EXCERPT

Illustrations by Joanne ‘Bella’ Hodges

Evander Ellen Poll Tirrie had a very vivid imagination. In fact, everything about Miss Tirrie was vivid. She wore bright yellow trainers that sported a red and pink flash, topped by stockings of blue and gold stripes. Her flowing dress of cucumber green clashed mercilessly with long violet coloured fingernails, each one studded with a tiny green jewel. Her hair was piled on top of her head and tied with a crimson scarf of Indian silk. It was a large scarf, but not quite large enough to cover a shock of startlingly orange hair, which Miss Tirrie always swore was natural. Evander Ellen Poll Tirrie was not one to go unnoticed.

This, she thought, was rather peculiar, as she inevitably had to remind people who she was when they seemed not to recognise her.

"Oh, it's you, My Dear." Emily Ramsbottom from the post office always looked so surprised when Miss Tirrie smiled at her in the High Street. "I'm so sorry. I didn't recognise you," she would say before she hurried off in whichever direction Miss Tirrie was not going in.

"Perhaps she's getting old," Miss Tirrie thought. Old people always had a problem remembering faces. Of course, Miss Tirrie never thought of herself as old, although she did notice that the youngsters in the Village - the trendy ones, that is - all seemed to be wearing the same sort of shoes that Miss Tirrie wore when she was a teenager herself.

Platforms, they called them, and Miss Tirrie swelled with pride when she remembered the big silver platform shoes she had worn. She was the very first person in the town ever to wear platform shoes, and she still wore them on special occasions, not that there were very many of those these days.

The trouble was, Miss Tirrie imagined, that not many people were terribly keen on her bringing her beloved pet with her, and she rarely went anywhere without him. Miss Tirrie simply couldn't understand it. After all, Imagination was no trouble. He was small, clean and very amusing at parties. He would eat what everybody else ate, and he had a particular fondness for digestive biscuits, so there was no need to prepare anything special for him. He had such delightful table manners, and he didn't take up much room. In fact, he usually draped himself over Miss Tirrie's shoulder, or tucked himself away inside a cosy coat pocket. Imagination was the nicest rat Miss Tirrie had ever known, and she'd known quite a few in her time.

Thursday began like any other day, only Thursdays had a way of turning into something… well, different. Last Thursday, for example, Miss Tirrie put on her pink rubber gloves and her tartan apron, as she did every Thursday. She piled her hair into her cleaning scarf and took her mop and bucket out of the kitchen cupboard. Thursday was cleaning day. Imagination didn't seem too keen on the idea to begin with, but as soon as Miss Tirrie began to pull things out of the kitchen cupboards, he lent a paw. It wasn't long before the Thursday Thing began to happen.