by Isla Fisher
“But, Marge,” I say, “haven’t you already lost your teeth?”
“Yes,” says Marge, “I lost one in a sword fight with the grand duke of Nottingham over the last slice of lemon meringue pie. . . . And I chipped one on the throne during an acrobatic performance with a one-legged duck.”
Marge starts to tug.
“IT WON’T GROW BACK,” shrieks Jakey in horror, but I can tell he is also a little bit excited. “You’ll look like a pirate . . . or a baby . . . or a . . . WITCH!”
Marge tugs harder. She really is going to pull out her tooth! I stare at my feet. I can’t look.
“Wish me luck!” Marge says, just as I remember something.
“WAIT!” I scream. “I SAW TIM THE TOOTH!”
Marge pauses as I close my eyes and try hard to picture what happened. As I was putting on my pajamas with the daisies on the pockets, I saw Jakey putting his tooth under his pillow!
I hurry to get all my words out.
“OH YES, I FORGOT!” Jakey gasps. “I put it there for the tooth fairy to collect.”
My little brother is only four, so he can’t be expected to remember everything. We all bolt back upstairs into our bedroom, and under Jakey’s pillow we find . . .
Something small and white and just the size of a tooth!
Jakey grabs it and holds up his right arm like a champion.
“HOORAY!” He kisses the tooth.
We did it!
“You saved the day, Jemima,” says Marge. But I think she is the brave one. She was going to pull out her grown-up tooth for Jakey!
Then Marge yawns. “When do the chambermaids come to tidy up?”
She always forgets that we are not royal and we do not have servants. I start to worry. What will happen when Mommy and Dad see the flooded bathroom?
The clanging, banging noise that started when I plugged up the pipe is very loud now. It sounds like a whale is trapped behind the bathroom wall, trying to get in.
Luckily for us, Marge has a plan. We leave Jake’s tooth under his pillow with this note:
And would you believe that when we wake up in the morning, the bathroom is spotless and there is a shiny coin under Jakey’s pillow!
Marge and the Great Train Rescue
I can’t believe this is actually happening to me. Two amazing things on the same day! One—Marge, the most fun grown-up on the planet, except for Mommy (and sometimes Dad), is babysitting us. Two—Mommy has arranged a visit to the zoo, and for the first time ever we are going by train.
A real train.
My belly is doing backflips. It’s me, Jemima Button, and I am sitting on my bedroom floor while my brother plays with his toy train set. Jake has built a track that travels all the way from the kitchen into our bedroom, and I have tripped over it twice.
“Trains go faster than cars.” Jakey lifts up his tank engine and whizzes it past my head.
“Planes go the fastest,” I remind him.
“But trains make a cool sound,” Jakey says. I kind of have to agree with him.
Jakey wants to be a train driver when he grows up. When he was little Dad used to take him to see the choo-choos, and he would always cry when it was time to come home. That’s how much he loves trains.
DING DONG
That’s our doorbell.
Whoopee!
Jakey and I scramble over each other as we run for the door, screaming so loudly that Mommy spills tea in her lap.
Marge is here. What a sight to see!
Marge is so small that she could be a hobbit. She even told us that once Santa Claus mistook her for an elf and asked her to help him deliver Christmas presents.
This morning Marge is wearing a long, furry pink scarf that trails all the way down her back, and a spotted pink sun hat. She looks kind of like a pink flamingo but with shorter legs.
“Jolly jumbucks!” she hoots, pulling three silver train tickets out of her backpack. “We three musketeers are off on an adventure.”
She takes our hands, and we all skip in a circle, shrieking.
“Hi, Marge,” Mommy says, wiping brown tea off her trousers. “The train leaves at nine o’clock, and the station isn’t far.”
While Marge consults her pocket watch, I give Mommy a hug because I don’t want her to feel left out by how pleased we are to see Marge.
