‘No, you’re not allowed,’ said Timothy, ‘ ’cos it’s my birthday.’
‘Not much fun if we can’t win,’ said Richard, a chubby boy with a round red face.
‘I wouldn’t win anyway,’ said Trevor, a tiny boy who’d already cried twice in the garden.
‘Hunt the thimble!’ cried Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘Everybody leave the room while I hide it!’
And everybody left the room, though Richard and Trevor tried to leave it together, which resulted in a rather squashed Trevor having his third cry of the day.
‘Ready!’ called Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, and everybody re-entered the room, with Timothy pushing through the door first and Trevor and Jeremy James waiting until it was safe, which meant until Richard had gone in.
‘Who’s warmest, Mummy?’ asked Timothy.
‘Jeremy,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
And as Jeremy James turned round to tell her his name was Jeremy James, there was a blur of ginger, and Jeremy James found himself flat on his back next to the piano.
‘Got it!’ shouted Timothy. ‘I got it! Here it is! I got it!’
‘Oh well done, dear!’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘But try not to knock Jeremy down next time.’
Jeremy James rose to his feet and watched Timothy collect his bar of chocolate.
‘If he hadn’t gone and knocked me over, I’d have had that chocolate,’ he said to little Trevor. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Now we’re going to stick the tail on the donkey,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
‘I’ll go last,’ said Timothy.
‘Right, now who’s going first?’ asked Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘Come along, Jeremy.’
‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James.
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, tying the blindfold over his eyes and spinning him round twice. ‘There you are, Jeremy. Now try and put the tail on the donkey.’
There were hoots of laughter as Jeremy James proceeded to stick the tail on the donkey’s nose. And the hoots of laughter continued as each boy in turn stabbed the donkey where it shouldn’t have been stabbed. Trevor was the nearest – sticking it on the donkey’s back leg – until Timothy received the blindfold. He walked straight up to the wall, and without a moment’s hesitation stuck the tail in exactly the right position.
‘Oh well done, dear!’ cried Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, and Timothy collected his second bar of chocolate.
‘The blindfold wasn’t on properly,’ said Richard quietly.
‘I was winning that,’ said little Trevor sadly.
‘None of us’ll win anything,’ said Jeremy James miserably.
And as the afternoon went on, it looked as though he was going to be right. Timothy won all the memory games and all the guessing games, never making a single mistake.
Timothy also won Musical Chairs. He shouldn’t have won it, because when he and a boy called Rodney were the last ones left, Timothy sat down before the music stopped, but his Mummy saw that he’d sat down and then she stopped the music. Everybody said that was unfair, but Timothy said it was his party, and his Mummy said it was his birthday and they should be nice to him and it had been such a lovely party and they shouldn’t quarrel, and Timothy said if they didn’t let him win they could jolly well go home, and his Mummy said, ‘There, there, darling,’ and gave him an extra bar of chocolate to comfort him, and then announced that the prize for the last game would be three bars of chocolate, which cheered everybody up.
‘I’m going to win it,’ said Timothy, which cheered everybody down.
The game was Musical Statues. Mrs Smyth-Fortescue would play the piano, and when she stopped, everybody would stand still, but whoever moved after she had stopped would be out. The last one left would be the winner. As she started playing, all the boys started walking, and there were lots of determined faces moving round the room. But with each pause in the music, determination gave way to disappointment and more drooping figures sat down next to the wall. Finally, there were just three boys left: Timothy, Trevor, and Jeremy James (though twice Timothy had moved but he said he hadn’t and his Mummy didn’t think he had either). Round they went, to the merry tinkle of the piano, and Jeremy James could feel that Timothy was right behind him. He walked faster, but Timothy was still there. He walked slower, and . . . the piano stopped. Bump! Jeremy James went flying, while Timothy, who had walked straight into him, stood as stiff as a candle on a birthday cake.
‘Oh bad luck, Jeremy!’ called Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
‘It wasn’t bad luck,’ said Jeremy James, ‘he knocked me over.’
‘Very bad luck,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘On we go! I wonder who’s going to win!’
‘Hmmmph!’ said Jeremy James, very loud, and slumped down on the floor next to Richard. ‘It’s obvious who’s going to win. He’s going to win. Because she’s going to let him win.’
