Think Fast

Crushed.

Devastated.

His little sleep-crumpled face betrays a child destroyed.

Lifting my foggy head from my pillow I look at him, small and fragile in the doorway, and ponder what could have brought such wretchedness so early in the day.

As the cloudy skies of deepest sleep begin to clear, the weak dawn sun of realisation lights a sense of panic rising somewhere deep inside me.

"She didn't come!" he wails.

"Are you sure?" I ask, trying to buy time to find a happy outcome to this tragedy.

"Yes! Look!"

He thrusts his little fist under my nose and uncurls his fingers. There, nestled innocently in his little palm (where it should not be) is a tiny, perfect tooth.

"Listen," I cajole, "It's still awfully early, sweetheart. Barely daytime yet. Night-time really. Is your brother still asleep?"

He nods.

"I'll sneak in and see if she's been while you've been talking to us."

He doesn't notice me take the coin from my bedside table. I am a devious mother.

I return triumphant.

"Look! She came! She must have been running REALLY late tonight. Perhaps lots and lots of little boys and girls lost teeth yesterday..."

His face is transformed. From wreckage to rapture in one wily move.

--- --- ---

At breakfast, I notice him observing me from under his eyelashes. He is puzzled.

Eventually, I ask.

"What is it, darling?"

He opens his hand again.

Anyone?