“We must dash,” Marge announces. “We need to be the first ones to board the train, you see. Then we can ride at the front with the admiral and look out the window at the fish when we go underwater.”
“Um, Marge . . .” I giggle. “A train isn’t a submarine.”
“You mean, trains don’t go under the sea?” Marge squints.
Mommy laughs. Our babysitter can be so silly.
“They do go under the sea sometimes, but inside a tunnel,” I explain.
Marge looks surprised but not entirely convinced.
“Have fun on the train and enjoy the zoo, kiddos.” Mommy gives us each a brown paper bag with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches inside.
“Please make sure Jakey doesn’t only eat the bread,” Mommy says, and Jakey rolls his eyes.
My little brother has two rules:
1. When he is eating a sandwich, he only eats the bread. It doesn’t matter what the filling is—he won’t eat it EVER. Even if it’s jam.
2. Jakey won’t stand in line. He hates being “patient” and says patience is stupid.
“And remember, kids, Marge is in charge.” Mommy kisses us goodbye.
It’s only once we have started the walk to the station that I notice Marge is carrying two large suitcases as well as her backpack.
“I never leave the palace without my hat collection. It could rain or shine or we might get invited to tea and scones,” Marge pants, dragging everything behind her.
I think Marge has lots of hats because she needs to hide her hair. Have I told you about Marge’s hair? Our babysitter has the coolest red, green, yellow, orange, and blue hair. But she doesn’t ever show it to grown-ups. Only we know her secret. I’m not sure Mommy and Dad would let Marge look after us if they saw her crazy hair or knew she has a long-toothed ferret called Burt who she trained to play the harmonica.
The train station is very busy with people scurrying this way and that. There is a big board with all the places the trains go to on it. Marge is staring at the board, and at our tickets. She looks confused.
“Platform three hundred and ninety-one,” she announces after a long time.
I look over the edge of the railing and count the shiny trains and platforms beneath us. That doesn’t sound right, so I take our tickets.
“That’s coach three, seat number ninety-one,” I say as I look carefully at the board. “We need to go to platform one.”
Marge is the kind of babysitter who you sometimes have to babysit, if you get what I mean. I think it’s because she grew up in a palace where she had a cook and a butler and lots of nannies to do things for her.
The platform is crammed with people, and Jakey and I hold hands because we don’t want to be swept away.
TOOT TOOT
A big red train chugs down the track toward us. Jakey is grinning with all his teeth as we join the line to board.
“You broke your own rule,” I tease my brother. “You are waiting in a line.”
“This isn’t a line. It’s a squiggle.” Jakey is so stubborn.
We don’t get far before Marge realizes that somehow on the short ride down the escalator she has lost our tickets—or “misplaced” them, as she calls it. Luckily I am very good at finding things. Over the past year I have found Dad’s reading glasses five times and Mommy’s missing glove, and I even found a coin in the crack of a sidewalk.
“Look!” I spy them poking out from under her hat.
“Who put them up there? That’s very odd.” Marge eyes the crowd suspiciously. Jakey and I pretend to be curious, but we both know Marge must have just forgotten putting them there.
“You know, I am very handy
on a train,” Marge tells us. “You might say I’m an expert. When I used to ride in the queen’s carriage, the king would call me Mechanical Marge.” Marge is chatting as we scramble on excitedly. “This type of train is called a high-speed monorail, and it has wings so it can fly over mountains too.”
“Nonsense!” says a bald man in a uniform. “A train isn’t an airplane!” His name tag says HAROLD.
Jakey is staring at his head. “Who are you, and what happened to your hair?”
“I am the conductor. Now move on back, as we are leaving shortly,” Harold scolds us.
The train looks much bigger on the inside. There is carpet on the floor, and all the seats are numbered, so it’s not hard to find where we are supposed to be. I race to sit by the window. Jakey sits next to me, and once Marge has heaved her suitcases onto the shelf above us, she sits opposite. Every time I think about how fast the train will go, my tummy feels kind of weird and tingly.
