First published in Great Britain in 2020

by Egmont Books UK Limited

2 Minster Court, London EC3R 7BB

Text copyright © 2020 Annabelle Sami

Illustrations © 2020 Allen Fatimaharan

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

ISBN 978 1 4052 9699 1

eBook ISBN 978 1 4052 9700 4

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

www.egmontbooks.co.uk

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

To my very own loud and loving family:

Mum, Dad and Chloe. This book would

not exist without you. Love you.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE: Unbelieeeeeevable!

CHAPTER TWO: Bargain Hunt

CHAPTER THREE: No Ordinary (Birth)day

CHAPTER FOUR: Feeding Time in the Lion’s Den

CHAPTER FIVE: Careful What You Wish For

CHAPTER SIX: It’s Llama Time!

CHAPTER SEVEN: A School of Fish

CHAPTER EIGHT: One More Probllama

CHAPTER NINE: Secret Agent Yasmin

CHAPTER TEN: A Load of Rubbish

CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Comeback Llama

CHAPTER TWELVE: The Best Worst Day of the Week

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Disgustingly Cute

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Octogenarians’ London Daycentre

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Six Failures and a Discovery

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Wormula Bumbula

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A Fish for School

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Something Fishy’s Going On . . .

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Levi Spills the Beans

CHAPTER TWENTY: Chaos, Thy Name is Llama

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Golden (OLDie) Rules

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: The Importance of Friends

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Yasmin calls the Shots

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Worse to Worserer

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Listen to Me!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: Yasmin to the Rescue!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: The Grand Checkers Tournament Final

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Your Local Community Llama

Back series promotional page

There are some stories that are hard to believe. If you’re smart (which I can already tell you are, dear reader) then you won’t believe everything you’re told. For instance, I’ve never trusted fairy tales. I mean, come on. Do they expect us to believe that you can survive being eaten by a wolf? I’m also pretty sure that a house made of gingerbread would melt in the rain, or at least attract a few flies.

Since you’re clever, I’m sure you’ve always questioned those horror stories about kids that lost all their teeth eating too many sweets. Maybe you’ve watched a film and annoyed your friends by saying, ‘That would never happen in real life!’

Well, I’ll be honest with you. This story is hard to believe. But unlike a fairy tale, it doesn’t take place in a faraway kingdom. Instead, we’ll be travelling to the streets of Whitechapel in East London – a place you might hear the locals call ‘The Ends’ – where you can buy a samosa for a pound or a rainbow-coloured bagel from the many street vendors on Brick Lane. People from all around the world live under this one postcode, and even more come to visit on Sundays when the market is in full swing. It’s a small corner of London, but there’s a whole world inside it. And, despite what you might be thinking, the hero of our story isn’t some cockney geezer. It’s a girl – Yasmin.

Oh, and a llama. A toy one, of course, not a real one. That would be weird.

By now you must be thinking, that does sound unbelievable!

I know. But believe me. It’s real.

P.S. There’s one more thing you should know about Yasmin. You see, her parents haven’t stopped talking since 1991 and her brothers might as well be in training for the Most Annoying event at the Olympics. Not to mention Yasmin’s aunties, who always think they know best. Of course, Yasmin still loves them, but all the hubbub results in Yasmin making a very particular choice. A choice she upholds even to this day . . .

Actually – I can’t be bothered to do a flashback yet. Let’s just get to the story, hey? I’m sure you’ll find out what you need to know soon enough.

So where were we . . .? Oh yes. (Cue dramatic music.)

Life as Yasmin had known it, for a whole nine years and 363 days, was about to change.

Forever.

Yasmin was staring at the ugliest toy llama she had ever seen. It was in the £2.99 bargain bucket in Old Spitalfields market, with one dodgy eye that bulged out and wonky ears. A few tattered pieces of cloth hung around its neck as decoration. The stains all over its back legs were a worrying brown colour. Even £2.99 seemed way too expensive to Yasmin. You would have to pay HER to take the thing home.