‘It’s a rotten party,’ said Richard. ‘I wish I hadn’t come.’
There were more merry tinkles from the piano, and then the music stopped. But just as it stopped, Jeremy James noticed something, and what he noticed was to make the rotten party into a good party after all. He noticed that Trevor had stopped quite still on the far side of the room, and Timothy had stopped quite still on Jeremy James’s side. But whereas Trevor was standing on the shiny wooden floor, Timothy was standing on the edge of a round woollen rug. And the round woollen rug reached just as far as where Jeremy James was sitting, and the edge of it was a mere inch away from his right hand. And Jeremy James’s right hand took an immediate decision. It grasped the edge of the round woollen rug, and gave it a quick, hard jerk.
‘He moved!’ cried a dozen voices, and a dozen fingers pointed as Timothy wobbled, staggered, almost fell, and then righted himself and pretended nothing had happened.
‘I didn’t!’ said Timothy.
‘I’m afraid you did, dear,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
‘We all saw you,’ said Jeremy James.
‘It wasn’t me,’ said Timothy, ‘it was the floor. The floor moved.’
‘No, the floor couldn’t have moved, dear,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
‘It did, it did!’ said Timothy. ‘The floor moved! I felt it! I know what it was! It was the rug!’
Jeremy James frowned.
‘Richard pulled the rug!’
Jeremy James stopped frowning.
‘It was Richard pulling the rug! It was, Mummy! Ask him! Richard pulled the rug, Mummy!’
‘Now then, Richard,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, ‘is that true? Did you pull the rug, dear!’
‘No I didn’t,’ said Richard.
‘He did!’ said Timothy.
‘I didn’t!’ said Richard.
‘Jeremy,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, ‘did you see Richard pull the rug?’
‘No, Mrs Smyth-Fortisook,’ said Jeremy James, ‘he couldn’t have done ’cos I’m sitting next to him and I’d have seen him. He didn’t pull it. Definitely!’
‘Very well,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue. ‘Here you are, Trevor. Come and collect your prize.’
And a dozen voices let out a loud cheer as Trevor collected his three bars of chocolate.
‘It’s not fair!’ wailed Timothy. ‘They cheated! It’s not fair!’
‘Time for everybody to go home now!’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
Timothy stamped his foot, stormed out of the room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Mrs Smyth-Fortescue was taking some of the children home by car, but Jeremy James, Trevor and Richard all lived nearby, so they left together.
‘Thank you for the nice party, Mrs Smyth-Forkisuit,’ said Jeremy James before they went.
‘Glad you enjoyed it, Jeremy,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue, giving each of them a balloon and a piece of birthday cake.
‘Jeremy James,’ said Jeremy James.
‘That’s right,’ said Mrs Smyth-Fortescue.
Jeremy James, Trevor and Richard walked together to Jeremy J
ames’s front gate. Trevor was loaded down with his balloon, his cake, and his three bars of chocolate, but he had a very important question to ask before they parted company.
‘Richard,’ he said, ‘did you pull the rug?’
‘No,’ said Richard, ‘I didn’t.’
‘But I did,’ said Jeremy James.
And as they all laughed, Trevor looked at his bars of chocolate, looked at Richard’s face, looked at Jeremy James’s face, and then looked at his chocolate again.
‘Here,’ he said. ‘I think we all deserve a prize.’ And he gave each of them a bar of chocolate.
‘Was it a nice party, dear?’ asked Mummy, opening the door for Jeremy James.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I won a bar of chocolate.’
‘And what did you win that for?’ asked Mummy.
Jeremy James thought for a moment. ‘Pulling the rug,’ he said.
But that was a game Mummy had never heard of.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Tooth Dragon
Jeremy James had toothache. It was a tooth over on the right-hand side of his mouth, and without a doubt it was his favourite chocolate-crunching, liquorice allsort-munching tooth. Mummy said it had probably been crunching too much chocolate and too many liquorice allsorts, and that was why it was hurting, but Jeremy James reckoned it was too many potatoes and too much cabbage that had done the damage. After all, it was his tooth, so he should know what was good and bad for it. But at the moment, he had to confess, the favourite tooth had as little enthusiasm for chocolate and liquorice allsorts as it had for potatoes and cabbage. It couldn’t munch, and it couldn’t crunch. All it could do was ache.