“The royal train has a special carriage for pet grooming. I used to take my albino water buffalo to have his tail washed and—” Marge begins.
Before she can finish her sentence, a voice booms over the loudspeaker.
“Attention, passengers, the train is about to depart. Please stand clear of the closing doors.”
There is a gentle HUM as the train slides out of the station and gathers speed.
“Look!” Jakey points out the window at the trees and buildings whizzing past. “We are going so fast.”
We are going way faster than when I ride my bike and a lot faster than the tallest slide at school. I am definitely feeling nervous until Marge begins to sing in her warbly voice.
“It doesn’t fly in the air
or swim through the sea.
It’s longer than a car
And slower than a star.
It keeps you dry in the rain.
It’s not a coat. . . . It’s a train.”
Again a voice comes over the loudspeaker:
“Good afternoon. My name is Gerard, and I am your engineer for the day. We expect no delays.”
“Please can I drive the train?” Jakey begs.
“Of course.” Marge pats his head.
You know how grown-ups always say that something is going to happen and it doesn’t? Like when Dad says he will water Mommy’s plants or Mommy says that we can go on the fun ride outside the supermarket? Marge never does that. If Marge says Jakey will drive the train, he will. I am just not sure how safe that will be for the other passengers.
“Come on, then—let’s find Gerard, the engineer.” Marge stands up, and we make our way through the cars toward the front of the train.
Trying to walk on a moving train is a little like trying to stand up on a swing.
We keep losing our balance and having to grab onto things. At one point, I fall on top of a lady who is sleeping in her seat. Thankfully she doesn’t wake up, but Jakey gets the giggles.
Finally we reach the glass doors that lead to where the driver sits. Marge is about to slide them open when we hear a stern voice.
“Stop in the name of railroad safety!”
We turn to see Harold again.
“Exactly what do you think you are doing?” he demands.
Marge curtsies.
“My name is Margery Beauregard Victoria Ponterfois, and I am a duchess. We have a request for the driver.”
“NO ONE except the driver is allowed inside the driver’s cab. Not even a duchess,” Harold states.
“But how can Jakey drive the train from outside the driver’s cab?” Marge asks.
Harold’s face is a little bit like a balloon that’s having too much air pushed into it.
“Drive the train?” His face is going from red to purple. “This child doesn’t even have a license! Have you lost your marbles?!”
“No, but I did lose our train tickets for a moment. Thankfully, Jemima found them inside my hat.” Marge smiles.
Harold’s eyebrows look like they are sliding off his face in fury. “Passengers never drive the train!!”
“Jakey has had a lot of practice driving his toy trains actually, so there’s no need to be afraid,” Marge replies.
“I am not afraid of anything!” Harold sniffs. “Not of the dark or spiders or even loud thunder. And I’m definitely not afraid of three small children!” He marches us back to our seats.
“But I’m a grown-up,” Marge corrects him.
“Then you should know better. A child? Driving a train? What’s next, a monkey flying a spacecraft?!”
“Actually, the first animal in space was a monkey named Albert,” Marge tells him.
“Nonsense!” Harold stomps off.
We all slide glumly into our seats. I can see Jakey’s eyes are filling with water.
I feel sad too. For a moment I thought that Jakey was going to get to drive the train. It would have made him so happy and been such a wonderful story to tell our friends.
But Marge already has a plan. We are going to wear disguises! Marge calls this “going undercover,” and it means we can sneak our way back to the driver’s cab without Harold catching us.
Our babysitter’s eyes twinkle as she pulls down her suitcases.
Marge finds a blue fedora for Jakey. “Your spy name is Jake Bond.” She plonks a navy-blue beret (which is a fancy hat that French people wear) on my head. “Your spy name is Sneaky Baguette.”
Finally she finds a furry cap for herself. “And I shall be known as Stealthy Squirrel.”
Next she finds sunglasses for us all.