And yet she couldn’t stop staring at it. It was one of those situations where something is just so disgusting that you have to look – like a squished snail on the garden path (and Yasmin had been guilty of quite a few snail casualties). The llama held her with its beady little glass eyes and it was starting to give her the creeps.

Yasmin didn’t usually come to the market after school. It was a crowded, covered square filled with everything you could ever need, from tablecloths to teapots. Yasmin often thought it was worrying that most of her clothes were bought from the same stall that sold toilet brushes. Walking around, it was easy to get confused in the maze of tables and the noisy, bellowing yells of the vendors. Today, just like any other busy afternoon, it was teaming with people who swarmed like ants around the colourful stalls. Actual ants also swarmed around the back of the food tents, trying to find falling crumbs to feast on.

It was noisy, smelly and definitely not the place that Yasmin would have chosen to spend the afternoon. But as usual, she had no choice. Even though it was her tenth birthday.

As the chosen School Representative, Yasmin had just made her weekly visit to the local elderly daycentre as part of a community programme. (More on that later.) But instead of taking her home, Auntie Bibi had cheerily grabbed her hand and yanked her in the direction of the market.

‘I thought we might do some shopping, Yassy! What do you think?’ she chirped. ‘I knew you’d be pleased. You love shopping, just like your auntie!’

Yasmin sighed and patted her auntie’s hand. She actually hated shopping. But if it would make her auntie happy, then she would grin and bear it. Yasmin was good at keeping other people happy.

As soon as they were through the gates, Auntie Bibi made a beeline for a stall selling an array of brightly coloured scarves.

‘There’s the one I saw earlier!’ she chimed. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

Yasmin thought the scarf looked like a giant feather duster.

‘You’re right. I should get more than one,’ Auntie Bibi agreed, as if Yasmin had suggested it. Yasmin always marvelled at her auntie’s ability to hold a conversation entirely by herself.

Deciding to make the best of things, Yasmin pointed to the small arts-and-crafts stall nestled in the centre of the market. There was a big wooden box filled with high-quality colouring pencils for sale, the kind Yasmin dreamed of owning for her sketches.

Her auntie pushed her hand aside. ‘Who wants boring pencils when you could have a pretty scarf?’ she said. ‘Come now. Doesn’t this look pretty?!’

Whilst her auntie tried on scarves for the fifty millionth time (she couldn’t choose between the fluorescent yellow or the sicky green), Yasmin had wandered towards the arts-and-crafts stall – and come across the previously mentioned llama.

Against her better judgment, she reached out and picked it up. It was soft and surprisingly warm, which made Yasmin feel a bit sick.

The market trader rubbed his hands together, sensing a sale. ‘You want it, sweetheart?’

Yasmin dropped the llama back in the box and sprayed her hands with the antibacterial gel she always carried. Her parents had told her not to talk to strangers. Especially ones selling low-end stuffed toys at unreasonable prices.

‘Oh, how cute!’ Auntie Bibi’s voice came ringing over Yasmin’s shoulder. ‘It reminds me of a toy donkey I had when I was a little girl. Do you want it, Yassy?’

Yasmin shook her head vigorously. But Auntie Bibi had already taken out her purse and was handing the market trader two shiny pounds.

‘Wonderful! You’re going to have so much fun together.’ She plopped the toy into Yasmin’s schoolbag, already directing Yasmin towards the exit. ‘Your Auntie Bibi always gets you the best presents. Now we need to get home. Dinner is almost ready.’

‘It’s £2.99, love,’ the trader called after them.

‘You’re lucky I even gave you two pounds!’ Auntie Bibi smiled sweetly and continued walking away.

Yasmin blinked. Within the space of what felt like a few seconds, she had managed to become the owner of what looked like a failed science experiment that she definitely did not want.

And things were only going to get stranger.

In terms of best days in the year, the order for most children goes:

Third place – last day of school

Second place – Christmas (or Eid for Yasmin)

First place – BIRTHDAY!!