‘Is it very bad?’ asked Mummy at breakfast, as Jeremy James’s teeth and tongue wrestled with a cornflake.
Jeremy James pulled a face like a crumpled chocolate wrapper. ‘Very, very bad,’ he said. Then he remembered something Daddy had said once, when Mummy asked him how he was after he’d mistaken his thumb for the picture hook. ‘It’s agony,’ said Jeremy James, ‘blooming agony.’
‘I’ll ring Mr Pulham,’ said Mummy.
‘Who’s Mr Pulham?’ asked Daddy.
‘The dentist!’ said Mummy.
‘Ah yes,’ said Daddy. ‘I believe he’s of American extraction. What they call a Yank.’
Mummy and Daddy both laughed, but Jeremy James remained very serious, because toothache is no laughing matter.
‘Will it hurt?’ asked Jeremy James, as he and Mummy pushed the twins along in their pram.
‘Not much,’ said Mummy.
‘How much?’ asked Jeremy James.
‘Not as much as it’s hurting now,’ said Mummy. ‘And afterwards it’ll stop hurting altogether.’
That didn’t sound like a lot of hurt, but even a little hurt can be quite painful.
‘How do you know how much it’s hurting now?’ he asked.
‘Hmmmph!’ said Mummy. ‘Well, you said it was blooming agony, so it must be hurting quite a lot. Anyway, you stop worrying about it, and if you’re a good boy and you don’t cry, I’ll give you a nice little bar of chocolate afterwards.’
Jeremy James would have preferred a nice big bar of chocolate, but even a little bar was worth not crying for.
Mr Pulham the dentist was a jolly looking man with a round face, and round spectacles, and a round body which was wrapped up in a long white coat. When the lady assistant took Jeremy James into the surgery (Mummy and the twins stayed in the waiting room), Mr Pulham was already smiling.
‘Hello, Jeremy James,’ said Mr Pulham, ‘and how are you today?’
‘I’ve got toothache,’ said Jeremy James.
‘Jolly good,’ said Mr Pulham, and gave an even bigger smile.
‘He’s a little bit deaf,’ whispered the assistant, ‘so you’ll have to speak louder.’
‘I’ve got toothache!’ shouted Jeremy James.
‘Ah,’ said Mr Pulham, ‘then you’ve come to the right place. You come and sit here, then, Jeremy James.’
Jeremy James sat down in a big black shiny chair, and the lady assistant stood beside him and gave his hand a little squeeze.
‘Hold tight,’ said Mr Pulham, and pressed a button. Then Jeremy James suddenly found himself lying down instead of sitting up. Mr Pulham pressed another button, and Jeremy James felt the chair going up in the air.
‘Gosh, it’s like a space rocket!’ shouted Jeremy James.
‘That’s right,’ said Mr Pulham with a smile. ‘For exploring the molar system. Now then, open wide.’
Jeremy James opened his mouth so wide that his face almost disappeared.
‘My word,’ said Mr Pulham, ‘I could almost climb in there and walk around.’
Then he poked and prodded Jeremy James’s teeth until he came to the most important one, and this he poked and prodded even more than the others, which proved that it was a very special tooth. It also proved that the dentist knew just where to poke and prod.
‘Glug!’ said Jeremy James.
‘Aha!’ said the dentist. ‘Oho, mhm, ts, ts.’
Then he straightened up and nodded his head. ‘Is that the one, Jeremy James?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I think I’ve been eating too many potatoes and too much cabbage.’
But the dentist didn’t seem to hear, because he turned away and pulled over a long sharp instrument which let out a loud hum.
‘Now then,’ said Mr Pulham, ‘what I’m holding here is a magic sword, called a drill. And inside your tooth is a nasty little dragon whose name is Decay. And that dragon is busy eating your tooth, and that’s what’s hurting you. So while the dragon’s busy eating away, I’m going to creep up on him, and kill him with this magic sword. Only you must keep absolutely still, because if you move, he’ll know we’re after him and he’ll hide away. Right?’
‘Right,’ said Jeremy James.
‘Open up again,’ said the dentist. ‘And let’s catch the dragon in the cave.’
