The Adventures of Sammy Watkins

[Sandra B]

Exploit the First: Charlotte

We all know the scenario.  You’re a young boy with a tendency to mischief and a familiarity with a range of bad language.  Your mother will stoop to the lowest subterfuge to foil your schemes, if she can divine what they are, deny your right to free expression, and generally make life difficult for you.  Her best friend is equally malevolent, and the two of them may frequently be seen plotting together, like two gleeful witches.  It’s a wonder they don’t have a cauldron stashed in the garage or somewhere.  Worst of all, this friend has a daughter, an annoying little girl a couple of years younger than yourself, who seems to have taken a solemn oath that she will dedicate her life to the sole purpose of plaguing and provoking you to death.  So you might have guessed – had you read any stories in which such a conjunction of factors occurs – that trips to this friend’s house would one day end in disaster.
 
And the annoying thing was, he was only going because, when his mother had suggested it, he had been distracted by the game he was playing, and had failed to come up with a suitable excuse within the period she had allotted for a reply – that is to say, immediately.  He had made a bold bid to recover the situation, by suggesting he had a prior appointment with his friend Michael; a poor choice, since, as his mother cheerfully reminded him, Michael and his parents had gone away that very Saturday for the week.  So here he was, trotting along the street in the sunshine, when he could otherwise have been ensconced in his room with his computer and a giant bag of crisps, the curtains tightly drawn. His only distractions consisted in assessing the possibility of injuring little Daphne in some minor way, whilst escaping blame, and cogitating on the important question whether, it being Saturday, her mother had laid in a variety of sweetmeats in preparation for the weekend.
Sammy Watkins was small for his age, which was twelve, with an interesting combination of brown eyes and scruffy blonde hair, and therefore not much taller than Daphne, who was only nine, though her birthday was the following week.  That thought checked for a moment his malicious scheming, since her birthday parties were famous for the variety and quantity of food and drink available, and invitations were eagerly sought by her friends and acquaintances alike.  Anyway, Sammy knew he would be okay, being the only boy amongst those her mother counted as her daughter's friends, and therefore, by the requirements of diversity, being indispensable, despite their occasionally abrasive relationship. 
Upon arrival, the two mothers greeted each other with effusive exclamations.  The visit, under the pretext of allowing the children to play together, was in truth as much for the convenience and pleasure of the mothers.  Sammy was focussed on the presence or absence of food, and, whilst keeping his distance from Daphne, was able to detect some interesting-looking crumbs in the vicinity of her mouth.  That looked promising, so he provided the necessary catalyst for the appearance of the source of those crumbs.
“Mum,” he whined, “I’m hungry.  I didn’t have much breakfast…”  Which would have been the truth, had he been a young carthorse.
Daphne’s mother was eager to satisfy his wants and remove any excuse for later interruptions.
“Darling, I’ve just baked some cakes.  They’re in the kitchen.  Help yourself.”
“Mum!” protested Daphne.  “Don’t tell him that!  He'll scoff up the whole lot!”
“Now Sammy,” his mother intervened, “you may have two of Patricia’s cakes.  Two, and no more, mind.  Do you understand?”
“Yes, mum,” he threw back, as he headed for the kitchen.  He understood, but understanding was not the same as complying.  However, Daphne was in hot pursuit.
“He eats such a lot,” smiled Vivien Watkins apologetically.  “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, would you?”
“Don’t worry, Viv.  He’ll suddenly spurt up one day, and you'll be bankrupted trying to buy him clothes,” replied Patricia Bishop, encouragingly.
“I suppose so…”