But more often than not, what should have been the best day of the year for Yasmin was just like any other day. And, just like any other day, as Yasmin and Auntie Bibi turned the corner on to their road, they could hear yells coming from the Shah family home.

Number 11 Fish Lane was the last to be built on the road, and had been squished in between the furthest two houses on the street. This meant that the house was extremely tall and extremely thin, with one room on each floor. If it hadn’t been sandwiched between two other houses, it would probably have toppled over in a strong breeze.

Yasmin’s room was all the way up in the attic, while the bathroom was in the basement. The strange layout of number 11 meant that Yasmin had to walk up through every family member’s bedroom before she could get to her own. Being at the top of the house was good for privacy, but it also meant that you had to be careful after eating a spicy curry from Brick Lane. Yasmin was sure she could rival any Olympic sprinter running down those stairs in the middle of the night, desperate for the loo.

As Yasmin and Auntie Bibi came in through the kitchen door, they were hit by a wall of sound that Auntie Bibi immediately added to.

‘We’re home!!!’ she sang, heading over to Ammi, who was sweating over a boiling pot of rice.

‘WHYAREYOULATEDINNERISREADYGOGET CHANGED!’

Ammi only spoke in shouts and never expected an answer, even if she asked a question.

‘These potatoes need coriander! I always say add coriander!’ Papa yelled at no one in particular.

‘Papaaaaaa!’ Tall Brother roared. ‘Tariq accidently spilled curry paste on Yasmin’s chair.’

Short Brother smirked. ‘Whoops! Clumsy me . . .’

Yasmin scowled. That curry-paste spill was no accident. It would have to be soaked overnight in Ammi’s special baking-soda concoction.

‘I guess you’ll have to sit on the wonky stool at the end of the table, Yasmin,’ Tall Brother sniggered.

‘I hope you didn’t get any curry paste on my seat at the head of the table. A father should always sit at the head of the table,’ Papa shouted, angrily stirring his potatoes.

Auntie Bibi giggled and patted her younger brother on the head. Papa hated it when she did that and immediately smoothed his hair down in the reflection of the fridge.

‘Ammi, I’m laying the table but Tariq isn’t helping!’ Tall Brother called out.

‘Yes I am!’ Short Brother bellowed.

‘No you’re not!’

Unnoticed, Yasmin hurried up the stairs, leaving the noise and the thick aromas of curry and daal behind. She needed a moment of peace away from her family before dinner.

On the floor above the kitchen was the room that Auntie Bibi shared with Auntie Gigi. The aunties were twins, and had lived with Yasmin ever since she was born. It would have been strange not to hear their thunderous snores every night, or their endless gossiping at all hours of the day.

As Yasmin passed through her aunties’ room, the smell of perfume washed over her. She inhaled the sweet smell deeply before noticing her Auntie Gigi, who was applying incredibly thick eyeliner in the mirror. She looked like a panda who had melted in the oven. Why people made such a fuss over makeup, Yasmin would never know.

‘Yassy darling, could you put my shoes on for me? You know I can’t bend down nowadays, my back won’t let me.’

Yasmin didn’t want Auntie Gigi to snap in half, so she did as she was asked. With much pushing and tugging, the shoes went on. Auntie Gigi sighed in relief.

‘Well done, flower. Now go and get your party dress on.’ Auntie Gigi winked.

Both of Yasmin’s aunties were shopping fanatics. However often Yasmin politely protested, Auntie Gigi would still buy flouncy, frilly outfits for her to wear – outfits that Yasmin would never choose herself. But because she knew her auntie was just trying to be nice, Yasmin bit her lip, forced a smile and took herself off up the next flight of stairs.

In her parents’ bedroom, everything was in military-level order as usual. Ammi would accept nothing less. The same couldn’t be said for her brothers’ room on the floor above. They had left the TV playing a particularly noisy and violent programme, and Short Brother’s PE kit was in a stinking pile on the floor. (Yasmin usually referred to her siblings as ‘Tall Brother’ and ‘Short Brother’ as their heights were, quite honestly, the most interesting thing about them.)

