Oopsy

It was not even Oopsy's fault, really. The cup was near the edge. Oopsy's elbow went past. The cup did the rest.

But it was Mendy's favourite cup, the one with the mended handle, and now it was in four pieces on the kitchen floor.

"Oopsy!" said Oopsy, which is what Oopsy always says. "I'll fix it!"

Oopsy found the glue. Oopsy stuck three of the pieces back. The fourth piece would not go, because a little chip of it had gone missing under the fridge and no amount of looking would bring it back.

Oopsy went and told Mendy the truth, straight away, in one go, without making it smaller.

"I broke your cup. The favourite one. I've mended it but there's a chip missing and I'm really, really sorry."

And Mendy said, "Thank you for telling me. It's alright. Cups do that."

Which should have been the end of it.

It was not the end of it.

At teatime, Oopsy was still going. "I'm so sorry about the cup."

At bedtime: "I keep thinking about the cup."

On Tuesday, two days later, Mendy found Oopsy sitting on the step with a face like a wet weekend, and said, "Is this still the cup?"

Oopsy nodded.

Mendy sat down. "You said sorry. You mended it. Those are the two hard bits and you did them both on the same day." Mendy held up the cup, three pieces and a chip missing, full of tea and working perfectly well. "There's a third bit though. You have to let yourself off."