by Ruth Quayle
“Well I’m not afraid of the tooth fairy,” said Meg.
“You can put your tooth under MY pillow.”
I thought, that is very sensible of Meg and it is also a good idea.
I said, “But will I get the tooth fairy money or will you?”
Meg gave me a hug. “You’ll get the money, Mabel,” she said.
“Because it’s your tooth.”
And I thought, that is a good point.
The next night Meg put my tooth in a little silk purse and she put the little silk purse under her pillow.
I know this because I checked three times and I made her show me too.
Then I went to bed all happy because I knew the horrible tooth fairy was burgling Meg and not me.
I had a lovely long sleep and in the morning I wasn’t tired or grumpy.
I rushed to Meg’s room and I woke Meg up with one jump.
I said, “Can I have my money now?”
Meg rubbed her eyes and she looked under her pillow and she opened the silk purse and inside were two shiny gold pounds!
“See!” said Meg, handing me the coins.
“I told you the tooth fairy was nice.”
After breakfast, Dad took me to the shops and I felt all skippy.
“I’ve changed my mind about saving up for a snake,” I told Dad.
“I’m going to spend it all at once on lovely things that I love.”
Dad squeezed my hand.
In the shop I chose my favourite sweets and lots of animal stickers and a ball with an alien on it.
But then I spotted a pink princess sticker book and I stopped feeling skippy.
I thought, Meg would like that book and Meg was the one who didn’t mind getting burgled by the tooth fairy.
I thought, but it was MY tooth.
I thought, this is just my luck.
I put back half my sweets and I also put back quite a lot of my animal stickers and I picked up that horrid princess colouring book and I took it to the counter.
I glared at the shopkeeper to make myself feel better and I put my tongue through the gap where my old tooth had been.
“Mabel,” said Dad when I was paying for everything with my two shiny gold pounds.
“Are you sure you want that colouring book? You don’t normally like princesses.”
“I know THAT,” I said, because one thing I’m not keen on is princesses, and I don’t like colouring much either.
Colouring is TOO NEAT.
“It’s not for ME,” I said in my slightly shouty voice.
“It’s for MEG.”
And Dad smiled.
I stomped all the way home and when I got home I stomped around the house until I found Meg.
I handed my sister that measly princess colouring book and then I stomped outside to eat my sweets.
Meg followed me.
She said thank you and she also said that she loved the colouring book.
“Well,” I said, “you should love it because it was very expensive.
“It was so expensive that I have no money left.”
“Don’t worry, Mabel,” said Meg.
“When you lose your next tooth, the tooth fairy will give you two more gold pounds.”
I didn’t say one word.
“Mabel,” said Meg. “Are you still scared of the tooth fairy?”
“No,” I said.
“I am not SCARED of the tooth fairy.
“I just think she’s a bit mean.
“Two gold pounds isn’t very much. She should leave three.”
I’ll tell you what is the most fun thing ever: a sprinkler, that’s what.
I don’t have a sprinkler in my own garden.
This is why life isn’t even fair.
When I ask my dad why we don’t have a sprinkler, he says our garden isn’t big enough.
But anyone can see that our garden is much bigger than a sprinkler.
When I ask my mum why we don’t have a sprinkler, she says the neighbours live too nearby and they would not be keen about being sprinkled on. But anyone can see that the neighbours would love a few refreshing drops.
When I ask my sister Meg why we don’t have a sprinkler, she says, “Come on, Mabel, let’s just play in the paddling pool instead.”
But everyone knows that paddling pools are not as fun as sprinklers.
Paddling pools are full of stones and bits of old grass and they are much colder than the true-life sea.
I know this because I swam in the true-life sea once and it was not at all freezing even though Meg said it would be.
Our paddling pool is freezing and scratching and boring.
Sprinklers are never boring.
Sprinklers are always fun.
Elsa Kavinsky has a sprinkler and Elsa Kavinsky is allowed to play in her sprinkler whenever she wants.
Elsa Kavinsky’s garden is bigger than ours.
I thought, I would like to visit Elsa Kavinsky’s big garden and play in that sprinkler.