Yasmin paused at their door with a grin. A year earlier, her brothers had hung up a sign that said ‘No Girls Allowed’ in big, red letters. They obviously hadn’t thought it through, since Yasmin had to go through their room to get to hers. She liked to rub this in by grinning at the sign every time she swanned through.

As she entered her little attic bedroom and slung her schoolbag in the corner, Yasmin felt her shoulders relax for the first time. She had decorated her room to include all the things she liked. There was a big poster about the ancient Egyptians on her ceiling (Yasmin loved history) and she had painted the wall behind her bed like a chalkboard. It was filled with little doodles and ideas that popped into her head just before she went to sleep. She thought of drawing a special birthday doodle, but the inspiration left her when she saw the dress that Auntie Gigi had bought, laid out neatly on the bed and wrapped in a pink bow. It was lime green with embroidered jewels around the bottom and, of course, a pair of matching sparkly shoes.

Auntie Gigi had written a little note on the top.

Yasmin rolled her eyes. What was wrong with a pair of jeans? Dresses just made her feel . . . icky.

Suddenly inspiration struck again. She knew exactly what she wanted to draw. With a little smirk, Yasmin picked up her black sketch book and began drawing one of her favourite doodles: a comic strip she called ‘Secret Agent Yasmin’ (or SAY for short). In each comic strip, she had a different mission. Flipping through to find a blank page, Yasmin saw some of her earlier masterpieces such as THWART TALL BROTHER’S PRANK. For her latest edition, the mission was clear: AVOID WEARING UGLY DRESS.

Yasmin examined her finished masterpiece. It hadn’t lifted her spirits. All of the comics she drew were fun . . . but they were just daydreams. She never had the confidence to act on any of them.

Yasmin picked the dress up and tossed it into the corner of the room, wishing that a sinkhole would suddenly appear and slurp the dress away into the depths of the earth. She stomped over and blew a raspberry at the crumpled heap. It was no use trying to fight her family’s wishes. She would have to wear it, or she’d be labelled rude and ungrateful.

Tonight, there would be no favourite smelly trainers and jeans.

Tonight, like every night, Yasmin would have to wear the clothes her aunties wanted her to wear.

And eat the food her parents wanted her to eat.

And sit where her brothers wanted her to sit.

Even though it was her tenth birthday.

The kitchen was chaos. All six family members placed bowls of steaming food, chutneys and lemonade on the table whilst shouting about what should go where. Yasmin crept in, wearing her new dress. It was probably best just to sit quietly at the table, like she usually did. But unfortunately, Short Brother had already spotted her.

‘So . . . did you win your checkers match this afternoon, Yasmin?’ he asked, trying to act like he was too cool to care.

‘Or have all the oldies turned into fossils?’ Tall Brother smirked.

Yasmin pointed to the ‘winner’ badge she had pinned to her party dress and took a sip of lemonade. She had been competing in the checkers tournament at the elderly people’s daycentre for a few weeks now and had won every match. It was a game that required concentration, logic and quiet – some of Yasmin’s favourite things. The focused calm that surrounded a game of checkers made Yasmin feel like she was wrapped in a nice warm blanket. Even if she didn’t win the tournament, she was sure she could make it to the finals.

‘Phhhst.’ Tall Brother rolled his eyes. ‘You won’t win the whole thing.’

‘Yeah, no chance,’ Short Brother added, quick to copy his brother.

Yasmin ignored them both and got up to help Papa and Ammi with the chapattis.

‘How is school?’ Papa asked as she passed him a handful of flour.

‘DIDYOUPASSTHESPELLINGTEST?’ Ammi added.

‘Of course she did, she’s great at spelling.’

‘SHEGOTTHATFROMME.’

Yasmin gritted her teeth. This was her birthday celebration. Weren’t birthdays meant to be fun? All her parents wanted to do was talk about school.

‘For your science project I have decided we will study moss growth and reproduction,’ Papa told Yasmin. ‘That is what I studied at university, therefore I am very knowledgeable on the subject.’

