Shrunk! Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  A few things you might like to know about Jupiter

  A little bit about F.R. Hitchcock

  Model villages to visit in the UK

  Copyright

  For

  Ian,

  Rufus and Rosa

  Chapter 1

  We were standing in the model village when it happened.

  I was really tired and really cold. So cold, I’d been holding a torch to my cheek to keep warm.

  It wasn’t working, I still had brain freeze.

  Grandma droned on about constellations but I was thinking about beds, warm cosy ones; with me in them.

  ‘Tom, pay attention.’ Grandma slapped me on the back. ‘Look up, you two, it’s supposed to be the best night in the year for seeing Jupiter.’

  ‘But we’ve only got one pair of binoculars,’ whined Tilly, my little sister. ‘And you’ve got them, Grandma.’

  ‘Honestly,’ muttered Grandma. ‘You’ve got young eyes. Just look up.’

  So we did. I tipped my head back and without thinking stepped backwards into the model duck pond. I remember the crunch of a tiny fibreglass duck under my shoe and the shock of the icy water shooting up my sock. I probably should have looked down, then none of this would have happened, but I couldn’t take my eyes from the sky because it was so beautiful.

  I’d no idea it could be so lovely.

  I stared, and as I stared, more and more tiny stars burst out of the blackness. There were millions of them, billions, trillions, squillions. How far was I looking?

  Something flickered in the corner of my eye.

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘See that?’ said Grandma.

  A trail of silver shot through the sky. Racing towards us, whizzing and whistling.

  BANG.

  ‘Oh my word!’ said Grandma.

  The shooting star was still hurtling our way, even though it sounded like it had hit something pretty hard.

  ‘Wish!’ shouted Tilly.

  ‘No, don’t – not on this one,’ said Grandma.

  But it had already disappeared. In fact it disappeared the moment I made my wish, and something clattered near the model castle.

  ‘I shouldn’t bother looking,’ said Grandma, a bit quickly. ‘I expect it landed in the sea, dears. Just as well, it’ll be sizzling hot.’

  ‘No, Grandma – I’m sure it’s in the model village,’ I shouted, running off through the knee-high houses, shining my torch at the ground. I checked the village square, the bowling green and the high street. I swung my torch over the roofs in case it was caught in a gutter. Grandma loomed out of the darkness, so I ran on towards the tiny castle.

  ‘Wait for me,’ Tilly shouted, and ran after me with her torch, picking out the chimney pots.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, you two,’ said Grandma, close behind us. ‘We’re supposed to be looking at the night sky. You’ll find it in the morning. It’ll be easy enough if it did land here. Come on.’

  ‘Yes, Grandma,’ I called, catching sight of a flattened line of miniature bicycles outside the post office.

  Yay! Something really did fall out of the sky.

  I shone my torch the other way, so that Tilly wouldn’t see, and snatched up the small meteorite that lay in the middle. It wasn’t hot at all, but warm.

  I stuck it in my fleece pocket and sort of skipped back over to where Grandma was standing. Tilly joined me. I could almost hear how far her lip stuck out. She knew I’d got it.

  ‘Did you find it?’ asked Grandma.

  I think I took slightly too long to say, ‘No.’

  Grandma hesitated. She was probably staring at me, but I couldn’t see her face. ‘Right.’ She swung her arm around, bumping her elbow off the top of my head. Her finger stopped over the sea. ‘There’s Jupiter, looking particularly glittery tonight.’

  I followed her finger. There was a really bright star hanging over the bay.

  ‘That?’ I said. ‘That’s a star, not a planet.’

  ‘It is a planet, love. At least, it’s a ball of gases. Amazing, isn’t it?’

  ‘But it’s all shiny,’ said Tilly.

  And we stood there, our feet turning to blocks of ice in the high street of the model village. The backs of our necks aching with leaning back, staring at the black sky filling with more and more tiny lights, twinkling and pushing out from the blackness like they wanted to be seen. I put my hand up, put my middle finger against the tip of my thumb and made an ‘O’ like I was looking through an imaginary camera. I held it about six inches in front of my eye. I turned the meteorite over in my pocket.

