Three Wishes for Jet
It’s Tuesday, dawn, and we’re beachcombing, and when I run along the water’s edge, my feet slap the ripples, making a noise like sea lions do when they clap their flippers together. Jet can bark like a sea lion. I’ve heard him talk too, but Granny says he can’t. She says dogs don’t talk, their talent is in finding lost things with their nose; well that’s what Granny says anyway.
Jet’s going to get told off, he’s gone way in front, Granny’s way behind pulling her cart, its wheels making tracks in the wet sand. Sometimes I wonder if the track marks can been seen from space. Granny calls Jet back but Jet pretends to be deaf. Granny says it’s selective hearing. Selective hearing is a real illness – I know, ‘cos mum says dad’s got it.
Apart from us, the beach is empty because it’s too early for normal people. I can tell Granny isn’t too keen on normal people by the way she wrinkles her nose at the word normal.
The sun’s coming up – it’s peeping above the line between the sky and the sea – that’s called the horizon, Mrs Watkins told our class that.
Jet’s nose has found a find. He’s happy because his tail is wagging, spraying droplets into the air, making them sparkle like millions of rainbow sequins. Mrs Watkins calls it spectrum or something. Mrs Watkins’s is our art teacher and she’s got spikey hair and she’s ace.
On the top of the rocks, the lighthouse turns a pale pink, which somehow changes it from serious and rugged, to pink and girly. Soon, the beacon will be switched off and the lighthouse keeper will go to bed.
Behind me, Granny’s going ballistic – I shout back, ‘It’s okay Granny. Jet’s stopped running. He’s found something.’
Finding things always stops Jet in his tracks. He’s a curious creature – got the nose for curiosity, according to Granny.
The object causing Jet’s tail to go berserk is silvery metal. Jet only finds good stuff. He paws the sand away and a wave washes over it, revealing more of its shape. I start to get excited, recognising it from a storybook, trying to remember what happens at the end. Granny catches us up, her cart rattling with her own treasures. I run to ask what she’s found, but she passes me by to examine Jet’s find.
I turn to grab her sleeve, ‘I know what it is Granny, whatever you do, don’t rub it.’
‘Oh yeah,’ she says as she stops to give it a proper look, ‘I think you might be right Sam me boy, what if we got a wish granted?’
I am so relieved she knows the story but now my worry is she might be tempted. ‘It’s not good to use magic to wish for things, is it Granny?’
Whilst she considers what I said, Jet brushes the side of the silver object with his paw and a scruffy looking girl pops out of nowhere from behind us making Granny and me nearly jump out of our skins.
‘Is that your dog?’ she demands.
‘What if it is?’ I size her up. She has a cheeky look to her. Her T-shirt says “LITTLE JENNY KNOW-IT-ALL”
‘He’s not allowed without a lead,’ she stood her full height, her scrawny hands on her even more scrawny hips like she was grown up or something.
‘He’s got a lead.’
‘He’s supposed to have it on.’
‘It gets wet when he has his swim. Granny puts it on him when we’ve finished our beachcombing.’
‘What’s beachcombing?’
‘I thought you knew everything!’
‘Stop it you two,’ Granny said, ‘and make friends.’
‘Now see what you’ve done – you’ve made Granny angry.’
‘I did no such thing.’
Granny was rinsing the silver thing, easing it out of the sand and placing it into her cart. The “know-it-all’ girl was talking to Jet in a low voice. Jet was listening and wagging his tail – I didn’t like that. I turned to help Granny pull the cart.
‘Jet’s talking to that girl,’ I whispered, not caring I sounded like a sneak.
‘Is he now? And can she understand doggy-talk?’
‘She’s a know-it-all – says so on her t-shirt.’
‘Well he’s lost interest now, look, Jet’s found something else.’
Keeping one eye on that Jenny girl and the other on Jet as he sent paw loads of sand flying behind him, I caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips. At the same time, Jet started to wag his tail again. Granny edged closer but I stayed behind – felt the need to guard her treasure cart. The Jenny girl waited to see what Jet had found and turned away. I pulled Granny’s cart to the edge of Jet’s hole and at the bottom was the tip of a massive bone. When I looked back, the girl had gone. When I say gone – she was nowhere to be seen.
It’s evening now and Granny has rinsed all the sand off the silver object, or magic lamp as I prefer to call it, and, promising not to towel it dry, she leaves it upturned on the porch to dry.
