A heart-warming tale about magic, responsibility, mothers and daughters Eleven-year-old Shelley only leaves her bedroom for two minutes, but when she gets back, there's a real, true-life, lavender-eyed baby on her bed. It can't be her mum's - Shelley would have noticed - but it's not like she's around for Shelley to ask, anyway.

Shelley only leaves her bedroom for two minutes, but when she gets back, there's a real, true-life baby on her bed! Who on earth does she belong to? Wherever this baby came from, she needs looking after, and she needs a name. Celeste sounds good - kind of magical - and little Celeste, despite only being able to gurgle, is surprisingly good fun. Perhaps with Celeste's help Shelley can finally get her distracted mother to listen to her. Perhaps some wishes can come true after all...

I was fuming, but somehow that got me laughing. It was like a switch. Then I just couldn't stop. I was hysterical. 'Yeah!' I shrieked. 'Great, big, fat raspberries to Mama.' I sank down on the floor next to her and laughed and laughed and laughed. Celeste's face was still teary, but she started giggling too and upended a bag of noodles next to a small hill of sugar. She grinned at me, naughtily. 'Yes, what a bad, mad mess you've made!' I said to her. 'Well, good. I'm not cleaning it up. Mum can. And bog-breath Toadstool!' I snatched a bottle of Mum's diet lemonade from the side and shook it hard. I twisted the lid open and lemonade exploded out everywhere. I showered the kitchen with froth. Celeste shrieked with delight. 'Yahooooo!' I yelled. I took up a big packet of cornflakes and threw golden handfuls into the air. I lobbed two iced buns at the window. Toadstool's fat-boy food. One stuck to the glass like a doughy slug. Celeste was digging her sharp little nails into me, and trying to mountaineer up my legs. I picked her up, and we danced and whirled and slid up and down on the lino, crashing into all the junk on the floor. My socks bunched up under my feet and I kept nearly falling over. We laughed and laughed like loons. My socks were getting wet. The floor was slimy under the Rice Krispies. Eggs! Celeste had been in the fridge too . . . what a good idea. I took out one of Mum's yoghurts . . . 'Let's make it slidier,' I said, tipping the yoghurt all over the lino. It worked a total treat - we skidded much faster. 'This is soooo much fun!' I felt wild with badness.