‘But how will moss growth help her grades? I think she should study the water cycle,’ Auntie Gigi called over from the table.

‘Do not question me, sister. I am the man of the house.’

‘Man of the house or not, you are still our younger brother!’ Auntie Bibi countered.

‘COMEONEVERYONEDINNERISREADY.’ Ammi’s voice cut through the hubbub. She was the one person nobody ever questioned.

‘Yassy, are you coming to sit down?’ Auntie Bibi asked.

Yasmin took a deep breath and walked over to the table with a sour face. She may have to sit through this meal, but she didn’t have to smile.

‘One more thing before we eat.’ Papa seemed very pleased with himself as he produced a square parcel wrapped in red paper out of his briefcase. ‘A present for Yasmin.’

Yasmin’s eyes grew wide. Maybe her parents did care about her birthday after all! Carefully peeling open the paper, she uncovered her birthday present.

Smiths Bumper Book of Logic and Reasoning Puzzles – proven to increase brain activity!

Yasmin stared at it in silence, trying to muster a grateful smile. Her brothers giggled.

‘Yasmin will have the most active brain in her whole class.’ Papa beamed. ‘Now let’s discuss your maths grades –’

Yasmin managed to get through the dinner without throwing her rubbish present through the window. Then, finally, it was time for dessert. And Ammi had made a birthday cake!

‘Your Ammi spent all afternoon baking this cake, Yasmin,’ Auntie Bibi prompted.

Yasmin’s face softened and she smiled up at Ammi. The cake was double-tiered chocolate, with beautiful buttercream flowers on the top. The family collectively gasped at its absolute chocolatey amazingness.

Ammi carried the heavy cake to the table with such care that it might as well have been a newborn baby. She gently placed it in front of Yasmin and was just about to light the candles . . . when Yasmin opened her napkin.

Pepper puffed out of the napkin’s folds.

It rose into Yasmin’s nose in a big cloud of spiciness, causing a loud –

Nobody moved.

Sounding like a plug popping out of the plughole, Yasmin unstuck her face from the icing.

For once, the whole family was quiet. Through icing-coated eyelashes, Yasmin could see that they were all staring at Ammi and holding their breath.

Ammi looked at Yasmin.

Yasmin looked at Ammi.

Auntie Gigi looked at her own napkin and then used it to wipe Yasmin’s face.

Then, in the loudest voice ever to come out of Ammi’s mouth – the equivalent of a jet engine and an earthquake – Yasmin’s mother boomed:

‘YASMIIIIIIIIIIIIIN!YOURUINEDTHECAKE!’

Yasmin’s brothers cackled with laughter. Tall Brother slyly picked up the pepper shaker and wiggled it teasingly at Yasmin. Her parents always seemed to miss their pranks.

‘Because of your outburst –’ (Outburst? thought Yasmin. It was a sneeze!) ‘– Ammi’s cake is ruined! Why didn’t you blow your nose before dinner?’ Papa ranted.

Ammi’s cake? Yasmin heard ringing in her head.

Ammi’s cake???

AMMI’S CAKE????

It was her cake, it was her birthday, and none of this was her fault. But would her parents listen to her side of the story? NO! And her aunties never helped, not to mention her horrible brothers.

A whole wave of noise came crashing down. Ammi was calling out an endless stream of orders. Papa was scooping up pieces of cake from the floor. Auntie Gigi and Auntie Bibi were trying to comfort Ammi and Yasmin’s brothers were just licking bits of icing that had fallen on the table.

Yasmin might as well have not been there.

So she did what she was best at, and disappeared.

Yasmin raced up all four flights of stairs, face caked in cake, and slammed her door shut behind her.

She grabbed her pillow and started beating it up.

Her stupid THUMP! brothers THUD! were always THUMP! THUMP! gettingherintotrouble THWACK! THUMP! THUD!

Her family always blamed her for everything.