And Jeremy James opened up the cave till his chin nearly tickled his chest. ‘Whirr!’ went the magic sword, and Jeremy James knew straight away that this was not the sort of magic he liked. It made a nasty noise, had a nasty feel, and gave off a nasty smell. The lady assistant squeezed his hand again.
‘Whizz!’ went the sword, and Jeremy James tried to think about the bar of chocolate he’d be getting when the dragon was dead.
And then suddenly the sword stopped humming.
‘That’s it,’ said the dentist. ‘Killed him dead as a denture. Wash him out now, Jeremy James.’
The assistant gave Jeremy James a glass. He washed out his mouth and saw little bits and pieces of something disappear down the pan.
‘That didn’t look much like a dragon,’ said Jeremy James.
‘What’s that?’ asked the dentist.
‘I said he didn’t look much like a dragon!’ shouted Jeremy James.
‘Nor would you if you’d had a fight with my magic sword,’ said Mr Pulham. ‘Now you lie back again, because we’re going to have to fill in the hole the dragon made.’
So Jeremy James lay back while the dentist put some funny-tasting things in his mouth, and did a little more poking and prodding and scraping. Jeremy James thought about his bar of chocolate again, and decided that this was the easiest way of getting chocolate that he’d ever come across. All he had to do was lie still with his mouth open. And he reckoned he could lie still with his mouth open all day long if necessary. If Mummy were to offer him a really giant bar of chocolate, he could even break the world record for lying still with his mouth open.
‘Good lad,’ said the dentist, taking all the funny things out of Jeremy James’s mouth. ‘Rinse it out again.’
The dentist went with Jeremy James to the waiting room, where Mummy sat holding Christopher in one arm and Jennifer in the other. She was joggling them up and down, and Jennifer was giggling, and Christopher was scowling.
‘All done,’ said Mr Pulham. ‘Best pat
ient I’ve had all day. He’s as bright as a gold filling, aren’t you, Jeremy James?’
‘Well, it was quite easy,’ said Jeremy James. ‘I just thought about my bar of chocolate.
‘What’s that?’ said the dentist. ‘Now then, nothing to eat for two hours, and stay off the sweeties, Jeremy James, eh? Dragons always like sweet things, and you don’t want any more dragons in there, do you?’
‘Well, no-o, but . . .’ Jeremy James didn’t finish his sentence, because he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say, and even if he had been, the dentist probably wouldn’t have heard anyway.
‘Mummy,’ said Jeremy James, as he and Mummy pushed the twins homewards in the pram, ‘will I have a bar of chocolate every time I go to the dentist’s?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Mummy. ‘You heard what the dentist said – chocolate’s bad for your teeth.’
‘But if I do get another dragon in there, will you give me a bar of chocolate for not crying?’
‘Maybe,’ said Mummy – which was another typical Mummy reply. ‘Let’s hope you won’t get any more dragons, though. You don’t want any more of that blooming agony, do you?’
Jeremy James had to admit he would prefer to do without the blooming agony. But on the other hand, lying still with your mouth open was such a nice way of earning chocolate, and if you had to have a dragon before you could not-cry at the dentist’s well . . . hmmph . . .
‘Maybe,’ said Jeremy James. ‘We’ll see.’
CHAPTER SIX
The Strike
Mummy, Jeremy James and the twins were out for a walk. The twins sat cushioned in their pram like a prince and princess in their carriage, Jeremy James pretended he was a racing driver and pushed them as fast as he could, and Mummy occasionally steered or braked when silly pedestrians got in the way. Of course Mummy didn’t know that Jeremy James was the world champion driver who could deliberately miss toddlers, old men and fat ladies by a couple of inches when he wanted to – otherwise she would never have interfered.
They had almost reached the park when they heard the distant oompah-oompah of a brass band, and as Jeremy James wanted to see the soldiers, they walked on in the direction of the sound. However, there were no soldiers at all, but a band and a large crowd of ordinary men and women carrying banners and shouting things like: ‘We want more!’ and ‘We want it now!’ and ‘Up with our wages!’ and ‘Down with the Government!’ Mummy explained to Jeremy James that these were workers, and they were on strike. Jeremy James wanted to know what ‘on strike’ meant, and Mummy explained that it meant not working. Then Jeremy James wanted to know how you could be a worker and not work, and Mummy said that was a very good question.
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