Jet had been sulking since we left the beach. He didn’t want to leave his find behind – upset I suppose about not being able to pull it free. Granny phoned her friend Wendy who works in the library and told her about the huge bone. She said she would arrange for experts to examine it whilst the tide was out.
That didn’t impress Jet – I could tell he wasn’t his usual self by the way his tail hung motionless on the way home. But he perked up when Granny called by the butchers and bought him a juicy replacement.
After tea, when Granny was cheating at cards and winning all the hands, the girl from the beach appeared, and without being invited or anything, squatted on the grass beside Jet and began to talk gibberish to him. He picked up his bone, strolled to his favourite bush and crawled under it. It was a sign he wanted to be alone.
Much to my disgust, Granny offered cake to her, but shaking her head, she shrugged her shoulders and ran off.
I was thinking about her all night and what Granny had said about her staying in the lighthouse. The lighthouse. Now the pieces were slotting together, it was all making more and more sense to me.
It’s Wednesday and the plot thickens.
Part of the beach had been cordoned off.
The tide was ebbing but the place where Jet’s prize bone lay was still covered with seawater. It looked like a mini lake in the morning light and mirrored through it, in perfect reflection, was the lighthouse. It shone pink and girly in the sunrise. Jenny “know-it-all” lived there. She lived in an enormous lamp. And she was called Jenny – not too far removed from Genie is it! I vowed there and then, to keep my eye on that scraggy little girl.
Granny said that as our favourite part of the beach was out of bounds, we’d go back home, have breakfast and then take a picnic to the park.
The park was already planned but the picnic came as a surprise. Personally, I’m not too keen on picnics. I rather go to a burger shop, but Granny loves picnics, so I pretended to be glad.
When we got back to Granny’s house, the Jenny girl was waiting on the porch. She had a new T-shirt on. This one had an old wizard and a girl witch with her hair standing on end. Both have their wands pointed at each other. A spark of magic zigzagged between the tips of the wands, and underneath the words read, “Never argue with Granddad”. It made me laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Your T-shirt – is it meant to be you and your Granddad?’
She hunches her shoulders into her neck, ‘Only if you think I’m a witch.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Good.’
‘I think you’re a Genie.’ This time she laughed and when she did, I could see teeth growing through her gum just like mine did last summer. ‘Are you eight?’ I asked sitting down next to her on the porch step.
She nodded but lost interest in me to greet Jet. Jet wagged his tail and allowed her to ruffle his ears. She began to whisper in them and he was making that strange noise he does when he likes someone. The phone rang and Granny’s voice carried through from the kitchen at the back of the two old railway carriages that formed Granny’s home.
‘Oh dear,’ Granny was saying, ‘when does he expect to be better?’ It sounded like some friend of Granny had taken sick. Granny’s friends aren’t all as nimble as she is. Come to think of it, some of my mum and dad’s friends aren’t as nimble as she is. ‘Look, please don’t worry. When he’s back to full health, we’ll rearrange an appointment. Thank you for letting me know.’
Jet was leaping around the Jenny girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was celebrating some good news. The girl wasn’t laughing – she was trying to calm him down. But when Jet gets giddy – there’s no stopping him. Granny came onto the porch, she looked puzzled. ‘That was the vet’s receptionist. Poor Eric has come down with a mystery illness. He’s been taken to an isolation ward for observation. Jet’s booster has had to be postponed.’
I knew it. I knew Jet was too giddy – first the biggest bone in the world – then his vet comes down with a mystery illness – what more could a dog wish for? I turned back to tackle the lighthouse girl – needed to find out what she knew about the vet but she had gone. Just like the day before when the bone appeared – she’d vanished.
The phone rang again and whilst Granny answered it, I searched the field for the girl. There were only a few dwellings on the site. A yellow double decker bus belonging to Miss Williams, a retired schoolteacher who was away in America visiting family and makes toffee that sticks to the roof of your mouth. Opposite the bus is Uncle Fred’s railway carriage. He isn’t my real uncle but everyone calls him Uncle Fred including Granny and Miss Williams. He volunteers as an engine driver on the steam train in town. It gets packed with enthusiasts eager for the days of yesterday travel. Granny thinks they’re mad – but Granny thinks most people are mad. The Jenny girl, or Genie as I’m positive she is, isn’t anywhere to be seen. I ran up the sand dunes and stared across the beach towards the lighthouse – no footprints in the sand. Proves it. She’s a spirit.
