by Hilary McKay
‘He did it for me free,’ she said.
‘Did what?’ demanded Naomi.
‘Put it to sleep.’
‘Should you have wrapped it in your jumper?’ asked Martin-the-good, leaning across the aisle to peer over Ruth’s shoulder.
‘Anyone started itching yet?’ enquired a voice from the back of the bus, and was answered by shrieks and hoots from all sides. Two people fell scratching and writhing into the aisle. The noise reached a crescendo.
Ruth, unable to bear it any longer, thrust the basket into Naomi’s arms, and was preparing to leap to her feet and do battle when everyone suddenly cannoned forward as the bus jerked to a halt.
‘ENOUGH!’ roared the driver, blasting his passengers into silence. ‘PACK IT IN!’
Limp with astonishment and relief, Ruth stared at him in admiration. He was new that term, and she’d never really noticed him before, but now she thought that no knight in shining armour ever made a more welcome rescue.
‘Crikey!’ said the bus driver in an ordinary voice, and drove on.
Once Ruth was off the bus and on home ground, the reactions to the contents of her cookery basket were slightly better.
‘Oh, you wrapped it in your jumper!’ said Mrs Collingwood, the Conroys’ next-door neighbour and mother of Martin-the-good, but she added, ‘Poor little thing!’
‘You ought not to have wrapped it in your jumper!’ said Ruth’s mother. ‘Still, I suppose it will wash. Put it in the shed and leave it in peace and we’ll see how it is after supper.’
‘Olden days people used to eat hedgehogs,’ remarked Rachel through a mouthful of macaroni cheese. ‘Covered in mud and baked in their jackets.’
‘Shut up!’ said Ruth.
‘I think that was cruel,’ continued Rachel. ‘Their poor little prickles cooking!’
‘Shut up!’ said Ruth.
‘No worse than eating sheep,’ Phoebe pointed out. ‘Or cows. Or pigs. Or horses.’
‘I don’t eat horses,’ protested Rachel.
‘They do in France,’ said Phoebe. ‘I expect you would if you were there.’
After supper there was a worried hedgehog inspection.
‘It will have to see a vet,’ said Ruth at last. ‘How much do you think it will cost?’
‘Wendy said it was free.’
‘That was just for putting down. I want this one making better.’
‘Ask when you telephone,’ suggested Naomi.
Unfortunately when Ruth telephoned she found that the nearest vet was closed for the day. So was the next nearest. So was the next nearest, which was twelve miles away and not near at all. Ruth left messages on all three answerphones, describing (with sobs) the extremeness of the emergency, but carefully not mentioning the species of animal involved. This was a precaution in case a hedgehog wouldn’t be considered important enough to deserve an after-hours visit.
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit much,’ asked Naomi, ‘calling out three vets to one squashed hedgehog? What will Mum say if they all turn up together in the middle of the night?’
‘What else could I do?’ asked Ruth. ‘She’ll know I had to. She won’t mind.’
‘I bet she will.’
‘I’ll find out,’ said Rachel, and before she could be stopped had dashed into the kitchen. A moment later they could hear her breathlessly enquiring, ‘Do you mind that Ruth has telephoned three midnight vets to come and see her hedgehog?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She told them on their answerphones that it was life or death. She said you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Ruth! You couldn’t have been so silly!’ exclaimed Mrs Conroy, hurrying out of the kitchen.
‘Why is it silly?’ asked Ruth, still sniffing. ‘What else could I do?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Mrs Conroy crossly, ‘you behave more like four than fourteen! For goodness’ sake go back and look up their numbers and cancel them, Naomi. Rachel, I saw you! Come out of the fridge! You’ve had your supper! And where has Phoebe vanished to just at bedtime?’
‘She’s gone next door,’ said Rachel, through a handful of hastily grabbed cheese. ‘Practising her spying and sleuthing, I expect.’
‘You girls go from one silly phase to another!’ said Mrs Conroy. ‘Go and fetch her, someone, and apologise to Mrs Collingwood if she’s been rude . . . not you, Rachel!’
But Rachel had already gone, chewing as she went. She liked Mrs Collingwood, who always asked if she was hungry, and Martin-the-good (who she was planning to marry if the worst came to the worst), and Martin’s little brother Peter, who saved his biscuit ends for her, and Josh, the next-door dog, and most of all she liked apologising for her sisters, especially Phoebe, who was often difficult to keep squashed into her proper place as the youngest of the family.
‘Mum says she’s sorry if Phoebe’s been rude,’ she told Mrs Collingwood smugly.
‘Rude?’ asked Mrs Collingwood. ‘Phoebe?’
‘Spying,’ explained Rachel.
‘Spying!’ Mrs Collingwood laughed. ‘She’s been unloading the dishwasher, good as gold!’
‘Oh,’ said Rachel, very disappointed. ‘Well, anyway, it’s her bedtime.’
Phoebe said goodnight to the Collingwoods and went with Rachel very meekly, but on the street outside she remarked, ‘Do you know what happens to people who blow other people’s cover?’
‘What?’ asked Rachel.
‘I’ll lend you a book,’ said Phoebe.
Read them all
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hilary McKay is a critically-acclaimed author who has won many awards, including the Costa Children’s Book Award 2018 for The Skylarks’ War, the Guardian Children’s Fiction Prize for her first novel, The Exiles, and the Whitbread (now the Costa) Award for Saffy’s Angel.
The Exiles are inspired by Hilary’s own childhood growing-up as one of four sisters, and the second book in the trilogy, The Exiles at Home, was the winner of the Smarties Prize.
Hilary studied Botany and Zoology at the University of St Andrews, and worked as a biochemist before the draw of the pen became too strong and she decided to become a full-time writer. She lives in Derbyshire with her family.
COMING SOON
A beautiful, spell-binding novel about new families, a magical old house and a mysterious visitor, from acclaimed author and Costa-winner, Hilary McKay
Praise for The Exiles
‘McKay has a genius for comedy’ The Sunday Times
‘The Exiles is a delight’ Guardian
‘McKay has created a boisterous, chaotic family which almost makes me want to rush out and adopt three sisters’ Times Educational Supplement
‘I can’t think of a girl aged between eight and eighteen who wouldn’t enjoy this little gem of a book’ Jill Murphy, author of The Worst Witch
‘Readers will be tickled by the children’s attempts to evade their canny grandparent and will be touched by the affection that blossoms between generations despite initial clashes of wills.’ Publishers Weekly
‘Farce and genuine soft-hearted concern here mix wonderfully’ Guardian
‘The characters are beautifully developed . . . recorded with such humour and sensitivity that it is an engrossing, sometimes laugh-out-loud story’ Write Away
Also published by Macmillan Children’s Books
Straw into Gold: Fairy Tales Re-Spun
(Previously published in hardback as Hilary McKay’s Fairy Tales)
The Skylarks’ War
The Exiles trilogy
The Exiles
The Exiles at Home
Exiles in Love
First published 1993 by Victor Gollancz Ltd.
This electronic edition published 2019 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5290-1159-3
Copyright �
� Hilary McKay 1993
Cover illustration by Dawn Cooper
The right of Hilary McKay to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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