In the kitchen, Sammy had eaten his allowance, but predictably, given the deliciousness of Mrs Bishop’s cakes, was unable to restrain himself from gobbling up two more.
“I’m telling your mum,” said Daphne, triumphantly.
“No, Daphne, please…”
Sammy could deal with a telling-off.  Water off a duck’s back.  What he didn’t like, was being told off in front of Daphne.  His mother had done it before, and she always managed to say something particularly humiliating, which Daphne would latch onto.  Last time it was, “If you pull Daphne’s skirt once again, I’ll put you in a pair of girl’s panties for the rest of the week!”  This had delighted Daphne, and she referred to it for weeks after as a sort of threat should he misbehave.
“Please, Daphne.  We can go and play if you want…”
The bribe worked.
“Okay.  Come upstairs and let’s play with my dolls.”
With a sigh, Sammy followed his friend up to her room.  Her dolls were scattered around everywhere, in every conceivable posture.  He remarked that in general they looked tired, and may not want to be played with, but Daphne pointedly ignored him. 
Now you may have been wondering who the titular heroĂŻne of this story was, and if and when she was going to appear on the stage.  Charlotte was Daphne’s most favourite doll.  She was propped up against Daphne’s pillow, with an expression of unalterable innocent happiness of her face.  She had a variety of costumes, but today she was a ballet dancer, in a yellow leotard and yellow leg-warmers, with a yellow bandana around her shock of curly yellow hair.  Sammy stared at her.  Charlotte stared back.  She seemed to be mocking him on behalf of her owner, or daring him to do something naughty. 
“Let’s play tea-parties,” said Daphne.  So they played tea-parties.  It was one tea-party, as it turned out, but all the dolls were invited, and it seemed interminable.  Eventually even Daphne had played the game for long enough, and suggested the dolls should at last all go to bed and sleep for a few minutes, which apparently was the most time a doll needed to sleep in a day.  Sammy would have been happy for them to sleep forever, but he was corralled into arranging them all in comfortable positions in the bed and on the chairs.  All except Charlotte.  Because Daphne so loved Charlotte, that she had kept her original box, and she always had to sleep in that next to Daphne’s bed.  It was a pink box with padded pink satin lining.  The lid, also pink, with her name at the foot and a clear plastic window, lay next to it.
After all the dolls were asleep, Daphne suggested they after their nap they should next organise a dress-up session for them.  Poor Sammy felt he could take no more, so he came up with a counter suggestion, namely that some of the dolls should play hide-and-seek.  At least this would involve some running round the house, and get him out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of Daphne’s bedroom.  To his surprise, she agreed, and even seemed quite enthusiastic.  It worked like this.  One of them would hide a doll in one of the rooms, and tell the other which doll and which room it was.  The other then had five minutes to find the doll.  Success led to the seeker becoming the hider.  Failure, to the seeker remaining the seeker.  They played quite happily for a while.  Sammy was more often the winner, by virtue of his greater cunning and his willingness to toss a doll onto the top of a wardrobe, or hang her out of the window on a length of string.  Vivien and Patricia were pleasantly surprised to see the children playing together so nicely for once, and leaving them to their coffee, cakes, and gossip.
But then Sammy decided to enlarge the boundaries a little.  While Daphne covered her eyes, he sneaked Charlotte out of her box and ran downstairs, through the lounge, through the kitchen, and out into the garden.  Vivien must have had a faint premonition of trouble, because she shouted after him, “Sammy?  Where are you off to with Charlotte?”  But he was gone and away.
His plan had been to lodge her in the branch of one of the trees, but he thought she might be bored up there, so instead he ran round the side of the house to the front garden to look for a hiding-place.  The front was just lawn, however, with no secret nooks.  He was about to turn back, when he had a great idea.  Hide her in plain sight.  And she could also entertain, and be entertained by, the passers-by.  So without any real malice, the sat here on the front wall, looking out into the street.  When he got back, Daphne was already in the lounge, her eyes full of tears.
“Where’s Charlotte?” she wailed.  “What have you done with her?”
“What’s up?  She in the garden, isn’t she?”
Daphne rushed in the garden and began running from one bush to another, one tree to the next.  Sammy allowed her to waste five minutes, then shouted in triumph,
“Five minutes!  You’ve lost again, Daph!  She’s not there!”
“Where is she?” sobbed Daphne.  “Where’s my Charlotte?”
Now Vivien and Patricia issued forth from the kitchen.  His mother was not happy.
“Sammy!  Tell Daphne where she is at once!”
He perceived the joke was over.
“Front garden,” he said.  “I never said she was in the back garden, did I?”
Daphne hurled herself around the side of the house, the women following, Sammy in the rear.
“Stupid doll,” he murmured.
“Where is she?” Daphne was screaming.
“Open your eyes and look on the wall, stupid.”
“Where?”
Sammy pointed to the place he had left her, but there was nothing there.  He went out of the gate, fully expecting she had fallen into the street, but there was nothing there either.  He began to feel uneasy.
“She was right there…” he said, in a defensive tone.
“You left her on the wall?” asked his mother, in disbelief.  “On the wall?  Are you stupid?  Whatever were you thinking?”
Daphne, inconsolable, ran back into the house, screaming.
“It’s just a stupid doll…” began Sammy.  Not the wisest remark, under the circ-umstances.