  The planet sat like a diamond in the middle of the ‘O’.

  Click.

  And it disappeared. Jupiter disappeared.

  Chapter 2

  That was last night. Nine hours and fifty-two minutes ago to be precise. After we came to bed, I saw Grandma snooping about in our garden, otherwise known as the Bywater-by-Sea model village, looking for the little meteorite. But she didn’t get it, cos it’s here, right in front of me. And so’s Jupiter.

  Oh yes it is.

  Crazy, isn’t it?

  I’ve got Jupiter inches from the end of my nose. Me, Tom ‘Model Village’ Perks, has Jupiter, the actual planet, as a guest, in his bedroom.

  Oh yes. Oh yes.

  It’s only tiny, only a speck – really. A little bit brown, a little bit glittery.

  I get out of bed for the millionth time and dance around the room. I can’t believe it, I need to go and have another look.

  My billionth look.

  Jupiter.

  In my bedroom.

  I know what it is, but it looks like a sparkly bead. It’s resting in a toothpaste lid on the wonky bedside table. Next to it is the alarm clock and Dad’s catch-the-baby-from-the-burning-building ancient games console; and the meteorite.

  I’ve just tried to shrink a plastic dinosaur, but nothing happened.

  I don’t understand how it works.

  Perhaps I can only shrink planets?

  My door starts to open, and I leap back into bed, pretending to be asleep.

  ‘Sweetie.’ Mum’s voice. ‘Time to get up, lovely fresh scrambled eggs for breakfast.’

  Yuk – I hate scrambled eggs. And I really hate things that I know Grandma’s made. There’s no way my mum or dad would manage to have anything cooked by seven thirty in the morning. They’re far too dippy. They gave up sensible jobs in London so that we could come and live here with Grandma in her ancient house on the edge of the model village.

  So that they could be stage magicians.

  ‘Toast!’ Grandma yells up the stairs. ‘Seven thirty! Bus leaves in half an hour – don’t be late.’

  I leap out of bed again, wide awake. The planet’s lying there, by the bed, sort of safe – yes; but Grandma might come in. She might decide to clean my roo
m. She’d blunder in like she always does, knocking things over, talking to the furniture. Her eyesight’s shocking; she’d never notice if she’d knocked it off. It might even go up the ancient vacuum.

  I imagine Jupiter caught up in the fur balls of the vacuum cleaner, jostling with the cat fluff and Tilly’s hair-bands. Lost for ever in the local tip.

  Or Mum might have a tidy moment, see the little thing sparkling and take it off and stick it on one of her glittery costumes or something – or worse, she might think it’s Tilly’s.

  No way. If I’ve been given Jupiter to look after, then I will look after it. I will guard it with my life.

  I look around for something to carry it in, something proper, with a lid. It’ll have to come to school with me. I know you’re never supposed to take precious things into school, but I can’t leave it here.

  I pull on my school uniform while I search. I stick the meteorite in my pocket, although it would probably be safe in my bedroom, and find myself staring at Jupiter again. Wait till I show Jacob Devlin this, that’ll shut him up.

  ‘Tom! Toast. Now.’

  I stuff my shirt down the back of my trousers. I rummage under my bed. There’s an egg-sized plastic capsule. I won it on the pier, it’s got a pink fluffy kitten-thing inside. I chuck the kitten-thing in the bin and gently tip the planet from the toothpaste lid into the capsule, and it sort of rolls up the side, still spinning, still glowing.

  I jam the lid on till it clicks.

  In my pocket I can feel it vibrating. I hope it doesn’t burn through the plastic. So I’ve got a meteorite in one pocket and a planet in the other.

  Yes.

  And, it’s my birthday in three days. I’ll be eleven.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  Downstairs, Mum’s feeding the rabbits. Dad’s sawing something out in the yard. I put the scrambled egg in the cat’s bowl, stuff singed marmalade toast into my mouth, slurp half a chipped mug of hot chocolate with white bits floating on top, and head for the front door.