I wandered back to Granny’s porch and Jet wriggled his backbone on the grass in pure ecstasy. I walked up to him and stood waiting to catch his eye. ‘You… bad… boy,’ I scolded. ‘Poor Eric – what did he do to deserve a wish like that?’ Jet wriggled his back against the grass. No sign of remorse.
‘You know, when your vet recovers, he will need to give you the full treatment – worming – flea – further boosters – all given at once.’ Jet stopped his wriggling and looked at me. ‘Yes,’ I continued, ‘that’s made you think, hasn’t it.’ He sneezed twice wetting my knees and started to rub his back on the short grass all over again.
Granny was making picnic sandwiches when I returned, ‘It’s that girl,’ I said, ‘she’s granting Jet’s wishes. Why else should the vet go down with a mystery illness?’
‘The vet treats animals at the zoo. They think he’s picked something up from the parrots.’
‘No I don’t think so,’ I reached a finger into the cream sandwiched in a cake, Granny didn’t notice me scoop a dollop and pop it into my mouth, ‘because it happened just like yesterday. One minute she’s talking to Jet and he finds the biggest bone in the world…’
‘Skull,’ Granny interrupted, ‘Mammoth skull.’
‘Aw – cool – a real Mammoth’s skull?’
‘Wendy says so. Good find eh? Our Jet might be famous. What was it you were saying?’
What was I saying? Ah – I remember, ‘I was saying, the girl – talking to Jet one minute – gone the next. Remember, the moment the bone was found, she vanished – kaboosh – just like that.’ I crept my finger back to the cake, sneaked another dollop of cream and crept it back. Granny cut the sandwiches into triangles. Honestly who eats triangular sandwiches when you can have a triple-stacked-burger instead? I continue with my theory. ‘Anyway, its too much of a coincidence that she turns up here – starts a conversation with Jet and vamoosh-kaboosh – disappears again just after the vet’s receptionists rings to say he’s dying.’
‘Not dying Sam – under observation.’
‘Yeh but it’s another wish of Jet’s to come true – isn’t it?’
‘We’re only surmising this Sam. And remember, the vet took ill before the lighthouse girl arrived.’
‘That’s another thing – she lives in in a lighthouse – got to be the biggest lamp a Genie ever lived in, I’d say, wouldn’t you Granny?’
Granny laughed, placed the sandwiches in the plastic box, and put them beside the other goodies ready to be packed in the basket on the front of her bike.
‘So, if your theory is right, what do you think will happen next?’
‘I think he will wish for never ending biscuits.’
‘You mean those coloured pink and yellow and black?’
‘Yeh – you know he loves them.’
‘But he only gets those at Christmas. If he had them all the time – what would he enjoy at Christmas?’ Granny looked sad, ‘Oh dear, this business is getting to be awful. I think you’re right Sam – using magic to grant what you wish for – isn’t as smashing as it seems – is it?’
‘Told yer it wasn’t – I know loads of stories where magic appears to solve problems – but in the end messes it all up.’
‘Well – at least Jet didn’t get chance to chew that bone – or skull as it turned out to be. And the vet isn’t seriously ill – only under observation and the silver find isn’t a Turkish lamp like you thought it was.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No Sam – it’s a rare find though. And a very lovely piece of art.’
‘So what is it?’
‘It’s a Georgian gravy boat.’
‘Aw – I’m really gutted now.’
‘Sorry you’re disappointed – but hey – it was a good find. Jet’s got the nose for good finds. Haven’t I always said that?’
‘Suppose.’
‘Oh come on, have another finger dollop of cream.’
So Granny was watching all the time.
We got our things together, covered the basket with the stupid blanket Granny likes to spread on the grass and set off for the park. Her bike’s ace – its black with painted flames running along the sides. Mine is just an ordinary bike. Jet trots beside us. Even though Granny doesn’t ride fast when she takes Jet, he’s not daft enough to put his paws too close to her wheels.
Jet’s tail started to wag in that lashing way it does when he is about to get his dinner – or go for a really long walk – or at Christmas when he sniffs which present belongs to him. We had only entered the park’s gates when it happened and Jet’s third wish came true.
The appearance of the Jenny, or Genie girl came almost at the same time as the lashing of Jet’s tail. I rode my bike onto the grass but Granny dismounted and was pushing hers along the path. She was looking for her favourite picnic place under a massive chestnut tree. I followed her down to the bank where the stream trickled in a meandering way and had little bridges that linked the footpaths to one another.