“Harold will still see that it is us,” I say worriedly.
But no one listens to me. “Marge is in charge!” Jakey grins.
Just as we are about to set off on the mission, Marge remembers something.
“We need to wear gloves,” she says, hunting through her suitcase, “so we don’t leave any fingerprints.”
It turns out Marge doesn’t have any gloves, so she suggests we wear socks on our hands instead. It feels a bit strange (and itchy) wearing sock mittens. Marge decides that we may have to split up if we are spotted. “I don’t want to split up!” Jakey looks scared for a second. “That bald man is very strict.”
Because he is so brave, it’s easy to forget that my little brother is only four years old.
“Don’t worry, Jake Bond. Sneaky Baguette and Stealthy Squirrel will stay with you!” I say, giving him a hug.
We move swiftly through the car, trying to not make eye contact with anyone or lose our balance. My beret keeps slipping over one eye and we are getting strange looks from people. Jakey’s polka-dot “gloves” are too big and come up to his elbows. He looks half boy, half dalmatian puppy.
Just as we are almost at the front of the train, we spy Harold collecting tickets.
“Hide!” Jakey yelps as he pulls us into the bathroom and locks the door.
This room is too small for three people. We are all squashed together like toes in a slipper. Above the sound of the engine we can hear footsteps and chatter.
Jakey slides the door open and takes a peek. “The coast is clear!”
We make a dash for it, huffing and puffing up the last bit of the car. We are about to go into the driver’s cab when
SCREEEEEECCHHHH!!!
There is a piercing sound followed by the hiss of the brakes, and we tumble forward as the train grinds to a STOP.
Gerard’s voice comes over the loudspeaker again. “Sorry for the delay. It appears that we have a problem on the tracks.”
“I’m never going to drive the train now that it’s broken!” Jakey pouts.
“Mechanical Marge to the rescue,” Marge cries.
We peer out of the window, looking for a clue. All I can see are trees and a water tower and a car on a faraway road. Jakey runs to the other side of the train to get a different view. I hope that we are not stuck for too long.
“I think the twin engine and the hover blades have sprung a leak,” Marge concludes.
“LOOK!” I say
. There, standing on the tracks and looking very relaxed, is a big brown . . . COW!
Harold is pacing up and down and doesn’t seem to have noticed that we have sneaked our way back or that we are wearing silly hats.
He faces us and all the passengers. “As you can see, there is a wild and vicious beast blocking our path, and only when it moves on can we continue with our journey.”
Wild and vicious? I am confused. I stare more closely. There is green grass all over the tracks, and the cow is chomping happily. “That cow might never move on,” I say. “The zoo will be closed by the time we get there.”
“We’ll just have to wait,” Harold warns. “It’s not safe for anyone to go out there. That monster could tear our limbs from our bodies. It could eat us alive and trample our bones!”
I shake my head. Poor Harold must be scared of cows.
“I’ve never heard of a killer cow,” Jakey whispers to Marge.
“I have,” Marge whispers back. “But that’s another story.”
Then she looks at Harold. “I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” she reminds him.
“I thought so too . . . until I saw that hairy, scary monster cow!” He starts to sob.
Marge places a socked hand on Harold’s shoulder. “Would you like us to help?” she asks. “I am incredibly fond of cattle. I once dressed up my pet cow Annabella as a ballerina and taught her to pirouette.”
Harold nods in relief. “Yes, please.”
And that’s how Jakey, Marge, and I find ourselves on the edge of the tracks, just a few minutes later, heading toward the cow.
Marge makes a weird clicking sound with her tongue and claps her hands. The cow stares at us as Marge rummages inside her backpack and pulls out our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Oh no. Mommy won’t like this one bit. Marge is giving our lunch away to stray animals!
“Yassou is Greek for ‘hello,’ and as I suspected, this is a Greek cow,” Marge tells us as she stops and gets down on all fours and MOOs at the cow.