  ‘Have you done your teeth, dear?’ asks Grandma. So I drop my school bag, charge upstairs, turn on the taps in the bathroom, rinse my toothbrush in the cold water and make spitting noises.

  Tilly appears in the doorway. ‘I know you didn’t clean your teeth properly – I’ll tell Grandma . . .’ I lunge at her and she screams and Grandma shouts up the stairs:

  ‘Tom! I’m sure she’s annoying, but she’s three years younger.’

  So I wave my fist under Tilly’s chin and belt back down the stairs.

  Grandma’s outside the front door, holding my school bag, and snapping off bits of box hedge with a pair of scissors. She looks up at me. ‘You look tired, dear. Have a busy night?’

  ‘I’m OK, thanks, Grandma. Don’t want to miss the bus.’

  She pulls my collar out from my sweatshirt. ‘Anyway, you can bring any of your new friends back for tea, you know that. I can rustle up a nice liver and bacon, drop of a hat.’

  ‘Thanks, Grandma,’ I say, thinking of the smell of the liver on Friday night. Ugh. I walk six steps, get to the miniature bowling green, and race on through the stupid model village.

  Tilly follows after, humming. I’d like to have another crack at shrinking, but Tilly’s too close behind me. I run down the badly painted model high street, she slips past the model castle to the bus stop on the other side. In my pocket, Jupiter’s spinning and I can feel the plastic capsule getting warmer.

  No chance of any more secret clicks, then. Not with Little Miss Perfect watching me.

  So I stand puffing at the bus stop, gazing down the street. Tilly pants beside me.

  She puts on her sweet voice. ‘I know you picked up that shooting star last night. I think Grandma knows too – where is it? Can I see?’

  I ignore her. It’s the best way to deal with Tilly.

  ‘To-m, please.’

  The bus appears round the side of the pub and grinds up the hill towards us.

  I can’t imagine bringing anyone back for tea, not to this house, not in the middle of a model village, not with Tilly, not with Mum and Dad, and certainly not with Grandma cooking.

  Anyway – I don’t have any friends. I don’t know anyone in this stupid place.

  But today, I don’t mind. I’ve got a planet in my pocket.

  Chapter 3

  I step on to the bus, and there’s nowhere to sit. Tilly’s new friend Milly makes space for her, but no one makes space for me. The back seats are taken by Jacob Devlin, the headmaster’s son, and his henchmen. He’s the school bully and the teacher’s pet. He calls me ‘Model Village’, as if I wanted to live in it. It sounds like it ought to be fun, loads of tiny things everywhere, like a theme park; but it isn’t. Apart from anything else it’s Grandma’s.

  The seat in front’s mostly loaded with bags, and the other seats are taken. It’s only a minibus, you’re not allowed to stand up on them, so I end up perched on the end of the bag seat. I try to look like I don’t care.

  The school’s on the other side of the real castle, and it takes ages to get there. I keep trying to shove the bags over, but there’s this boy, Eric, from my class, at the end, by the window. He’s got his nose in a magazine and he doesn’t seem to notice. I can’t work out if he’s being deliberately mean or just stupid.

  I know about Eric’s dad. Apparently, he’s always claimed that he was abducted by aliens as a baby. That was back in the 1960s. Can’t be easy being Eric. It’s almost as bad as living in the model village.

  ‘No friends to sit with, then, Model Village?’ says Jacob Devlin, his sharp voice crashing into my thoughts.

  I look out the window. I will ignore him.

  ‘Ahhh,’ says one of the henchmen.

  ‘Ahhh,’ says another.

  But I don’t react.

  ‘How is it being the son of “Mr and Mrs Magic”?’

  I say nothing.

  ‘Do you get to wear spangly tights, like your mum?’

  Silence.

  ‘Does your dad saw your mum in half before breakfast?’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ says Eric.

