Iggy and Me and the New Baby. Jenny Valentine

boots?” Mum and Dad smiled at each other.

      “Yes,” Iggy said. “He’s got a twirly moustache and he plays the guitar and he wears cowboy boots. I love Rwaida. I’m never going to love Mr Hawthorne.”

      “I’m not sure I’m loving him either,” said Dad.

      “He is very different from Rwaida,” I said.

      “Just wait and see,” said Mum.

      Dad picked Iggy up in her towel and put her over his shoulder. “Bide your time. Wait for the right moment, and then show him who’s boss.”

      “OK,” said Iggy.

      “Not helpful,” said Mum.

      On the way downstairs to the kitchen, Iggy’s chin began to wobble and her eyes filled up with tears. “I’m scared to have a teacher who isn’t Rwaida.”

      Mum kissed her on the nose and said, “What are we going to do with you?”

      “A biscuit would help,” Iggy sniffed.

      A biscuit usually does.

      At the kitchen table, Iggy blew on her hot milk. “What if Mr Hawthorne doesn’t know that it’s my turn to wipe the board on a Tuesday? What if he forgets I always collect the register on Fridays? How will he know where everybody sits? What if he tries to change stuff? What if he doesn’t like me? What if he only picks boys for all the good jobs because he is one?”

      “Don’t worry, Iggy,” I said. “It’ll be OK.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because Mr Hawthorne is actually just as nice as Rwaida, but in different ways.”

      Iggy shook her head. “I’ve heard he is very strict and he doesn’t let you talk in the line and there is no calling out or going to the loo when you need to.”

      “Well, then you will have to be quiet in the line and not call out or go to the loo all the time,” Dad told her.

      “I know,” Iggy said. “That is exactly what I’ve been worrying about.”

      “Mr Hawthorne was my teacher once or twice when my real teacher was away. He is actually a lot nicer than he looks,” I told her. “He’s very funny really and he’s got lots of good reading voices.”

      “What does that mean?” Iggy said, through her biscuit.

      “Well, when he’s being a giant, he sounds enormous and when he’s being a mouse, he sounds small and furry.”

      “How does he do that?” Iggy said.

      “I don’t know. He just does.”

      Iggy raised her eyebrows and picked the crumbs off the table.

      “What else does he do?” she asked.