[Sandra B]

Needless to say, the visit was swiftly terminated, and Sammy was taken home in disgrace – though not before Vivien and Patricia had printed half-a-dozen posters headed “LOST DOLL - ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF CHARLOTTE”, even including a photo of the runaway and offers of a “reward”.  These they put up on trees in the street as well as at the scene of her disappearance.
Sammy was grounded for the week.  He felt persecuted, a martyr to Daphne’s irrational fixation with her dolls.  But had it been any other doll, she would not have felt the loss as hard.  As it was, she was a very sad little girl, and much more miserable than the boy who was the cause of her sadness.

Vivien Watkins was at a loss as to how to begin to repair the damage done, not only to Daphne’s happiness, but to her relationship with her friend.  It was not the first time Sammy had reduced Daphne to tears, and Patricia’s patience was wearing thin, albeit she couldn’t blame Sammy’s mother directly, knowing what a hard time she had had with him.  So Vivien sought the advice of her sister, Cecily.  Cecily was the only adult Sammy really liked.  She was an artist, and she would let him help her in some of her wilder productions, throwing paint about or carving chunks of wax, or posing in the middle of some crazy installation.  Her house and her big shed were full of materials of all sorts, from stone and timber to canvas and paper.  There was never any trouble when he was there.  He’d pretty much do anything for her.  So a few days after Charlotte’s disappearance, Vivien and Cecily sat down together over lunch, and Vivien poured out her woes.
“I need to do something once and for all to bring it home to him – he simply cannot carry on behaving in this way.  Poor Daphne.  Three days now, and not a word.  I’m sure some little girl walked off with her.  I mean, she probably thought she was being thrown out.”
“Maybe,” said Cecily.  “Or maybe she was taken by a group of yobs, who abused her and then threw her in a rubbish bin.”
“Oh, shut up Cecy.  It’s not funny.  Daphne’s distraught.  And I don’t blame her.  Don’t you remember what it’s like to have a favourite doll?  As far as she’s concerned, Charlotte is real.  She’s a person.”
“I know.  I’m just joking.  And I know how difficult that boy has been.  I agree, he really needs a wake-up call.  He can’t go on with his inappropriate behaviour much longer.  Imagine what kind of teenager he’ll turn out.”
“So what can I do?  I don’t even know how to punish him any more.”
“Show me that poster again.”  She looked at it thoughtfully.  “Mm.  She’s a pretty little doll, I admit.”
“That’s when she was brand new.  See the box she came in?  Daphne’s still got that.  Charlotte sleeps in it every night.”
“Really?  That’s interesting.  There may be a way…  I mean, to make an example of Sammy, and to cheer up Daphne at the same time.  Let me think about it.  I’ll give you a bell later.”