But getting to Elsa Kavinsky’s house was quite tricky for me because I am not Elsa Kavinksy’s best ever friend.
Elsa Kavinsky is keener on Molly Cooper and she also quite likes Sam Farnborough when he is not eating cheese and pickle sandwiches.
So I had to spend a whole week doing nice things for Elsa Kavinsky.
I gave her broken crisps out of my lunch box.
I let her watch me do cartwheels.
At lunch break I played her not-very-good game of chasing for thirty-four minutes and I didn’t tell her how it could be better.
Luckily, at the end of the week Elsa Kavinsky asked me over to play at her house.
I said, “OK, I’ll come,” in a not-very-keen voice because I didn’t want to give my game away.
Elsa Kavinsky did not notice my tone of voice.
She is not a noticing sort of girl.
When I arrived at Elsa Kavinsky’s house after school I saw her sprinkler with my own eyes.
It was right there in the middle of her garden.
I stared at that sprinkler until my brain scrunched up.
I said, “Elsa Kavinsky, your sprinkler looks amazing.”
Elsa Kavinsky did a grown-up smile and said, “Oh no, ours is only a smallish sprinkler. Most people have much bigger sprinklers than us.”
This made me want to poke Elsa Kavinsky in the tummy.
But I didn’t because I needed to be nice to Elsa Kavinsky so she would let me play in her sprinkler.
I practised holding my temper like my sister Meg has been teaching me.
Meg never loses her temper so Meg knows what she is talking about.
I counted to ten in my head.
I smiled even though I didn’t feel like it.
I didn’t say one incy mean thing.
But Elsa Kavinsky didn’t notice how nice I was being.
She just said, “Do you want to dress up as a princess?”
One thing I am not keen on is princesses.
I don’t like dressing up either.
I said, “What I would really like, Elsa Kavinsky, is to play with your sprinkler.”
But Elsa Kavinsky did not listen.
She unpacked the dressing-up box.
We played princesses for ages and I let Elsa Kavinsky tell me what to wear and what to say because I wanted to keep her in a good mood so she would take me to play with her sprinkler.
When Elsa Kavinsky got bored of princesses, I asked if we could go and play in the sprinkler now.
But at that exact moment Elsa Kavinsky’s mum said it was supper time.
We had to stay at the table for ages because it was spaghetti and spaghetti is a slippery and slow thing to eat.
Also, Elsa Kavinsky’s mum asked us lots of questions about our day at school.
I don’t like people who ask too many questions about school.
School is not a nice subject.
Mums and dads should not talk about school.
After supper there were
only ten minutes left before it was time for me to go home.
I waited until Elsa Kavinsky’s mum stopped talking (because that is called being polite), and then I said, “Can we play in the sprinkler now?”
And do you know what Elsa Kavinsky said?
Elsa Kavinsky said, “No.”
She said, “I’m bored of the sprinkler.”
She said, “I don’t want to get cold and wet.”
She said, “I want to watch TV instead.”
Anyone could see that this was VERY rude of Elsa Kavinsky.
Everyone knows that the guest should be able to decide what to do.
I told Elsa Kavinsky that this was my only chance to play in a real-life sprinkler and that she should let me play in it.
Elsa Kavinsky said, “I don’t want to.”
Elsa Kavinsky said, “I’m tired.”
And then I poked Elsa Kavinsky a teeny bit hard in the tummy.
Elsa Kavinsky told her mum.
Elsa Kavinsky’s mum’s eyes went wide and stare-y.
She said, “I think you are both tired.”
She said, “I think watching television is probably a good idea.”
But I don’t think television is even a tiny bit interesting.
So I decided to think about the family of pixies that live under the stairs in my house.
The more I thought about my pixies, the more I started to giggle because my pixies are very funny.
Elsa Kavinsky stopped watching the telly and stared at me. “Mabel,” she said crossly. “Why are you giggling?”
“I can’t help it, Elsa Kavinsky,” I said.
“I am remembering the pixies that live under the stairs in my house and they are so funny, they make me giggle just thinking about them.”