Children were paddling at the water’s edge. I scanned the area looking for boys my age but they were all little kids. I turned back to keep my eye on Jenny and Jet. He was rolling down a hill and Jenny was telling him to slow down. She’s got a cheek telling our dog what to do.
Next thing Jet rolls into the water and the little kids scream with laughter. He paddles a bit then comes out and shakes water over everyone sat by one of the bridges. Granny’s mobile rings, I listen to find out if the skull has been lifted from the sand, but it’s someone Granny doesn’t know. Strange really, ‘cos Granny knows everyone. Anyway, she’s nice to them and tells them where we’re picnicking.
‘That was a reporter.’
‘What’s a reporter?’
‘Someone who writes news for the papers.’ Granny put her mobile away and spread the blanket out. She pulled one of Jet’s towels from the boot of her bike and threw it to me. ‘Better smarten Jet up,’ she said, ‘he’s bringing his camera. Jet’s going to be in the paper.’
My mind filled with pictures of Jet being a celebrity, but when I look towards him, bedraggled and rolling on the water’s edge where mud gathers under the bridge, I thought, some star. I looked around for the girl. It’s her fault he got giddy and rolled into the stream but she’s gone. A flash thought ran through my head, I wondered what she’d granted him this time? Then it struck me, knowing Jet – it would be a ton of stinking mud.
I called him over, made him swim to the middle of the steam by tossing a stone. It worked. Jet loves water almost as much as mud. He bounded towards the deep bit and surface-dived, good boy, I told myself, and watched the mud cloud the water. It was then that I realise he’d found another find. Something was in his mouth. He swam towards me, bringing an object larger than my pebble.
It was an old boot. Ha, I thought, Jenny’s lost her magic in this find, but I was wrong.
The reporter didn’t bring a camera as such. He came with his own cameraman, or woman as it turned out. I held onto Jet’s collar, preventing him from returning to the stream whilst the reporter asked Granny lots of questions. After they had made their notes and took lots of photos of Jet and one of Jet with Granny and me, they gave us a package, a goodwill gift for the story and left.
Granny put the package in her saddle-boot.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Dunno,’ said Granny, ‘but it’s a gift for Jet.
‘Humph! Cant we take a peek?’
‘I thought I’d wait ‘til we got home. You know what he’s like. Whilst its wrapped, he hasn’t cottoned on its for him, but as soon as….’
‘I knew it,’ I reached for another slice of cake, ‘that flippin’ girl – I thought she’d granted him another wish – thought it was a ton of mud but it makes sense now – its in the parcel. A gift you say for Jet – his third wish more like.’
‘You know, I’m beginning to agree with you.’
I stared at Granny, ‘You are?’
‘Yes Sam, but it isn’t the parcel gift or the mud I’m thinking about, its that boot – its so old – must’ve been in the sediment at the bottom of that stream for ages – he’d wish for a smelly ol’ thing like that. Something he could sneak under his bush and chew at for months.’
‘Are we going to let him keep it?’
‘Not likely – when I call him over you take it to the big bridge and drop it into the deep bit.’
I felt mean sneaking Jet’s lucky find away but Granny was right – it smelled worse than mud – sort of fishy and it was slimy. It had laces that were rotten and curled toecaps where the leather had scuffed away. I began to wonder who owned a boot like that and if the other was also in the mud at the bottom of the stream when a magpie swooped down and knocked it out of my hand.
People ran to shoo it off and a man picked it up to hand it back to me.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘there’s something caught in the tongue, something the bird was attracted to – see, it’s shiny.’
I looked where he pointed and sure enough a badge, or broach was wedged under the rotting piece of leather. The bridge filled with people, others came from the opposite side of the bank, and amongst them were the reporter and photographer who had turned back, trying to find out what was happening.
Now Granny’s dog had turned into a megastar.
Jet posed for more photos while the smelly boot was wrapped in the damp towel to be examined by Wendy and the librarian’s team of experts. I was getting fed up with it all. I mean, this was supposed to be my holiday – who wants all this excitement when all a boy needs is a good game of footy, a nice long swim and the odd treat to a movie – but life with Jet is always hectic.
A man came pushing through the crowds towards Granny.
‘Did our Laura’s lass come here?’
Granny looked up at him, her eyes suddenly reflecting the concern he held in his words. ‘Yes Jack she did,’ she answered slowly, ‘but ran off before the press arrived.’
