Daisy and the Trouble with Life (15 page)

“Look, Mum, it's SHOOTER! He's alive!” she shouted, careful not to squeeze too hard. “He's been lost for ages and now I've found him again! Quick, find something for me to put him in before he starts to wriggle!”

Daisy's mum took a nervous step backwards in the direction of the kitchen drawer.

“We must take him back to Dylan right this minute!” beamed Daisy.

Daisy's mum held her best Tupperware bowl out at arm's length and then shuddered as Daisy lowered Shooter carefully inside.

“Dylan is going to be SOOOOOOOOOO pleased to see him again!” chuckled Daisy, snapping the lid of the Tupperware bowl shut.

“PLEEEEAAAAAASSSSSSSE can we go and take Shooter back to Dylan right now?”

Daisy's mum frowned. She had been awake most of the night and it had been a long and tiring day. Although being grounded had been no fun for Daisy, it had certainly been no fun for Daisy's mum either.

Having a moping, frowning, grumbling Daisy around the house all day was a bit like living with a small troll.

But rules were rules. Daisy was grounded and that should mean staying indoors, not scampering up the road to Number 38.

Daisy's mum looked at the Tupperware bowl and then deep into Daisy's pleading eyes.

“Very well, Daisy,” she sighed, “but you're still grounded the moment you get back from Dylan's.”

“It's a deal!” said Daisy, racing to the front door.

“I'll open it!” said her mum, overtaking her in the hall. “I don't want you squashing yourself against the wall again!”

After a tug and a yank and a heave-ho, the front door sprang open and Daisy raced down the path.

When she returned home ten minutes later, she was a girl transformed. From a small troll to her usual bubbly self.

“Dylan was so pleased to see Shooter again, he nearly kissed me!” she gushed. “Shooter's back in his snake tank now, but Dylan's moved it down beside his bed so he can see him. Dylan sleeps under his bed all the time now. He says sleeping under the bed in a sleeping bag is totally cool. I think Dylan's totally cool too. Trouble is, he's a bit old for me.”

Daisy's mum smiled and, with a flap of a tea towel, returned to the kitchen sink.

That's the
trouble with sausage and mash with sweetcorn and gravy
. The washing-up that comes with it.

And that's the trouble with this story. There isn't any more to tell.

So that's me done. Glad to be of service. I'm off to spin a web.

Be good, and remember: give spiders a break. You're the ugly-looking ones.

Actually there is a little bit more to the story but it will happen at bedtime, later.

That's the word I've been trying to think of all week! Mum said it in the kitchen earlier! Tiptoesgotamouse rhymes with “hippopotamus”! Now Gabby and I can write our magic spell!

I knew if I slept under my bed in a sleeping bag just like Dylan, the magic rhyming word would come into my head!

Mum said sleeping under the bed was silly, and that I should sleep under my covers like normal children. But the
trouble with normal children
is they don't have to write magic spells.

When Mum tucked me in, she made me promise I wouldn't get out of bed. She said, “If I find you asleep under the bed in the morning, Daisy, I'll pour orange squash on your cornflakes.”

She was only joking. She wouldn't dare pour orange squash on my cornflakes. At least I don't think she would.

Anyway, I'm bound to wake up before her tomorrow. She says she's so tired after rubbing my back all last night she'll probably sleep for about three hundred years.

She might even be asleep already.

“MUM!!!!! ARE YOU ASLEEP ALREADY YET??????!!!!!!”

Grunt, snuffle, yawwwwwwnnnn . . . “NOT ANY MORE I'M NOT, DAISY!”

. . .

“MUMMM!! DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC SPELLS?”

Grunt, snuffle, gasp . . . “DAISY, THE ONLY THING I BELIEVE IN IS AN EARLY NIGHT. NOW STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP!”

. . .

. . .

“MUUUUMMMMMM! I'VE GOT THE RHYMING WORD I NEED FOR MY MAGIC SPELL.”

. . .

”DAISY! WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP! THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC SPELLS!“

. . .

“MUUUMMMMMM!!!! IF YOU'RE FRIGHTENED OF HIPPOPOTAMUSES, YOU'D BETTER NOT GO INTO THE GARDEN TOMORROW!!!”

. . .

“AND IF YOU'RE FRIGHTENED OF GRUMPY MUMS WHO HAVEN'T HAD ANY SLEEP, DAISY, YOU'D BETTER NOT MAKE ANOTHER SOUND!!”

. . .

“I JUST THOUGHT I SHOULD TELL YOU ABOUT THE HIPPOPOTAMUS, THAT'S ALL.”

. . .

“DAISY. WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP! THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC SPELLS!”

. . .

Sigh. That's the
trouble with eating a germy dib-dab, being grounded, getting a runny tummy, feeling better and then trying to tell someone who hasn't had enough sleep about a cat called Tiptoes who's going to turn into a magic hippopotamus on the wall in the garden tomorrow . . .