Wiping her face with a towel, she kicked off her shiny shoes and threw them at her cupboard, where they slammed against the wooden door. Jumping on to her bed, she buried her head in the pillow and tried to block out the sounds of Ammi’s continued yells. It was no use. It was like there was a yodelling competition going on downstairs. She wanted nothing more than to stand on her bed, open her mouth and let out a roar so big that it would tear the whole house apart!

But . . . it wasn’t worth it. Nobody would stop talking for long enough to listen to her..

Yasmin got up and walked over to her mirror. She looked into the glass with such a severe expression she nearly scared herself. Finally she closed her eyes and, with all the brain strength she could muster, she made a wish.

I wish I could stand up for myself.

With her eyes closed, she listened out to hear if the shouting downstairs had died down.

What she heard instead was a thud. Coming from inside the cupboard.

And another.

And another!

Yasmin stared at the cupboard door. Where was the knocking coming from?

The cupboard fell silent. The noise from downstairs now seemed muffled compared to Yasmin’s own heavy breathing. She reached out and carefully knocked once on the wooden cupboard door.

The air seemed to chill around her. After a moment, she heard the knocking coming from inside again. Against her better judgment, Yasmin banged harder.

The knocking from within the cupboard was louder this time. Something was definitely in there – a mouse or a rat? – but Yasmin couldn’t ask her parents to come and investigate. She was still too angry with them.

She fetched her tennis racket from the corner of the room. Approaching the cupboard door on tiptoe, she closed her eyes, counted to three and then swung the cupboard open . . .

‘Oi, love! I’m having a kip here. Your stomping woke me up!’

In blind panic, Yasmin swung the tennis racket in the direction of the noise.

Yasmin slowly opened her eyes. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was, frankly, unbelievable.

‘Didn’t your mum ever tell you it’s rude to smack people with tennis rackets?’

Yasmin blinked hard. Was there a talking toy llama in her cupboard?

‘Hellooooo, anybody home?’ the llama said.

Yasmin remained frozen to the spot.

‘Right, well, I’m gonna give myself a tour of the house,’ the llama said in a broad cockney accent, getting up out of the pile of old socks it seemed to have been using as a bed. Before it could escape, Yasmin slammed the door shut.

Was she dreaming? Just to be sure, she pinched herself. Ouch! She was definitely awake, and now her arm hurt. But she was pinching herself because there was a talking toy llama in her cupboard. And not just any talking toy llama. It was the gross toy llama from the market! It must have fallen out of her schoolbag earlier when she tossed it to the ground.

‘All right love, tell you what. Openup the cupboard and I’ll explain myself,’ the llama said reasonably. ‘I don’t want no trouble.’

Tentatively, Yasmin opened the cupboard door just a crack. It felt like there was a swarm of angry bees in her stomach. She put her eye to the gap and peered in.

The llama laughed. ‘Come on!’

Yasmin opened the door an inch more.

‘That’s it, I don’t bite.’ The llama peered out at her. ‘But I do spit!’

With amazing precision, the llama aimed a perfect spray of matted fur fluff through the crack in the door, hitting Yasmin right on the nose. Seizing the opportunity, he jumped out of the cupboard and on to the desk, knocking off all her schoolbooks.

The little trickster! Yasmin thought, wiping her face. I’ll show him!

Grabbing her filled-to-the-brim laundry basket, Yasmin catapulted across the room with a trail of dirty clothes flying in her wake. She barrel-rolled across the bed like a cop in a Hollywood film and slammed the basket down, trapping the llama underneath.

‘I want to be angry, but I’m actually quite impressed,’ the llama remarked from inside his new prison.

Yasmin looked at him gruffly, putting her heaviest maths textbooks on the top of the basket to keep it secure. She sat down on the bed to catch her breath and make sense of the situation.

‘Wot?’ the llama asked cheekily. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

Oh! I knew there was something I was supposed to mention. The cat did, in fact, have Yasmin’s tongue. Though not literally. In a world of talking toy llamas, it’s probably best I’m clear about that.

What I mean is, Yasmin didn’t speak. Ever.