  Mistake.

  There’s shuffling in the seat behind while Jacob moves into position behind Eric.

  ‘What you reading, Snot Face?’

  ‘Go away, Jacob,’ says Eric.

  ‘What’s he reading?’ Jacob asks.

  ‘Maths Weekly?’ says one of the henchmen.

  ‘Hey, everyone – Snot Face’s reading Maths Weekly – he must be soooo interesting!’ shouts Jacob to the whole bus.

  The henchmen groan, and Eric pulls the magazine closer to the end of his nose.

  The bus rumbles on down the road. We’re still passing signs to the stupid model village. I wish there weren’t so many of them.

  ‘Want a sweet, Eric?’ says Jacob.

  ‘No,’ says Eric.

  ‘Well, you can have one anyway.’ And Jacob shakes the sugar from the bottom of his sweet bag over Eric’s head.

  Eric doesn’t react. He just brushes the sugar from the pages of the magazine and goes on reading.

  Jacob watches Eric for a minute. Then he takes a piece of chewing gum from his mouth and sticks it on the seat back behind Eric’s head. Eric’s got this curly hair that goes off his head in mad spirals. For a moment, I wonder what to do, then, when Jacob’s rummaging in his bag for something, I prod Eric and point at the chewing gum.

  He peers at me over his glasses. ‘Thanks,’ he mutters and sticks a tissue on the gum, carefully removes it and bungs the tissue in his bag. He shoves up a little too, so that there’s room on the seat for me.

  Jacob moves to the other end of the seat and starts poking some reception kids who were foolish enough to sit near the back of the bus.

  I put my middle finger together with my thumb and wonder what Jacob would look like, really small.

  First we have English. Jacob’s getting ‘I’m a genius’ stickers from our form teacher Mr Bell.

  Then we sit through Science, and I’m bu
sting to stick my hand up and shout about the planet in my pocket. I turn the plastic capsule round and round, and I can feel the planet vibrating against my leg, but there’s no chance to show off. And I’m honestly a bit scared to stand up and wave it round. They might laugh, they might not believe me.

  ‘Tom – Tom Perks,’ Mr Bell shouts. ‘Wake up, lad – what’s water when it’s a solid?’

  ‘Jupiter?’ I say without thinking.

  The classroom erupts with laughter. Even Mr Bell laughs. Everyone laughs, except Eric. He hides his head in his hands and sighs.

  ‘Ice, you divvy,’ shouts Jacob Devlin.

  ‘Jupiter, Tom,’ says Mr Bell, in a way that makes my toes curl, ‘is the second largest body in the solar system.’

  And I’d like to shout back that I know, of course I know, it’s just that I’ve got Jupiter in my pocket and it’s a bit of a distraction.

  Chapter 4

  At home after school, Mum’s trying to train a rabbit, Grandma’s knitting miniature bunting and Dad’s got this big black mirror box he’s been making. He’s dragged it out into the garden, so it’s standing in the middle of the model village, but luckily we’re closed till April, so he can’t accidentally vanish any tourists.

  Also, luckily, we’re out of sight of the road. I really don’t want anyone to see this.

  Dad’s wearing braces with wands and top hats all over them.

  I cannot be related to these people.

  I’ve got Jupiter in one pocket and the meteorite in the other, and I’m just thinking of going somewhere private and having another go at shrinking something.

  ‘Tom, Tom, love – stand in there, would you?’ Dad points inside the box.

  ‘Da-d.’

  ‘Go on, please.’ He leans forward to whisper, ‘Your mum’s fed up and your grandma won’t fit.’

  So I climb in and he shuts the door.

  It’s completely dark inside.

  There’s a load of bumps and scrapes and the whole thing shakes around a bit. Then Dad opens the door again. He looks really surprised.

  ‘You’re still there?’

  ‘I am.’

  He slams the door shut again, and this time I push against the back of the box to see if it opens, but nothing happens.

  It’s really small and hot and stinks of paint. ‘Dad!’ I shout.