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fled out of the attic.
    â€œThere’s a dreadful thing on my neck,” she screamed.
    â€œJust stand still a minute,” Cindy yelled after her.
    Constance scrambled down the steep stairs still shrieking. Halfway down, the small possum unhooked himself from Constance’s hair and shot back up the stairs to flash through the open door of the attic.
    â€œIt’s gone,” Cindy said as she grabbed Constance’s arm.
    Constance didn’t hear or even notice. She pulled herself free and ran along the passageway, down the stairs, and into the lounge room, with Cindy and Prunella behind her.
    â€œGet it off,” she screamed.
    â€œWhat is it, Constance?” Mrs. Barry said crossly.
    â€œGet it off. Get it off,” Constance sobbed.
    â€œThere nothing on you, silly,” Mrs. Barry snapped as she turned Constance around.
    â€œGet it off,” Constance sobbed again.
    Her wails became louder and more uncontrolled until she was screaming. She kept brushing her hands down the back of her head. Mrs. Barry reached for the glass jug in the center of the table and tipped it over Constance.
    Constance stopped screaming and gasped.
    â€œNow look what you’ve done,” Cindy said indignantly. “You’ve tipped my tadpoles all over the carpet!”
    Constance blinked the water from her eyes. One last tadpole, vestigial legs trying to catch in the wool, slithered down the front of her jumper to join the others on the carpet.
    â€œOh!” she gasped.
    Her eyes turned up in her head, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

 
    Chapter Eight
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    Over chocolate crackles and toast the next morning, the professor was reproachful.
    â€œI’m very disappointed you were so rude last night, Cindy.”
    Cindy met his eyes across the water jug of tadpoles. This morning, there was a lot more room for them. In the confusion Pearl and Horace had eaten several before Cindy managed to rescue them.
    â€œSorry, Dad.”
    She wasn’t really sorry. Nobody had invited Mrs. Barry and her daughters around to spoil their nice evening. Constance was plain stupid to cause such a fuss.
    â€œI’m going to dig out the fish pond,” she announced, changing the subject. “Will you be able to get the fountain going? I think some of the pipes are broken.”
    â€œThere used to be a pump to recycle the water, and we had water lilies in that pond,” her father remembered. “I’ll order some more pipes.”
    Cindy felt more cheerful. She always looked forward to Saturday. It was her father’s free day. She was going to have him to herself all day.
    A car horn sounded out the front. The professor stood up and looked at his watch. “Guinevere wants me to look at wallpaper patterns.” He reached for his jacket without meeting Cindy’s eyes.
    â€œWill you be home for dinner?”
    â€œWe’re having dinner at Mrs. Barry’s. Be there about six,” he said as he hurried out.
    There was the slam of a car door. Cindy thought of all the swear words she knew and took a deep breath. Horace glared at her.
    â€œI’m only thinking them, stupid,” she exploded. “What do you care? All you want is your breakfast.”
    â€œYeeoow,” agreed Horace and Pearl in chorus.
    Cindy gave them their milk, cleaned up the kitchen, and took a shovel out to the fishpond, thinking hard as she worked.
    She had nine short weeks to get rid of that woman. But how? Hooper snored peacefully in the shade of the lemon tree. Cindy dug and dug. The pile of rubbish by the fishpond grew steadily higher.
    She wiped the sweat and dirt off her face and stared at the fishpond. The only thing left was to throw her father and Jennifer together until her father changed his mind about Mrs. Barry.
    What she needed was some sort of anti-love potion so Mrs. Barry couldn’t stand the sight of her father and her father couldn’t stand the sight of Mrs.