be quiet, love? Gran’s having forty winks in there. We’ve just been on a long hunt for some special knitting wool and she’s worn out. Did you have a good time in the park?’
‘Great, thanks. Where’s Dad and Gramps?’ Molly asked.
‘In the garage, pottering about,’ her mum replied. ‘They need a bit of light relief after all those shops! Lunch won’t be long, so don’t go away. It’s home-made tomato soup.’
‘Sounds nice.’ Molly went quietly into the sitting room and sat on the sofa to read a magazine. ‘There’s no need to become invisible, Flame. Gran’s well asleep. Listen!’ she whispered, giggling.
Soft snores rose from the corner chair, where Gran was asleep with her knitting bag in her lap. As Molly watched, the bag slowly tipped forward and a ball of blue wool fell out and rolled across the carpet.
Flame couldn’t resist. He gave a tiny eager mew and pounced on it. Play-growling and lashing his tail, he chased the ball of wool round the back of Gran’s chair.
Molly bit back a splutter of laughter as Flame reappeared with the ball of wool held proudly in his mouth. He tossed his head and the trailing wool tightened. Gran’s knitting seemed to jump out of the bag. On the end of the trailing wool there was now a half-finished, blue and white striped sock.
‘Uh-oh. Now you’ve really done it!’ Molly breathed. She crept forward to rescue the knitting. But it was too late.
Gran opened her eyes, yawned and sat up. As she spotted Flame she gave a gasp of horror. ‘My knitting! You little menace! What have you done? Just wait until I get my hands on you!’
Flame laid his ears back and yowledwith panic. He tried to run away, but the wool was wound tightly round his legs, and he fell over his own feet.
Red-faced, Gran got up from the chair but Molly was already bounding across the room. She got to Flame first. ‘Stop wriggling,’ she scolded gently, untangling him as quickly as she could. ‘That’s it! You’d better scoot! Gran’s on the warpath!’
Flame didn’t need telling twice. Flattening his ears, he zoomed out and ran upstairs. Molly picked up the mess of wool and knitting and handed it to Gran.
Gran had a face like thunder. ‘That sock’s ruined and I don’t fancy using the wool again after that little beggar’s been chewing it. Those socks were foryour dad. I’ll never have them finished for Christmas now. I told you that kitten would be nothing but trouble!’
‘Sorry, Gran,’ Molly said in a subdued voice. Why didn’t Gran just buy socks, like normal people did, anyway? she thought. ‘Flame didn’t mean to be naughty. He was just playing.’
‘Soup’s ready! Molly could you goand tell your dad and Gramps, please?’ Mrs Paget called from the hall.
‘Will do, Mum. Phew!’ Molly breathed gratefully, escaping as quickly as she could.
Chapter
SEVEN
Molly had Flame in her shoulder bag as she walked out to the car with her dad the following afternoon. It was the day before Christmas Eve and they were all going shopping at the Christmas market in the square.
‘I’ve been meaning to say thank you to you and Flame,’ her dad said.
‘What for?’ Molly asked, puzzled.
‘For saving me from having to wear blue and white striped socks!’ he said, pulling a face.
Molly laughed and gave him a friendly shove and then her face grew serious. ‘Gran was furious about having her knitting spoiled. I don’t think she’ll ever like Flame now,’ she said sadly.
‘Oh, you never know. Gran’s bark is worse than her bite,’ her dad said.
‘Really?’ Molly said; then seeing her grandparents coming out of the house, she quickly got into the car with Flame.
As her dad drove them all into town, Molly counted out her pocket money. She had been saving it up for weeks and had enough to buy gifts for everyone – including Flame. It wasexciting to think of all the lovely things she was going to buy.
The market was crowded and colourful. It was full of