on a woman, with flowery swirls and embellishments.”
I sighed. We both knew the only people who wanted custom work at the Rainbow Tattoo Studio were big brawny bikers with a hankering for a skeleton death figure on a Harley-Davidson, with strictly no flowery swirls.
“I inked the four Teletubbies on my arm in reading today,” I said. “They're easy to do because they're round and blobby. I had red, yellow and green felt-tips but not purple so I asked Owly Morris for a loan of his. He's got this giant set of Caran d'Ache.”
“Howly?”
“No. Owly. Because he wears really thick specs. Though he does go howly too sometimes. He gets teased an awful lot.”
“Poor little guy. Do you get teased too, Dol?”
“No. I don't wear specs, do I?” I said hurriedly. “I had all four Teletubbies just right but then Miss Hill saw and made me go and wash my arms. I can't
stick
Miss Hill.”
I flashed my witch eyes and twitched my black skirt and inflated Miss Hill into a gigantic gray Teletubby with a corkscrew aerial sticking out of her head.
“There was a wicked witch in this story and she captured the children,” said Marigold.
“I know. I remember it now. Star read it to me when I was little. It was scary,” I said.
“Yeah, that witch was
seriously
scary‘but I liked the picture of her, with her big hooky nose and her wild hair and her long gnarled fingers.”
“The witch wasn't the really scary bit. It was the mother and father at the beginning.
They
took Hansel and Gretel‘
not
Handy and Pandy‘they deliberately led them into the wood and got them lost on purpose.
They ran off and left them there. And yet at the end, it was supposed to be a
happy
end, Hansel and Gretel got away from the wicked witch and got all the way back home to their mum and dad and it was like, wow, we're together again, one big happy family.”
“I'd never leave you and Star, Dol,” said Marigold.
“I know.”
“I did stay out‘and I have done stuff that's scary‘but I wouldn't ever try to lose you.”
“I
know
. It's just a stupid fairy story.”
“Tell you what. Think what the witch lived in. Wasn't it a little cottage made out of gingerbread?”
“Yes, that was the roof. And there were sugar candy whirly bits.”
“And cake.
Cake
, get it? Blow looking for boring old ducks. Let's make our own fairy-tale gingerbread cottage, right?”
“Right right right!”
Marigold tipped all the cake out on the grass and started sorting it into shapes.
“We need a knife,” she said. “And something to stick it all together.”
“Your wish is my command, O great gingerbread genie,” I said, sliding my schoolbag off my shoulder. My ruler made a reasonable knife, even if it was a little blunt, and I had a glue stick to gum everything together.
I sat cross-legged on the grass watching Marigold's long white fingers whisking a cake cottage into shape. I nibbled every now and then.
“Don't eat my roof!” said Marigold, giving me a nudge with her toe. “Look, pick some buttercups and daisies. We could link them together and they'd be great curtains.”
I sprang up and searched.
“Come on, Dol. I've built almost an entire house while you've been looking for those curtains,” Marigold called.
“I can't find any,” I said. “Will these do instead?” I thrust a few bedraggled dandelions at her.
“You're not supposed to pick dandelions. They say you'll wet the bed if you do,” said Marigold, laughing. Then she saw my face.
“Oh, Dol. I'm teasing. You haven't wet the bed for
ages
.”
“Shhh!” I said, looking round, terrified in case anyone from school might be nearby.
“It's OK.” Marigold carefully fashioned a twirly sponge chimney with her sharp fingernails. “I was in one foster home where the mother used to put the sheets over my head if I wet them. These sopping smelly sheets, all in my face, on my hair. And all the other kids laughed.”
“That's so
mean
.”
“She was a witch,” said
I sighed. We both knew the only people who wanted custom work at the Rainbow Tattoo Studio were big brawny bikers with a hankering for a skeleton death figure on a Harley-Davidson, with strictly no flowery swirls.
“I inked the four Teletubbies on my arm in reading today,” I said. “They're easy to do because they're round and blobby. I had red, yellow and green felt-tips but not purple so I asked Owly Morris for a loan of his. He's got this giant set of Caran d'Ache.”
“Howly?”
“No. Owly. Because he wears really thick specs. Though he does go howly too sometimes. He gets teased an awful lot.”
“Poor little guy. Do you get teased too, Dol?”
“No. I don't wear specs, do I?” I said hurriedly. “I had all four Teletubbies just right but then Miss Hill saw and made me go and wash my arms. I can't
stick
Miss Hill.”
I flashed my witch eyes and twitched my black skirt and inflated Miss Hill into a gigantic gray Teletubby with a corkscrew aerial sticking out of her head.
“There was a wicked witch in this story and she captured the children,” said Marigold.
“I know. I remember it now. Star read it to me when I was little. It was scary,” I said.
“Yeah, that witch was
seriously
scary‘but I liked the picture of her, with her big hooky nose and her wild hair and her long gnarled fingers.”
“The witch wasn't the really scary bit. It was the mother and father at the beginning.
They
took Hansel and Gretel‘
not
Handy and Pandy‘they deliberately led them into the wood and got them lost on purpose.
They ran off and left them there. And yet at the end, it was supposed to be a
happy
end, Hansel and Gretel got away from the wicked witch and got all the way back home to their mum and dad and it was like, wow, we're together again, one big happy family.”
“I'd never leave you and Star, Dol,” said Marigold.
“I know.”
“I did stay out‘and I have done stuff that's scary‘but I wouldn't ever try to lose you.”
“I
know
. It's just a stupid fairy story.”
“Tell you what. Think what the witch lived in. Wasn't it a little cottage made out of gingerbread?”
“Yes, that was the roof. And there were sugar candy whirly bits.”
“And cake.
Cake
, get it? Blow looking for boring old ducks. Let's make our own fairy-tale gingerbread cottage, right?”
“Right right right!”
Marigold tipped all the cake out on the grass and started sorting it into shapes.
“We need a knife,” she said. “And something to stick it all together.”
“Your wish is my command, O great gingerbread genie,” I said, sliding my schoolbag off my shoulder. My ruler made a reasonable knife, even if it was a little blunt, and I had a glue stick to gum everything together.
I sat cross-legged on the grass watching Marigold's long white fingers whisking a cake cottage into shape. I nibbled every now and then.
“Don't eat my roof!” said Marigold, giving me a nudge with her toe. “Look, pick some buttercups and daisies. We could link them together and they'd be great curtains.”
I sprang up and searched.
“Come on, Dol. I've built almost an entire house while you've been looking for those curtains,” Marigold called.
“I can't find any,” I said. “Will these do instead?” I thrust a few bedraggled dandelions at her.
“You're not supposed to pick dandelions. They say you'll wet the bed if you do,” said Marigold, laughing. Then she saw my face.
“Oh, Dol. I'm teasing. You haven't wet the bed for
ages
.”
“Shhh!” I said, looking round, terrified in case anyone from school might be nearby.
“It's OK.” Marigold carefully fashioned a twirly sponge chimney with her sharp fingernails. “I was in one foster home where the mother used to put the sheets over my head if I wet them. These sopping smelly sheets, all in my face, on my hair. And all the other kids laughed.”
“That's so
mean
.”
“She was a witch,” said
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