In the last seven years or so of her life, Yasmin had barely said a word. It’s not that she didn’t know how to speak; she did. It’s just that she didn’t want to, and for three very good reasons.

1: You’ve seen how loud her family is. It’s a good thing this is a book and not a TV show, or you’d have a headache by the end.

2: When Yasmin first learned to speak, her brothers used it as yet another thing to tease her about. Every time she opened her mouth, they would burst into hysterics at the sound of her voice. They even started calling her Trombone which, if you’ve ever heard a Trombone, is a particularly unkind nickname.

3: The Purple/Poo Incident. To be discussed later.

So, Yasmin kept quiet. It’s not as if anyone noticed. She would just have been another voice trying her best to be heard over the dinner table. If she was going to speak, she wanted to be heard. To make an impact. So, just as she’d got the hang of talking at three years old, she gave it up, and she hadn’t looked back since.

Yasmin shook her head vigorously from side to side and let her eyes refocus. Nope, the llama was still there. Had she fallen over in the kitchen and banged her head? Was she having a weird dream?

‘Look, look, look, I think we might have got off on the wrong foot back there,’ said the llama. ‘I’m Levi. What’s your name, love?’

Yasmin chewed at her lip nervously. If this was just a crazy dream she might as well go along with it. Maybe she’d snap out of it and wake up in bed. Cautiously, she picked up her schoolbag and pointed to her name written on the front.

‘Yasmin, huh? Ya don’t speak?’

Yasmin shook her head.

‘Interesting . . .’ Levi seemed to be mulling something over in his fluff-stuffed head. ‘I don’t blame ya for keepin’ quiet. Best to keep yourself to yourself round these endz.’

Yasmin looked confused.

‘These endz?’ Levi prompted. ‘It means these streets. Whitechapel ain’t what it used to be. I’ve been living here for a while and even I don’t recognise the place no more. There’s more and more trendy young people in flashy clothes setting up coffee shops. I mean, how many coffee shops d’ya need?’

Yasmin couldn’t work this all out. A talking toy llama from Whitechapel? She was quite sure that even real llamas didn’t live in London, and certainly not in the heart of the East End. The most exotic thing she’d seen where she lived was a rat in the garden that turned orange after it ate a bag of cheese balls.

‘How long you lived here? Twenty . . . thirty years?’ Levi enquired.

Yasmin snorted and hopped up on to her bed to reach her huge blackboard. Picking up some chalk she wrote: I’m only ten! It’s my birthday Yasmin slowly opened her eyes. She.

‘Then where are all yer presents? Yer parents must be cheapskates.’

It was true that Yasmin was a bit miffed with her rubbish logic puzzle book.

‘What about your mates, they at least get you a card?’

Yasmin shook her head and wrote: I don’t have friends at school.

‘No mates, eh?’ Levi raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ll have to sort that.’

The chalk was still firmly gripped in Yasmin’s hand. This was really happening. This was real – a real pain in the butt! The last thing she needed now was another person – or llama – rabbiting on in her ear all the time. Maybe she could take him back to the bargain bucket? She might even get a refund.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a thud, thud, thud, coming up the stairs – the unmistakable sound of Ammi’s footsteps. She was five floors below, but Yasmin’s mother didn’t exactly have a light step.

With her best stern expression, Yasmin hopped off the bed and mimed zipping her mouth shut to Levi.

‘Eh?’ he said. ‘I ain’t a mind reader!’

She rolled her eyes and put her finger to her lips.

‘Ahhhhhhh, you want me to shut it? Tough luck, princess! I think I should let that person know about you hitting me with tennis racket!’ Levi laughed and stuck his tongue out at her.

How rude! Yasmin thought. Well, she could be rude too. She stomped up to the laundry bin and plonked her bum right down on top it, wiggling around for good measure.

‘I can see you’re a tough cookie to crack,’ Levi yelled up at the bum that was holding him hostage. ‘Well, I don’t give up so easy either!’

