Neaty

Neaty had painted the tree nine times.

Painting one: a leaf was wrong. Screwed up, in the bin.

Painting two: the trunk went wobbly at the bottom. Bin.

Paintings three to eight: various crimes, all of them tiny, none of which anybody else on this earth would have noticed.

Painting nine was, if Neaty was honest, rather beautiful. Except for one green bit at the edge, where the brush had gone slightly further than Neaty intended.

Neaty picked it up to screw it up.

"Don't," said Sparkly.

"There's a green bit."

"I know. I'm looking at it. It's a tree, Neaty. Trees have green bits." Sparkly took the painting gently out of Neaty's paws. "How long have you been doing this?"

Neaty looked at the clock and was genuinely startled. "Four hours."

"For a picture of a tree."

Neaty's chin went tight. "If it's not right there's no point doing it."

And Sparkly, who worries plenty behind the sparkle and therefore knows exactly what this is, said the useful thing.

"Nothing you ever make is going to be perfect. Not one single thing, ever, for your whole life. So either you never finish anything, or you get to have nine lovely trees."

They looked at the bin, which had eight tolerably lovely trees in it.

Neaty went a bit pink.

"Give yourself a star," said Sparkly. "Not for perfect. For done."

So Neaty drew a small star in the corner of painting nine, next to the green bit, and put it on the wall.

It has been there ever since. Visitors say it is the nicest thing in the house. Three of them have asked about the little star, and one has asked about the green bit, and Neaty has learned to say "that's my favourite part" and almost mean it.

Neaty still takes more care than anybody in Candyfloss Land. That is a gift, and the tiny things Neaty notices are what make Neaty's work beautiful.

But the star now goes on when it is done, not when it is perfect.