Elsa Kavinsky did not say anything for a long, long time.
Then she said, “Are pixies real?”
I nodded. “Of course pixies are real,” I said.
“I have pixies of my own living under my stairs.”
Elsa Kavinsky nodded slowly.
I said, “Shall I tell you all about my pixies?”
And Elsa Kavinsky said, “Yes please” in a sulky voice because she was maybe still quite cross about having her tummy poked a teeny bit hard.
I told Elsa Kavinsky all about the pixies that live under the stairs in my house.
I told her about the amazing parties they sometimes invite me to.
I described the little outfits that I make for them.
I talked about how their wings are made out of cobwebs.
I mentioned that the youngest pixie won last year’s Pixie Olympics for her gymnastics.
I explained that every day I have to tuck those pixies up in their tiny pixie-sized bunk beds and read them a bedtime story.
I said that sometimes the pixies give me a magic lemony drink out of a tiny acorn cup and when I drink that lemony drink I turn into a pixie for a whole morning.
I told Elsa Kavinsky that pixies are quite naughty.
Talking about my pixies was so fun and interesting that by the time my dad came to pick me up I had actually forgotten about playing in Elsa Kavinsky’s sprinkler.
I said, “Goodbye, Elsa Kavinsky. I’m going home to see my pixies now.”
Elsa Kavinsky looked all concentrating.
She breathed in tight and breathed out again.
She said, “Mabel Chase, you are so lucky.”
I said, “I know, I am lucky.
“Not many people have pixies living under their stairs.
“Pixies are VERY rare.
“Pixies are rarer than sprinklers.”
In the hall I saw Elsa Kavinsky’s mum having a quiet word with my dad.
I heard them whispering in the next room.
On the way home Dad asked me why I had poked Elsa Kavinsky in the tummy.
I told him it was not a hard poke.
I told him it was not my fault.
I explained that Elsa Kavinsky is not always polite to her guests.
I said that Elsa Kavinsky is quite a horrid girl.
Dad sighed.
Dad told me I had to write a note saying sorry to Elsa Kavinsky and he also said I should invite Elsa Kavinsky over to my house because that is the right thing to do.
At school on Monday I gave my sorry letter to Elsa Kavinsky and I said sorry for poking her.
Elsa Kavinsky did not notice my fingers being crossed behind my back (because, remember, she is not a noticing sort of girl). She said, “That’s OK, Mabel.”
Then I had to ask Elsa Kavinsky if she wanted to come to play at my house after school and Elsa Kavinsky jumped up and down like a bunny rabbit and said, “Yes, yes, Mabel, I would love to come to your house because then I can meet your pixies!”
After that I did not say anything else.
I was a bit too busy thinking.
When we got back to my house after school, Elsa Kavinsky wanted to play with the pixies straight away but I’m afraid the pixies were sleeping so I showed Elsa Kavinsky how to play my best spying game instead.
We played for hours. After that it was dippy eggs for supper.
Elsa was in a hurry to finish because she was so keen on playing with the pixies but the thing is, I always take ages to eat dippy eggs.
Dippy eggs are my slowest supper.
Elsa waited a long time for me to finish eating, then she said, all jumpety, “Please, Mabel, NOW can I meet your pixies?”
I chewed my lip a bit and then I sighed like my dad does.
I said, “Yes, Elsa Kavinsky, I’ll introduce you to the pixies now if you like.”
Elsa Kavinsky hugged me very tightly.
She said, “Thank you Mabel,” in a happy voice.
“But Elsa,” I said, “the thing about pixies is that they are very, very shy.
“My pixies may not actually want to meet you.”
I said, “We’ll have to see.”
Copyright
First published in the UK in 2020 by Nosy Crow Ltd
The Crow’s Nest, 14 Baden Place,
Crosby Row, London SE1 1YW
Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd
Text © Ruth Quayle, 2020
Illustrations © Julia Christians, 2020
The right of Ruth Quayle and Julia Christians to be identified as the author and illustrator respectively of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved
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ISBN: 978 1 78800 594 4
eISBN: 978 1 78800 782 5
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