For Richard, Elinor, Ian, Stephanie and Ceri and for all of their children and grandchildren…..Oh, and for Mr. Hawkins, the best dentist in the world.

Thanks
Dyfed Davies, my old boss. Thanks for sub-editing this story and the thousands of end-of-year reports that passed through our hands.

Also to Sue Rundle-Hughes for the wonderful front cover art.

A novel aimed at 9-11 years old children.

 
“Don’t you mess around with tooth fairies, oh no, not with them,” she whispered harshly. “You give them the respect that they rightly deserve. They take something from you that you don’t need and they give something in return but don’t you mess with them. They can be nasty and they can hold a grudge. Nearly the death of me they were. You listen to me well. Don’t mess with tooth fairies. Pillow your tooth and spend the money on something for  yourself and  nobody else. If I were you, I’d be careful what you say when you’re near a gnome. I really wouldn’t trust further than I can spit.”

There was a large tear in Granny Beth’s eye on the day that I told her that I knew the truth about Santa Clause. She took one of her dainty lace handkerchiefs to wipe it away, then she took my hand and guided me to her garden. We looked out towards the park, a sparkling lake and down the valley towards the family factory. A pair of mallard ducks swooped overhead, turning gently in the distance, making for an elegant splashdown in the calm waters. She turned towards me, looking deeply into my eyes and explained, “Has your mum ever said to you that if you don’t behave yourself, if you are naughty then Santa won’t be coming to visit you?” I nodded gently, starting to get worried. Wiping away the last trace of tear, she added,  “Well, that’s true,”  and she nodded wisely. “ Parents of naughty, nasty children get sent a letter from The North Pole. Oh  yes, they do you know. I’ve seen them.  It comes on a deep black paper, black as night it is, and the writing is in a glowing green ink. It tells the parents that all Santa deliveries have been cancelled because of the behaviour of that child.” Squeezing my hand quite hard, she continued, “It even lists all of the naughty things that the child has done. Believe me, sometimes the list is enormous. Sometimes there is only one naughty item on the list, but that can be enough, believe me.” Pausing a while to fold her handkerchief she continued, “ When that happens, most parents are deeply saddened but they know that there is no turning back on the decision. So, from that moment on, they pretend that they are Santa. Some even dress the part. They creep into the child’s bedroom, quiet as mice,  to  deliver the toys on Christmas morning.”

“Oh stop telling fibs Granny Beth, “ I squealed. “You don’t expect me to believe that do you? You’ll be expecting me to believe in ghosts, pixies and the Loch Ness Monster next.”

“Oh come come,” she nodded, tapping my knee. “You really must try to be more open minded,” and with that, she gave me a smile and whispered to me, “ I was never naughty. Maybe misguided once but no, never was I naughty and because of that, Santa still delivers to me right to this day.” At this, I noticed a delightful sparkle in her now dry eyes.

“Seriously?” I asked. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that? You’ll be expecting me to believe in gnomes and tooth fairies next.”

Suddenly, she took a sharp inward gasp. Her manner changed completely and she stared straight into my eyes. She had turned deathly pale and was starting to shake. “Don’t you mess around with tooth fairies, oh no, not with them,” she whispered harshly. “You give them the respect that they rightly deserve. They take something from you that you don’t need and they give something in return but don’t you mess with them. They can be nasty and they can hold a grudge. Nearly the death of me they were, if it hadn’t been for my mum. You listen to me well. Don’t mess with tooth fairies. Pillow your tooth and spend the money on something for  yourself and  nobody else. If I were you, I’d be careful what you say when you’re near a gnome. I really wouldn’t trust further than I can spit.”

Grasping my hand firmly, she took me to a garden bench and sat me down. “Let me tell you a story. My story and your grandfather Barnaby’s story. A story from our childhood, when a silver ten pence coin would buy a large bar of chocolate and when fifty pence would keep you in chocolate until you were sick of it.”

She did too. She told me a story that took us back to her childhood, to Grandad Barnaby’s childhood, to the story of two horrible family accidents, gloves, and of a strange little man that kept rats. By the end, with the sun setting over the lake,  I was totally spellbound…..and I hope you will be too.

 
Robin Spruddge.
2016