At the top of his lungs (do toy llamas even have lungs?) he began singing, ‘La la la laaaaaa, it’s Llama Time!’

Yasmin chucked some pillows and her duvet on top of the basket to try and muffle the sound. Levi responded by running around inside, causing the pile to shake and tremble wildly.

What was she going to do? Ammi was already making her way up the last flight of stairs.

In desperation, Yasmin grabbed the laundry basket and threw it aside. Swiftly, she caught Levi, who kicked and wriggled around in her hands, and took him to the window.

‘Oi, oi, ow! Let me go! You nasty little girl!’

He fought and fought but Yasmin held on tightly. Ammi’s footsteps were getting ever closer. She silently hoped that Levi’s teeth would be made of wool, just in case he decided to bite her.

With one hand tightly holding Levi, Yasmin opened her window.

‘HEY! Don’t you dare throw me out! There’s pigeons out there and they look angry!’

Yasmin held him out of the open window. And just as the bedroom door creaked open, she let go.

‘WHATONEARTHAREYOUDOING?’ Ammi’s thick eyebrows were raised so high, they could have touched the ceiling. ‘WHATSGOINGON WITHYOUCHILD?’

Motioning to the open window, Yasmin fanned her face to pretend that she was hot and puffed out her cheeks. Her bright red face made it all the more convincing.

‘ITSAMESSINHERE!’ Ammi yelled, picking through the chaos of Yasmin’s usually spotless room. ‘YOUHAVEBEENTHROWING ATANTRUM!’

Yasmin wanted to defend herself, but that would mean revealing that there had been a magic toy llama in her room. Or that she had gone totally bananas. She could feel her face flushing with frustration.

Ammi saw Yasmin’s red cheeks as a sign of anger.

‘HOWDAREYOU GETAN GR YWITHME! INMYDAYCHILDRENRESPECTEDTHEIR PARENTS . . .’

Yasmin thought the best she could do to ease the situation was to start tidying her room and nodding from time to time to show she was listening.

‘ANDAFTERYOURUINEDTHECAKE! WHATDID I DOTODESERVETHISNAUGHTYCHILD?’

Usually, if you let Ammi rant for long enough she began to run out of steam at around the eighteen-minute mark. But this time, Yasmin was saved by the bell. The telephone rang and immediately Papa was yelling up the stairs:

‘Darling, answer the phone! I’m doing my evening sudoku!’

Ammi narrowed her eyes. ‘WEWILLFINISHTHIS LATER.’ Then she turned and stomped back downstairs.

The anger started to creep back into Yasmin’s chest, making her face hot and her tummy tight. She turned around, trying to stay calm, before it all bubbled up and she launched herself on to the bed, pummelling the mattress with her fists.

A voice came from outside the window. ‘Wow, you can pack a punch.’

In all the ruckus, Yasmin had forgotten about Levi. She’d hoped she’d imagined him. Scrabbling up from the bed, she peeped out of the window.

‘Down ’ere!’

Yasmin lowered her gaze. She saw Levi hanging by his front two feet from the window ledge.

Fun fact: llamas don’t have hooves. I know, I thought they did too, but actually, they are ‘bump-footed’. They’ve got two toes with a bumpy pad underneath which is just all kinds of wrong.

With a huge groan Levi heaved himself up and on to the window ledge. ‘Lucky I’ve been doing all them pull-ups at the gym.’

Yasmin made a grab for him but he dodged her, leaping through the air and landing on the bed.

‘Whoa, don’t worry, I ain’t going downstairs.’ Levi padded about in a circle and then curled up on the duvet. ‘I only said that earlier to wind you up.’

Yasmin faceplanted on to the bed.

‘Besides, you’re the only one who can hear me talk or see me move. So, I think we should be mates,’ he said, settling down.

What did he mean she was the only one? Surely such a loudmouth llama could be heard by everyone?

‘Nope, just you,’ Levi confirmed. ‘Now, be a doll and tidy up. It’s a mess in here.’

Yasmin reached out and whacked him off the bed.

Yep. This was no ordinary day.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.