McKenzie?’ Emily asked. ‘Are you going to bring crispspsps?’
‘Well, maybe not crisps,’ I whispered back, ‘maybe . . .’
‘Miss McKenzie, where are your Listening Ears?’ Mrs Baxter asked.
*
After Song Time that morning it was Undirected Play, the part of the morning I was supposed to supervise. Nearly all the boys went straight to the boxes containing the Hot Wheels cars, while the girls headed for the Home Corner. That was just how it was. At the sand tray two boys, Mungo and Zac, were creating a kind of cliff like the white cliffs of Dover and tipping cars over its edge.
‘Hello,’ I said, going over to them, ‘what are you two doing here?’
Mungo and Zac ceased their work in the sand for a moment.
‘We’re pushing the cars over the cliff,’ Mungo said.
‘And the cows. This cow has just died,’ Zac added, pointing to a small plastic cow, its four legs as stiff as pokers.
‘I see,’ I replied. Sometimes, I felt about as far away as I could possibly be from the mind of a five-year-old. But then something would remind me. The toy cows we had in the Portakabin were exactly like the ones I’d used to play with at home when I was little. They stood on identical patches of pretend grass. And when I looked at them, time seemed to fold up, like a telescope.
‘That’s a shame, that it died,’ I said to Zac. ‘Maybe it can come back to life later.’
Zac frowned.
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s dead. It was meant to die. It was part of the game.’
‘I see,’ I said, feeling bleak and standing up straight again. And then I moved away, in the direction of the Home Corner, which seemed at least a kinder place to be, that morning. Although, as I approached it now, I noticed that Emily Ellis’s new Barbie doll was lying prone and bare-breasted on top of the cooker. Her little car was nowhere to be seen.
There were five girls in the Home Corner, making pretend biscuits at the table.
‘You look busy in there,’ I said, stooping down at the gingham-curtained window. Sometimes, I felt like Mr Jackson in The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse , too big to squash through the door.
‘We are very busy,’ said Emily Ellis, who was standing at the table, a plastic mixing bowl in her hands. ‘We’re making biscuits. Would you like a biscuit?’
‘Oh: yes please !’ I said, with the kind of enthusiasm I had learned to perfect.
‘Here you go, then,’ she said. And she passed me an invisible biscuit through the window.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Yummy.’ It was like standing at the school serving hatch at dinner time.
‘Is your mummy coming with us on the bus tomorrow?’ I heard Jade asking Emily as I was pretending to eat.
‘No, my mum’s going to be busy tomorrow,’ Emily replied insouciantly, returning to her mixing bowl.
‘Didn’t you want your mummy to come, then?’
‘I don’t mind,’ Emily said.
‘Is your mummy going to be making cakes for the end-of-term party? My mummy’s going to be making butterfly cakes for the end-of-term party. Is your mummy going to make some cakes?’ Jade persisted, like some looped recording.
‘No,’ Emily retorted. ‘My mum’s going to be making sausages on sticks.’
‘Ha!’ I laughed. I quite liked the sound of Mrs Ellis.
‘Oh, it’s just like a little life, isn’t it? Like a little version of real life,’ Mrs Baxter exclaimed, sweeping past at that moment and glancing in through the window. And I stopped laughing. I looked through the door of the Home Corner. Everything inside it was made of wood. There was a wooden cooker, a wooden sink and wooden pots and pans. There was a wooden food mixer and a wooden toaster and wooden slices of toast.
‘I suppose it’s a bit like The Little House on the Prairie ,’ I said.
And Mrs Baxter looked at me. She looked, and glided on.
‘Miss McKenzie,’ Emily Ellis called out now, from inside the little house, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Have you, Poppet?’ I asked; and
‘Well, maybe not crisps,’ I whispered back, ‘maybe . . .’
‘Miss McKenzie, where are your Listening Ears?’ Mrs Baxter asked.
*
After Song Time that morning it was Undirected Play, the part of the morning I was supposed to supervise. Nearly all the boys went straight to the boxes containing the Hot Wheels cars, while the girls headed for the Home Corner. That was just how it was. At the sand tray two boys, Mungo and Zac, were creating a kind of cliff like the white cliffs of Dover and tipping cars over its edge.
‘Hello,’ I said, going over to them, ‘what are you two doing here?’
Mungo and Zac ceased their work in the sand for a moment.
‘We’re pushing the cars over the cliff,’ Mungo said.
‘And the cows. This cow has just died,’ Zac added, pointing to a small plastic cow, its four legs as stiff as pokers.
‘I see,’ I replied. Sometimes, I felt about as far away as I could possibly be from the mind of a five-year-old. But then something would remind me. The toy cows we had in the Portakabin were exactly like the ones I’d used to play with at home when I was little. They stood on identical patches of pretend grass. And when I looked at them, time seemed to fold up, like a telescope.
‘That’s a shame, that it died,’ I said to Zac. ‘Maybe it can come back to life later.’
Zac frowned.
‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s dead. It was meant to die. It was part of the game.’
‘I see,’ I said, feeling bleak and standing up straight again. And then I moved away, in the direction of the Home Corner, which seemed at least a kinder place to be, that morning. Although, as I approached it now, I noticed that Emily Ellis’s new Barbie doll was lying prone and bare-breasted on top of the cooker. Her little car was nowhere to be seen.
There were five girls in the Home Corner, making pretend biscuits at the table.
‘You look busy in there,’ I said, stooping down at the gingham-curtained window. Sometimes, I felt like Mr Jackson in The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse , too big to squash through the door.
‘We are very busy,’ said Emily Ellis, who was standing at the table, a plastic mixing bowl in her hands. ‘We’re making biscuits. Would you like a biscuit?’
‘Oh: yes please !’ I said, with the kind of enthusiasm I had learned to perfect.
‘Here you go, then,’ she said. And she passed me an invisible biscuit through the window.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Yummy.’ It was like standing at the school serving hatch at dinner time.
‘Is your mummy coming with us on the bus tomorrow?’ I heard Jade asking Emily as I was pretending to eat.
‘No, my mum’s going to be busy tomorrow,’ Emily replied insouciantly, returning to her mixing bowl.
‘Didn’t you want your mummy to come, then?’
‘I don’t mind,’ Emily said.
‘Is your mummy going to be making cakes for the end-of-term party? My mummy’s going to be making butterfly cakes for the end-of-term party. Is your mummy going to make some cakes?’ Jade persisted, like some looped recording.
‘No,’ Emily retorted. ‘My mum’s going to be making sausages on sticks.’
‘Ha!’ I laughed. I quite liked the sound of Mrs Ellis.
‘Oh, it’s just like a little life, isn’t it? Like a little version of real life,’ Mrs Baxter exclaimed, sweeping past at that moment and glancing in through the window. And I stopped laughing. I looked through the door of the Home Corner. Everything inside it was made of wood. There was a wooden cooker, a wooden sink and wooden pots and pans. There was a wooden food mixer and a wooden toaster and wooden slices of toast.
‘I suppose it’s a bit like The Little House on the Prairie ,’ I said.
And Mrs Baxter looked at me. She looked, and glided on.
‘Miss McKenzie,’ Emily Ellis called out now, from inside the little house, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Have you, Poppet?’ I asked; and
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