Make-Believe Magic
UPLIFTING SHORT STORY BY MARGRET GERAGHTY
From the mists of time, the murk of a wet winter day and the gloom of the attic emerges the best game ever…
“Mum, when is it going to stop raining?”
“I wish I knew, darling.” Lucy ruffled Zoe’s hair and gazed helplessly out of the kitchen window. The birdbath was overflowing and the whole garden looked like a green E-Cloth someone had forgotten to squeeze out.
“I don’t think it’s ever going to stop. Ever, ever, ever.” Zoe screwed up her small face. “And I’m bored.”
“Well, you’re going to Sienna’s house this afternoon. That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’m bored now.”
Lucy sighed. Before Zoe was born, she and husband Rob had discussed childcare. Lucy had looked forward to being a full-time mum, catching all the treasured milestones in her baby’s life.
But now Zoe was growing up fast, asking questions, running around, demanding attention, and Lucy had to admit she was finding it challenging.
She knew she was fortunate in being able to work from home on the two days Zoe went to nursery. There were also playdates with friends, but that still left a lot of time in which Lucy had to be both mum and entertainer.
The rain didn’t help.
“Why don’t we go to the park?” she said. “You could wrap up warm and wear your wellies.”
“We did that yesterday. The swings were all soggy and I was cold.”
“Well, how about doing some more of your animal sticker book?”
Zoe’s face brightened. “Yes! Animal sticker book. I like that.”
Lucy was relieved. There was no fresh air involved, which was a pity, but it would keep Zoe occupied while she tidied the kitchen. The floor was sticky with spilled porridge from Zoe’s breakfast and there was a handful of squashed blueberries beside the fridge.
Perhaps I’m just not cut out to be a mum, she thought as she squirted lemon cleaner over the tiles. Then she thought back to her own childhood and remembered that it wasn’t her mother who had thought of exciting things to do when she was Zoe’s age, but her big brother Peter – at least after school and during his holidays.
Peter was nine years older than Lucy and had a talent for making everything fun. He could do magic tricks, put on funny voices and think up the most wonderful games, usually involving pirates or highwaymen.
Lucy had vivid memories of playing hide and seek in the garden, which always ended with Peter leaping out from behind a bush or the dustbin like Cato in the Pink Panther films. Lucy would shriek and demand they have another go.
But what did they do when it was raining? It was odd, but in her memories of Peter, the sun was always shining.
Well, there was one way to find out. Peter had married a Scandinavian woman and gone to live in Kongsberg in Norway. They kept in touch, though.
She would FaceTime him later after she’d taken Zoe to play with Sienna.
Peter answered immediately.
“Well, hello there!” He grinned and gave his mouth a hasty wipe. “You’ve caught me eating a cinnamon roll.”
Through the window behind him, Lucy could see snow falling in what seemed like a magical wonderland. If only it would snow here, she thought. Then Zoe could use the little sledge she’d had for Christmas.
Lucy explained her problem and Peter thought for a moment.
“Hmm,” he said.
I can’t remember what we did when the weather wasn’t great. Wasn’t it always sunny?
Lucy laughed. “That’s what I thought, but it must have rained sometime.”
Suddenly Peter snapped his fingers.
“I do remember us playing something inspired by The Owl and The Pussycat. You know – that poem by Edward Lear? It was in one of your books.”
“I know that poem,” Lucy said. “They went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat. And there was honey and money, too.”
“Well, we didn’t have any honey – or a boat, for that matter. I just improvised. We sat in your paddling pool – which was green – in the garden and went to look for buried treasure on an island.”
“Er… did our garden have an island?”
Peter laughed.
“No, that was the rockery. I’d hidden my moneybox with some coins under one of the stones. We took a real picnic, though. The idea was that we’d eat that, then I’d ‘anchor’ the boat and you’d search for the treasure.”
Lucy was dubious. “In the rain?”
“Oh, it wasn’t raining to begin with. It was lovely and sunny, but there was a cloudburst just as we were unpacking the picnic. I was all for going inside, but you said it didn’t matter because tomato sandwiches were always a bit mushy.”
“Mushy tomato sandwiches!” Lucy had a sudden flash of recognition. She still loved them and now she knew why. “Then didn’t the rain get worse and you ran indoors for Mum’s plastic tablecloth to cover our heads?”
“Yes, but it blew off and landed on the neighbour’s veg patch. Mum gave me a right telling-off about that. Made me go round and apologise.” He grinned.
But it was worth it just to see the look on your face. You found the treasure, too. Took a while and you were covered in mud, but you were a determined little thing. Good imagination – but that’s kids for you.
Lucy laughed. “Did Mum tell you off about the mud?”