‘She’s not come home for lunch.’
‘Perhaps she’s met another friend.’
‘She only talks about Jet – she’s too shy to make friends with other children. She always comes home on time.’
Granny rose from the picnic blanket and stood by the man’s side. He had white whiskers and the top of his head was polished shiny like the knob on Granny’s veranda rail. I deduced that Jack must be Jenny’s granddad, the lighthouse keeper. He was worried I could see, Granny patted his arm, ‘We’ll get Jet to find her, he has the best nose in the world for finding anything, or anybody lost.’
It was no use the people in the park offering help in trying to find Jenny of the Lighthouse – they didn’t know what she looked like. So, whilst Granny packed the picnic things away, I went with the white-whiskered man. I rode my bike slowly – he held onto Jet’s lead. We retraced our steps to the place where the girl appeared. I pointed out to Jet’s wagging tail showing the lighthouse keeper our dog had picked up her scent.
‘But it’s only the scent of her arriving.’
He had a point, ‘I thought you said she was supposed to go home?’
‘She was.’
‘Well wouldn’t she go home the same way she came?’ I thought it was a reasonable thing to say.
‘She left home via the slip road from the beach. You came from your Granny’s caravan park.’
‘But she would still enter the park by the gate.’
‘Aye, perhaps your right.’
Honestly, for a lighthouse keeper, Jenny’s granddad’s a bit slow. I wanted to ride off and take Jet with me but Granny had given me orders to help find Jenny. We were just passing through the park’s huge fancy gates when Jet gave a yelp. I slammed on my brakes and turned to find out what was wrong. Jet was tugging at the lead pulling Jenny’s granddad along the pavement, yelping like he needed to run but couldn’t. Cars slowed down at the traffic lights and over on the other side of the road I spotted her.
‘There she is,’ I shouted, pointing to the place I’d seen her, ‘Jenny’ I yelled above the noise of the traffic but she carried on walking, mingling with the holidaymakers and disappearing from view.
‘Clare!’ boomed the lighthouse-keeper as people waiting at both sides of the traffic lights turned their heads to where he stood. Why was Jenny’s granddad shouting Clare? Honestly, the poor man’s not only lost his granddaughter, he’s lost his flippin’ marbles as well.
‘Clare.’ he boomed again as the little green man bleeped for us to cross and Jet pulled on the lead but this time the man was running, leaving me peddling like crazy to keep up. When I reached the opposite pavement I stood on my pedals to see above the heads of the pedestrians. Some had made a path for Jet and the booming man to run through, others further on were waving their arms, and forming a circle with a space in the middle. As the crowd dispersed to allow us through, Jenny appeared in the space. There was blood on her sandals and her knees were grazed.
She had been crying but spots Jet and bends to greet him. He licks her face liking the taste of the salt in her tears. The crowd pat the back of the lighthouse-keeper who is also weeping. They say things like, ‘We’ve all got kids, we all worry for them,’ and then go about their business with smiles on their faces happy a little girl has been found.
Later on when Granny was cheating at cards again, and Jet had been allowed to open his present and to eat four of the biscuits from the packet, the phone rang. Granny went into the kitchen to answer it and Jenny appeared with a ball for Jet. It was a thank you from her granddad for helping to find her. Jet gave the ball a sniff and returned to licking up the biscuit crumbs from between the blades of grass.
Leaving the ball for Jet, the Genie girl turned to walk away, to head back home. Huge plasters covered both knees. I start to feel sorry for her.
‘What happened today?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Your knees – did you fall in the park?’
She shook her head, looked down at the scratches running along her shins, ‘I got lost,’ she whispered, ‘so climbed a hill to see better and slid on loose stones.’
‘Ouch,’ I said remembering all the times I’ve fallen off my bike and left half of my skin on the road. ‘I bet you’ve had to have grit cleaned from your cuts.’
She nodded.
‘Yep and I bet the stuff used to clean them stung worse than your fall.’
She nods.
‘Yep and I bet it smelled like toilet cleaner,’ I add, remembering like it was yesterday.
She nodded, showing laugh showing the new teeth again.
‘Is your granddad okay now?’
Her laugh fades, ‘why do you ask?’
‘I thought he’d gone crazy – you know, scatty brained when he called you Clare.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know – old age I suppose.’
‘I mean – why shouldn’t he call me Clare?’
‘’Cos you’re called Genie er, I mean Jenny.’
‘You’re the one with bats for brains – I’m not called Genie or Jenny. My name is Clare.’