Cecily telephoned later the same day.  Vivien had just called Patricia, but there was still no sign of Charlotte.  She had been looking on line, but there were no similar dolls anywhere.  So she answered the phone with a frown of frustration of her face.
“Hi, Cecily.  How’s it going?  You have an idea?  Tell me.  I’m at my wits’ end.  Even if I could find another Charlotte – which I can’t – I don’t think Daphne would accept it.  No.  Okay, I’m listening.”
As she listened, the frown slowly faded from her face, and was replaced by an expression of deep interest.
“You would do all that?  No, it’s genius.  But such a lot of work.  Of course I’ll help.  What?  Are you serious?  What, that one on the corner of….  Yes, I know it.  You do?  Would she agree..?  Oh, you are the best!  Let’s try it.  Yeah, I know.  You devious…  I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of you.  How tall?  About one metre forty, or a bit less.  No.  Okay, tomorrow.  About ten?  See you then.  Yes, I can get the material, and the paint.  And I’ll go to the ballet shop in the High Street on my way.  Actually, better make it eleven.  Thanks.  Yes, thanks.  See you then!”
She put the phone down.  She shook her head slowly.  “Only Cecily could think of something like that….” she said, out loud.
“What, mum?  What about Aunt Cecily?”
“Oh, no, nothing.  She was asking whether you’d be able to go over later this week and help her with one of her projects, that’s all.”
“Really?  Yeah!  But…but I’m grounded this week, aren’t I…?”
“Well, I’m going to let you go to Aunt Cecily’s.  But you make sure you’re on your best behaviour, understand.  Do what she tells you without question, all right?  And she says you can stay over Friday night, if you’d like.”
“Yeah, great!  Thanks, mum.”  He looked at her sheepishly.  “I s’pose I won’t be going to Daphne’s party, Saturday, now….”
“I’m afraid not.  I don’t think she’s in a mood to see you at the moment.”
“What about if she gets her doll back?”
“Maybe.  But she hasn’t, yet.”
“Shit…”
“Sammy!  Do you want to go to Cecily’s?”
“Yes, mum.  Sorry, mum.”
“Right.  No more chatter.  I’ve got work to do.”

Sammy kept his head down for the rest of the week.  He was bored stiff, so going to his aunt’s on the Friday seemed like a holiday.  His mum dropped him off.  She seemed to have been on the phone to her sister a lot that week, and had gone over there a couple of times.  Sammy wasn’t sure what was going on, but there was definitely something.  Now they were whispering and giggling like a couple of schoolgirls.  Idiots, he thought.  Grown-ups should grow up.  I’ll get my own back on mum for keeping me in.  And on Daphne for giving me all this grief.  Wait and see if I don’t.

[Sandra B]

Aunt Cecily had a big studio in her house.  That is to say, it was a bedroom she’d converted into a studio.  She lived alone so she had plenty of space.  She emptied the room, had a big single window put in, and painted the walls white, and the the floorboards in alternate blue and yellow stripes.  After his mother left, Sammy followed her upstairs to see what she was up to this time.
She had made a big long box out of some sort of very rigid special cardboard – impregnated with some sort of glue, she said, which made it as strong as timber, but still very light.  It was propped up against one wall.  It was even taller than he was!  She was working on a lid for it.  She had started painting the box pink, but the lid was still unpainted.  She said she still had some cutting to do on that.  There were bits of foam rubber lying about, and a roll of pink satiny material, some very wide red ribbon, and a nice sheet of clear plastic.  There were also some very cool stencils, which she allowed Sammy to play with.  She even let him stencil his name on the wall!  He was having fun.  She asked him if he would help paint the box.
“Yeah!  Can I, aunt?  What’s it for, anyway?”
“Oh, you’ll see.  It’s a sort of installation.  I’m going to call it something like, “Birthday Surprise”.  I haven’t decided properly yet.”
While he painted the box, Cecily cut a big window out of the lid.
“You’re a good painter, Sammy,” she smiled.  You can do the lid next, if you like.”
Sammy did like.  Painting was fun, especially painting big things.  While he worked, Cecily cut out a long rectangular piece of plastic.
“What’s that for, aunt?”
“Don’t you see?  I’m going to stick this inside the lid like a window.  Then we’ll have a giant display box.  All I have to do then is decide what to put in it.”
“Don’t you know what’s going in it?”
“Oh, I have a few ideas.  But I’m going to line it first.  When the paint’s dry, you can help.”
“Sure.”

