made her wince she pulled off the vent and flung it away from her into the barley, where it landed with a quiet thud.

‘Vent’s off!’ cried Megsie. ‘What’s next!’

‘Step Two,’ said Celia. ‘Cut the blue wire.’

g

g

Megsie looked into the bomb’s innards. She’d been quite calm until now, but the sight that met her eyes gave her a real shock. The bomb was a mess of cables and wires and nuts and bolts that looked as though someone had just pushed them all in without caring where anything went.

‘No wonder the blinking thing doesn’t work,’ she muttered to herself, gingerly using the screwdriver to push aside the mess and find the blue wire. Talking to herself calmed her down slightly and then she saw the wire she wanted nestling next to some others which were different colours. She took out a pair of wire-cutters from her tool apron. At the bottom of the ladder, Norman was panting with tension.

‘Have you done it?’ he said.

‘No! These are too small!’ cried Megsie, waving the cutters at the others. ‘Has anyone got a penknife or something?’

Everyone searched their pockets frantically until Celia gave a shout. ‘Here!’ She handed up a pair of nail scissors she’d found in her nail kit.

‘Try these!’

‘Perfect!’ said Megsie gratefully.

With great care, she reached into the bomb again and SNIP, cut the blue wire.

‘Done!’ she announced.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief. Nothing bad had happened. Everything was going according to plan.

‘Step Three!’ said Celia. ‘Cut the red wire.’

Megsie searched for the red wire and finally saw it – deeper down than the blue; she was going to have to reach her body further over the lip of the bomb than felt quite safe. But she was a brave and determined person, so she pulled herself up and stretched inwards.

‘It’s like being a lion-tamer,’ she said to herself. ‘I’m putting my head into the lion’s mouth.’

Below her, things were getting even tenser.

‘What’s taking so long?’ shouted Norman.

‘Can you see it?’ shouted Celia.

‘Have you done it?’ shouted Cyril.

But Megsie was so far inside the bomb she couldn’t hear them. All they could see were her legs waving in the air. Mrs Green was biting her fist to keep herself from screaming. She was desperate to get everyone away but she knew that they couldn’t move Mr Spolding, who was still out cold, and she couldn’t think of any way she could move the children, except by carrying them bodily away one by one, which would never work. The suspense rose. Everyone stopped breathing.

‘Isn’t it EXCITING!!!’ said a very loud voice. They all jumped ten feet in the air and whirled round to find Mrs Docherty standing there, gazing at the bomb with huge enthusiasm.

‘Shh!’ they all said. ‘Megsie’s trying to defuse it!’

‘Ooooh!’ said Mrs Docherty, thrilled, and going to stand beside Mrs Green and Mr Spolding.

‘Hello, Algernon,’ she said. ‘You’re not dead, are you?’

Mrs Green whispered an explanation as Megsie’s head finally re-emerged from the bomb and she waved the scissors aloft and cried, ‘Done! What’s Step Four?’

Then, very suddenly, the bomb gave a lurch. Megsie shrieked with alarm.

‘Is that supposed to happen?’ quavered Mrs Green, running to look over Celia’s shoulder at the pamphlet.

Unseen by all, a little red light on the side of the bomb started to flash. It was in a row of ten . . .

Back in the kitchen, Phil had tried, unsuccessfully, to get comfortable and was now in a very bad mood. He closed his eyes and tried to doze off, but then heard the kitchen door opening.

‘At last!’ he said grumpily. ‘Could someone take these things off –’

He looked over, and there were Miss Topsey and Miss Turvey, both attired in very smart nurses’ uniforms and pushing a cloth-covered trolley before them.

‘Oo-oo!’ they sang, as all the blood drained from Phil’s face into his toes.

‘We thought we’d bring the sign ourselves!’ said Miss Topsey, pushing the trolley up towards Phil.

‘But – I thought that was the sign! The bomb!’ said Phil, his eyes bulging.

‘That?’ said Miss Turvey. ‘Oh no. That’s just a silly old UXB. That needn’t concern you Phil, no.’

‘You can’t do anything to me!’ Phil yelled. ‘I’m in a fishy custard and cuffs!’

‘That’s useful,’ said Miss Topsey.

‘We won’t have to tie you down,’ said Miss Turvey. ‘We’ve got such good news for you, Phil!’

‘We’re not going to squash you with farm machinery after all!’

Phil experienced a moment’s wild relief. He sagged against the cooker and then stood up again sharpish because it was