‘B-but your T-shirt said Jenny on it.’
‘Oh that old thing – that belonged to our next-door neighbour back home. She’s bigger than me, so her mum gives me all her clothes. She’s called Jenny.’
I felt daft. My face burned red. Clare looked different as Clare – no longer had that mysterious look about her – she looked just ordinary. ‘Has my Granny invited you to tea?’
She nodded.
‘Great,’ I laughed, ‘because I’ve got this amazing theory about Jet. Did you know he found a mammoth’s skull?’
She nodded.
‘Ahh but today when you were busy getting yourself lost, he found a boot that might be an important antique from the Spanish Armada.’
‘Yes I know, my granddad told me.’
‘Well, I bet you don’t know this,’ I leant forward and whispered, ‘I think he’s wished the vet ill to get out of having to have his jabs.’
‘You’ve got bats for brains,’ she told me.
I was offended – sorry I felt sorry for her. I stood up, folded my arms across my chest and said, ‘Oh yeh, I bet you didn’t know he’s been given a box of biscuits from the newspaper reporter. If you don’t count the vet – that’s still three wishes for Jet.’
‘Dogs don’t wish for antique boots.’
She was really getting on my nerves, but before I could tell her, Granny appeared on the porch, whistling in the way she does when she’s planning and scheming.
‘That was the editor of the Weekly Chronicle on the phone. He said the company that makes the biscuits that Jet likes, has offered a lifetime supply of pet food if Jet’s photo can be used on their products.’
‘A lifetime?’
‘Yes.’
‘What you going to do?’
Before Granny could answer, Clare chirped in. ‘Then it’s true, three wishes for Jet. Perhaps he has tapped into some kind of magic after all.’
Granny shakes her head, ‘Sam and I decided we don’t like the idea of magic – do we Sam?’
‘Not to solve things we can’t.’
‘So,’ Granny said, ‘that’s why there isn’t going to be three wishes come true for Jet.’
‘B-but a free lifetime supply of dog food – Granny, you can’t refuse that now can you?’
Granny ticked off items with her fingers. ‘First of all Jet found a Georgian Silver gravy boat – a good find but not one he would wish for.’ She ticked off another finger. ‘Then he found the skull – that’s not magic, Jet digs up bones all the time.’ She ticks off another finger. ‘Then the vet cancels our appointment because he’s in isolation pending observation for an infection transmitted by tropical birds. Now we can’t say that had anything to do with magic can we?’
I’m feeling well gutted. My theory is being ticked to death from Granny’s fingers, one by one. Granny waved the fourth finger in the air, ‘Then he found a smelly old boot – could be a doggy wish, but anyway, like the skull, he can’t have it. That leaves the dog food.’ Five fingers.
‘And the biscuits,’ Clare whispered as she peeled away the corner of one of the plasters covering her knee, ‘and a new ball,’ she added before sticking the corner back down again.
‘So if I say yes to the supply of food and our Jet’s photo goes on all their products for dogs, we can say Jet has truly had three wishes.’
‘Yes,’ Clare stared at Granny.
‘Will that be an end to magical theories?’ Granny asked us both.
I looked across to Clare – she nodded very slowly.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘Good – because we’ve had another treat given to us. Fancy a Sea Underworld trip tomorrow? They’re showing creatures thought to have tricked sailors into believing in mermaids.’
‘Aw cool,’ I say, but not really enthused – I mean, mermaids.
‘The newspaper editor has given me three tickets – would you like to come with us Clare?’ Granny beams. ‘That’s good. I see you have some new teeth pushing through.’
(c) 2024 Pat Barnett.
Through Sam’s eyes, we experience the magical possibilities that arise when a dog might have access to three wishes, all while learning valuable lessons about the true nature of magic and friendship. The narrative cleverly balances between reality and fantasy, leaving readers to wonder if Jet’s good fortune is truly magical or simply a series of fortunate coincidences
Pat Barnett brings decades of storytelling experience to this delightful collection of tales. Drawing from her rich life journey from Manchester to Australia and now Pickering, Yorkshire, she crafts stories that dance between reality and fantasy. As a member of Castle Writers and co-founder of ‘The Wordbotherers,’ Pat’s unique voice shines through in every carefully crafted narrative.
Ready to explore more magical tales where the ordinary transforms into the extraordinary? Discover Pat’s world of mysterious creatures and enchanted moments in this captivating anthology.