“Probably, but she was used to us coming in looking like we’d been through an army assault course.” He glanced at his watch. “Sorry sis, I’ve got a work meeting in five, so I’ll have to go.
“Give Zoe a hug for me – and regards to Rob. We’ll talk again soon, OK?”
And he was gone.
Later that afternoon, Sienna’s mother brought Zoe back home. Zoe ran into the house, all flushed and bubbling with excitement. Lucy laughed.
“Looks like someone had fun.”
“Sienna has a beach hut in her garden! We played in there and we had strawberry ice cream.”
Lucy made mock-shivering noises.
Wasn’t it a bit cold for ice cream?
Zoe looked at her in the scornful way only children can manage. “You always have ice cream at the beach.”
“I suppose you do, yes. Silly me.”
Lucy had seen the beach hut. It was really an old garden shed, but Sienna’s parents were both keen DIYers and liked nothing better than a project.
They’d painted the shed in candy-stripe colours, hung a lifebelt above the door and scattered a bag of white pebbles from the garden centre around the base. They’d even pinned a vintage ice cream sign to one of the walls, which – Lucy had to admit – did give the shed a real seaside vibe.
And it was then that Lucy had her idea. Peter was right. Imagination could turn anything into anything. Sheds could become beach huts, paddling pools could become boats and rockeries could be treasure islands.
Lucy and Rob didn’t have any of those things to hand, but she had thought of something else that just might work its magic.
She put her ideas to Rob when he came home from work that evening, and after Zoe had gone to bed, he went up into the loft and brought down the small tent they’d once used to go camping in the New Forest. Luckily it was the perfect domed shape.
“Let’s get it out into the garden,” said Rob, after they’d given it a wipe down with a damp cloth. “We need to drape something over it.”
Lucy nodded. She was remembering her Mum’s plastic tablecloth.
“I think I know what might work – if we’ve still got it.”
She ran upstairs and came down with an old white shower curtain that had seen better days.
“What do you think?”
Rob gave her a thumbs up.
“Now we need a way to attach it.”
“I know!” Lucy said. “That self-adhesive Velcro tape we used to stop the rug slipping on the hall floor?”
They spent the rest of the evening tweaking the details. When they’d finished, Lucy had to admit she was pleased with the result. Of course, the person whose opinion mattered the most was lost in dreamland, one hand cradling her face, a slight smile on her mouth.
When Lucy came downstairs the following morning and looked out through the conservatory window, her spirits fell.
The rain had turned to mist, but what had seemed so promising last night in the dark was now a messy eyesore. Even Peter would have a hard time selling this to a small child, she thought.
Mum, what is that?
Zoe had appeared beside her, a perplexed frown on her face.
Lucy took a deep breath and said, “It’s an igloo.”
“What’s a gloo?”
“It’s a little house or shelter made of blocks of ice. You find them in very cold places, like the North Pole. But this one is special. It’s an igloo café and you,” she touched the tip of Zoe’s nose, “are the café owner.”
Zoe continued to stare at the tent. After a moment, she turned to Lucy and said, “Can I look inside?”
Relief flooded Lucy.
“Of course, darling. But before we go out, let’s get you into a nice thick jersey, some gloves and a raincoat.”
Zoe was enchanted. The tent was small, but then so was she. Lucy and Rob had placed her small toy cooker inside, and a rug on the floor, but that still left room for a tea set and a collection of soft-toy “customers” – floppy-eared bunnies, dogs and even a penguin. They were still indoors, waiting for Zoe to transport them to the café on her sledge.
“You’ll need a cook or a chef,” Lucy said. “Maybe you’d like to interview teddy to see if he’s suitable?”
Zoe shook her head.
Pengy would be better. He’ll know what people at the North Pole like to eat.
“Very sensible,” Lucy said.
The game proved to be a winner. Zoe loved being in charge and made numerous sledge journeys back and forth with different customers.
Pancakes proved a popular request, which just so happened to be one of Zoe’s own favourite treats.
“I’m going to tell Sienna about the café in the gloo,” she said, while Lucy and Rob were settling her in bed for the night. “It’s the best game in the world.”
“I think you scored a hit there, love,” said Rob as they went back downstairs.
“Not just me,” Lucy said generously. “It was your idea to use the sledge, and make-believe played its part.”
The next morning, Lucy woke to Zoe shaking her by the shoulder.
“Come and look!” she squealed. “The gloo café is real.”
Mystified, Lucy went to the window and caught her breath. Overnight, there’d been a gentle sprinkling of snow which had dusted a layer of ice crystals over the camping tent, and now it really did look like a proper igloo.
“I’m going to build a snowman,” declared Zoe.
Lucy was about to point out that the snow wasn’t thick enough for that, but she stopped herself. It was a magic moment, and in a child’s imagination, anything was possible.
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