Squirmy's Day

I heard about Rainbow at about twenty past six and by twenty-two past six I was in Snoozy's bedroom.

"Lanterns! All the way down the path! All day! Are you coming? Come on, Snoozy, it's the best day of the whole year —"

"It is dark," said Snoozy, "outside."

And it was. It was properly dark. I had not noticed, because when the fizz is up I do not notice things like what time it is or whether a fluff who needs more sleep than anybody in Candyfloss Land has had any.

Snoozy sat on the edge of the bed and did three slow yawns before saying anything else, which I now understand was Snoozy being careful with me, and at the time I thought was Snoozy being slow.

Then Snoozy said, "You go. Do the path. I'll do the end of the path," and I said "that's not a job", and Snoozy said, "It is the job, at the end."

I went off up the lane at a run feeling pleased with myself.

Tidy was explaining the plan at the gatepost, in order, with pictures. It was a good plan. I could see it was a good plan.

I could also feel both feet doing a small independent dance, and a fizz travelling up from my ankles, and an absolutely powerful need to be anywhere doing anything.

"First this," Tidy was saying, "then that."

I made it to then that.

"Sorry," I said, already moving. "Sorry. Back in a minute."

Ten big jumps at the end of the lane. Ten proper ones, arms and all. Then back, and another whole minute of the briefing, which is not nothing, and then off again.

Zenny had been sitting at the edge of all this being perfectly still, watching me do that twice, and said — quietly, not to the yard, just to me:

"Squirmy. What's the job at the far end?"

"Carrying. All the way past the orchard and back. Loads of it. Miles."

"Mm," said Zenny, and went back to being still.

That is all that happened. Zenny did not tell me to sit down, or to try harder, or to go and be somewhere else, all of which I have heard a great deal of and none of which has ever once worked. Zenny asked me where the running was.

So I went and took the far-end carrying job off a fluff who had been dreading it, and did it twice over before lunch, singing.

Everybody said afterwards that the far end went up faster than anyone expected. I never did find out what was on the fourth picture of Tidy's plan.

I danced. Obviously I danced. Jitters sang the welcome twice and then a third time because we all shouted for it, and by the third one there were about nine of us up, and I had got a whole corner of Winky's front room going.

Then at about half past ten I went and found Snoozy on the window seat.

"I woke you up," I said. "This morning. It was dark and you weren't ready and I did it anyway because I couldn't hold it in."

Snoozy looked at me for a bit and said, "You did."

Not it's fine. Not don't worry. Just: you did.

And then Snoozy moved along the window seat, which is the most Snoozy way of accepting an apology that has ever been invented, and I sat down on it for about four minutes, which is my personal record for that piece of furniture.

Beamy read the envelope out. Squirmy — far end, twice, before lunch. And the far end is the bit nobody thanks you for, because nobody walks it until it is dark.