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Poppy’s dad looked at them. “It’s
someone who wants to speak to Mr George
Brown. Am I Mr George Brown?”
Poppy’s jaw dropped. The confusion was
getting bad.
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “You are.”
Mr Brown turned back to his phone call.
“Yes,” he said, “Speaking!”
He walked slowly into the next room
carrying the phone with him. He was gone a
long time.
“Do you want to stay for tea, kids?” Mrs
Brown asked, still stirring the green liquid.
“We’ve got plenty.”
Tom looked at the large saucepan.
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