They worked together on the project for the rest of the day.  Aunt Cecily lined the box with foam rubber, a thick layer on the bottom and some sloping sections on the sides and ends.  She glued the pink satin underneath the edges of the side sections and to the floor of the box, so the whole thing was neatly and prettily covered.  Finally she drilled holes in the bottom of the box.
“What are they for, auntie?”
“Oh, they’re just anchor points for whatever I decide to put in there.  You’ll see.”
It was a really fun day.  In the evening they went out for a meal, and by the time they got back Sammy was ready for bed.  Cecily kissed him goodnight.
“Sleep well, Sammy.  Tomorrow we’ll finish our project, shall we?”
“Yes, aunt,” he replied, sleepily.

[Sandra B]

While Sammy had been at his aunt’s, his mother had had a call from Patricia.
“I’ve got her back!  A woman came round this afternoon with Charlotte.  Her little girl had found her in the street and brought her home.  It was only this morning she saw one of the posters.”
“Oh, thank goodness, Pat!  I’m so relieved.”
“So I think Sammy should come to the party now.  Daphne will be happy again, and perhaps she’ll be able to forgive him at last.”
“Ah.  Yes.  Can I ask…does Daphne know she’s back, yet?”
“Well, no, not yet.  She’s at her friend’s house.  I was just about to ring her, but I thought I’d call you first.  Why?”
“Well, we had a little surprise planned for her….  Listen, I’ll explain….”

By the end of the conversation Patricia was ecstatic.
“Oh my god…if it works…it’ll be the best!  What time would you expect to have him set up?  About eleven?  Perfect.  Her party doesn’t start till two.  She’d be so delighted.  Can you imagine?  At last she’d be getting her own back.”
“Yes.  And Sammy would be getting his just deserts.  So, Pat, I’ll drop in late this evening and pick up Charlotte, okay?”
“See you then, darling!”

