Dottie through the door.

  Dottie liked Blod straight away. Nobody nudged her in the city. Not nicely, anyway.

  And Blod smelt of warm tea and farm. Dottie liked people who smelt of warm tea and farm. It was a happy smell.

  Not like trains and fish.

  ‘Inside’ was better than Dottie could have wished for. The cottage was tiny and you had to walk up some little stony stairs to get in. But once you were through a sort of stable door, your nose filled with the smells of wood and smoke. And the fireplace was