Sammy woke late Saturday morning.  He struggled out of bed and looked around for his clothes.  He couldn’t see them anywhere.  There were some ballet things on the chair, but they were nothing to do with him.  He wondered vaguely what they were doing there.  Sleepily he climbed into the shower.  The water woke him up.  After he had finished, he wrapped a towel around himself and returned to his room.  He looked everywhere, but his jeans and stuff seemed to have vanished.  Probably his aunt had decided to wash them.  He went to the top of the stairs.
“Aunt Cecily?  Aunt?  Are you down there?”
But she appeared all of a sudden from the studio.
“Good morning, Sammy.  Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.  But I can’t find my clothes.”
“They’re being washed.  In any case, you won’t need them right away.  You’ll have to change for our project.  Just slip your pyjamas back on and go and have breakfast.”
“Oh, okay.  Thanks.”
Won’t need my clothes?  What does she mean?  Some weird installation.  Hope she’s not planning anything nude!  He laughed to himself.  It was already ten, and he was hungry.  So he went down and helped himself to toast and jam and cereal.  When he was finished, his aunt called him upstairs.
“So what’s next, aunt?”
“Could you go put that outfit on that I left on your chair, please?”
“What?  That’s like a girl’s ballet costume, isn’t it?”
“Yes,  Don’t worry.  It won’t be for long.  It’s just for the project.  Go on.  Go on!  You’re going to love it.”
Sammy trusted his aunt, so he went back to the bedroom, stripped off his pyjamas, and examined the costume.  There was a little pair of white panties, a shiny yellow leotard, pink ballet shoes with laces, yellow wool leg-warmers, and a length of broad yellow ribbon.  He hesitated.  This was not what he had been expecting.
“Are you ready, Sammy?” his aunt called from outside.
“Nearly,” he called back, quickly pulling on the panties and leotard.  “What’s this ribbon for?”
Aunt Cecily pushed open the door. 
“You’ll see.  Now sit down in the chair and I’ll do up your pumps.”
“Aunt, I don’t understand why I have to wear this stuff…”
“Be patient, Sammy.  Now point your toes so I can get these leg-warmers on.  Stand up a minute.  They need to come up nice and high.  Now where are those curling tongs?  Ah, here we are.  All right, sit down again.”
She plugged them in a and started on his hair.
“Keep still, Sammy!”
In five minutes his scruffy mop of hair had been transformed into a mass of ringlets.  Once she was happy, she tied the ribbon around his head.  Then she pushed it down over his eyes!
“Now leave it like that until I tell you you can look.”
She took him by the hand and led him along into the studio. 
“Now relax, and let me lift you.”
She picked him up in her arms and lay him down on something soft.  He went to pull up the ribbon but she grabbed his wrist.
“Uh, uh!  Not yet.  Hands down by your sides, please.”
He did as he was told.  He felt bands being drawn over his wrists, and tightened.  Then his ankles.
“Aunt, what…?”
At last she pushed the ribbon up onto his forehead, like a bandana.  He looked around.  He was in the pink box, which was supported on two trestles.  His wrists and ankles were firmly secured to the base.  Aunt Cecily was smiling down on him.
“You look lovely.  Just like Charlotte.  Keep still just a moment longer…”
She produced a compact of blusher and gave him little red doll circles on his cheeks.
“There.  You’re finished.”  Which was precisely what Sammy himself was thinking.  His eyes widened in alarm.
“What’s the idea…?”
At that moment in walked his mother.  She gasped with delight.
“Darling!  You look just like her!  And look.  Here she is!”  She held up Daphne’s favourite doll.  “A nice lady brought her back.  Now all we have to do is pin her to your leotard…so…”
She had produced a large gold safety pin and attached Charlotte to Sammy’s chest.
“And then you’re almost ready.”
“Yes,” said Cecily.  “Just the lid, and we can go.”
Sammy was stammering with bemusement.
“What are you…?  Y-you can’t!  I won’t…”
The two women pushed on the lid, and Cecily closed the four little latches she had fitted to hold it in place.  His protests became muffled and incoherent.  At first his breath steamed up the plastic window slightly, but Cecily had bored an airhole either side of his head, so it soon cleared.  She picked up a stencil she had made, and a can of yellow spray paint.  She sprayed something on the bottom of the lid, below the window.  Then they tied a big red ribbon around one corner of the box, as if it were a big box of sweets, and finished it with a stick-on bow.
“You’re going to return Daphne’s doll,” said his mother.  She’ll be so happy, I’m sure she’ll let you go to her party.  Would you like that?”
Sammy shook his head vigorously.  "No!"
“I thought you would.  But first, Aunt Cecily wants to put on a little exhibition.”
They picked up the box, one at each end, and carried it down the stairs.  The front door was open, and they took it out to Mrs Watkins’ car, and slid it onto the back seat.  Cecily closed the front door, got in the car, and off they went.  It was not a long journey.  Near Daphne’s house, on a corner, was a big charity shop, Help the Animals.  They parked outside.  They were just unloading Sammy, when a kind-looking middle-aged came out to greet them.
“Cecily!  Oh, I see you’ve got him, then.  Well done.  I’ve cleared the main window, and the big easel you gave us is in place.”
“Thank you so much for this, Violet!  This is my sister, Vivien.  Vivien, Violet.”
“Lovely to meet you.  Your son looks so pretty in there.  Oh!  What does it say here?”  She squinted at the foot of the lid.  “Sammy Ballerina – oh, that’s so sweet!”
As they carried him in, and propped him up in the window, at an angle of about twenty degrees to the vertical, Violet chattered on excitedly.
“You know, this is going to be such good publicity for us!  I took the liberty of putting up a poster yesterday, when you told me it was all under control.  “Come and see Sammy, the life-sized doll, only here.  Saturday, eleven till two.”  And I rang the local paper, and we’re putting out a box for donations, and having a sale.  Look, people are already stopping!”
Sammy was struggling ineffectually against his bonds, which only made the spectacle all the more amusing.  A crowd was already gathering.  Vivien and Cecily went outside to see what he looked like.
“Oh, he’s so cute,” said Cecily.  “I’d have loved a doll like that when I was a little girl!”
“Yes, he’s sweet.  I can’t wait for Patricia and Daphne to get here.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when she saw Patricia’s car turning into the side road.  A minute or two later mother and daughter appeared in front of the shop.  Patricia looked at Vivien expectantly.  Vivien nodded slowly, a quiet smile on her face.  Patricia beamed with delight.
“Let’s go look in the window, darling, shall we.  Daphne was looking puzzled.  Patricia led her to the window.  She looked – stared – gasped – and jumped for joy.
“Charlotte!  She’s back!”
“Yes.  And look who’s brought her!”
“Sammy!  Why is he…he looks just like Charlotte.  And the box…that’s just like Charlotte’s box!”
“Yes.  Don’t you think he looks sweet?  Now, which would you like?  Charlotte – or Sammy?”
“I only want Charlotte.  Sammy can stay in the window.”
“Can he come to your party now?”
“Maybe.  But mummy, can I please, please have Charlotte back now?”
“I’ll get her,” said Cecily.  “Wait there.”
She went back inside, loosened the ribbon, unlatched the lid, and unpinned Charlotte.  Daphne had come running in, and she took Charlotte and held her tight, planting little kisses on her hair.
“Thank you Sammy,” she shouted.  “I hope you have a nice time here today!”
“Aunt! Aunt!” Sammy began.  But Cecily was already closing and relatching the lid.  She refixed the red bow, and went outside again.
“So Daphne,” said Vivien, “what shall we do about Sammy?  He’d really love to come to your party, if you could find it in your heart to forgive him.”
“I forgive him,” said Daphne, bluntly.  “He can come.  But not till after lunch.  And he must stay in his box until four.”
“She certainly knows her mind,” remarked Cecily to Patricia.  “That’s perfect.  The shop want to keep him as long as possible, anyway.”  She turned to Violet.  “We’ll come and collect him around two-thirty, if that’s okay?  I hope he serves his purpose.”  She opened her bag and passed Violet some notes.  “This is our donation for being so accommodating.  Thanks again, Violet.”
“Any time.  I think it was a lovely idea.  Bring him back sometime if he doesn’t behave himself.”
“We may bring him back anyway,” laughed Vivien.  “Different outfit next time.  But we’d better go."  She smiled at Sammy, wide-eyed with fear and disbelief.  "Bye, bye, darling,” she mouthed, giving him a little wave.  See you a bit later.”

So Sammy spent an entertaining few hours in the shop window, the highlight of which was the coincidental arrival of a bunch of his schoolfriends.  They hung around there, making faces and taking photos, till Cecily and Vivien came to take him to the party.  There he had a further hour and more propped against the living-room wall for the edification of all Daphne’s little friends.  And when he was finally released, he had to spend the rest of the party in his ballerina costume anyway.  However, he made up for his humiliation by consuming more party food in two hours than had ever been seen.  And quite contrary to his mother’s hopes and expectations, he also spent the time dreaming up the most lurid and violent retribution for all concerned!

[Sissy Little Girl]

Sandra B, That was great.  Sammy has no idea how much trouble he is in.

[sarahpenguin]

Hmmm he's lucky he didn't have an accident being in the box for so long. :)

[Andlat]

I almost feel that we should have spent more time with Sammy at the party outside of the/his box. I'm sure the girls would've delighted in his outfit even as he ate a prodigious amount of food.