Free Washy and the Crocodile by James Maguire Page A

Earlie, and no, I don’t know why, Jack, so there’s no point asking—had won a scholarship to the Royal National School of Ballet when she was about four and a half, and a very precocious child—”
    â€œWhat does precocious mean?” Asked Evie, who could sometimes be a very serious little girl.
    â€œPrecocious means ahead of your time,” said Otto thoughtfully, chewing the last of his plum and squinting carefully at the sun as if it were a giant dictionary in the sky.
    â€œYou mean, like early,” said Jack and grinned at his own joke.
    â€œVery good,” said his uncle. “But I shall have to tell you the whole story because that’s the only way you’ll understand what really happened. So, if everyone would like to sit comfortably, and concentrate on what I’m saying, and not snore if they fall asleep, then I’ll begin.”
    So they sat comfortably, and Uncle Otto told them the whole story, which went something like this.
    ***
    â€œOnce upon a time, and far away and long ago, and all that sort of thing,” (said Uncle Otto, who liked to do things properly) “there was a little girl called Charlotte Fanshawe who wasn’t very happy at school.”
    â€œWhy wasn’t she happy at school?” Interrupted Evie, who was already beginning to empathise with the subject of her uncle’s story—although she herself was actually very happy at school. Strange are the effects of a story! “Was she bullied?”
    â€œNot exactly,” replied her uncle. “She just wasn’t very happy. She didn’t quite know why.”
    â€œI know why!” Said Evie confidently. “It’s because she—”
    â€œNo you don’t!” Her brother interrupted her rudely. “You couldn’t possibly know why! You only heard of this girl Charlie three seconds ago, and now you know all about her! Including what she’s thinking, apparently!” He snorted with contempt—it’s not very easy for a little boy to snort, but Jack managed it just fine on this occasion—and threw a stick for Tommy to fetch. Tommy, being a very sensible dog, ignored it. It was far too hot to go chasing sticks, and he was very happy panting noisily in the shade. Really! What did Jack think he was up to?
    â€œPlease go on with your story, Uncle Otto,” said his nephew politely, ignoring the crass treachery of the dog with a supreme effort of will. “Tell us more about Charlie.”
    â€œI will,” said his uncle equably, and continued from where he had stopped. He was used to the children’s interruptions. At least it showed that they were listening.
    â€œCharlie was unhappy at school, Evie,” he continued, “because she wasn’t at all sure what she wanted to do”—
    â€œBut that’s just how I feel!” Exclaimed his niece.
    â€œShut up , Evie,” said her brother, but much more nicely than he had spoken to her before, “and listen to the story. You might learn something.” So she did.
    â€œCharlie was unhappy at school because nothing really inspired her,” went on her uncle in his soft, melodious voice, which should have put you to sleep, but somehow didn’t. “And then she discovered ballet, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. For ever.”
    â€œShe wanted to be a ballerina.” Evie whispered this to herself as if in a trance. Her eyes were shining, and Tom suppressed the expression of sympathy for Charlie’s misfortune that had almost passed his lips. Poor Evie! She was really keen on all this!
    â€œThat’s right,” agreed Uncle Otto. “She wanted to be a ballerina. And she studied and studied and studied, and she practised and practised and practised, until finally she won a place at the Royal National School of Ballet. In London.”
    â€œIn London,” breathed Evie. “That was a long way from home. Was she homesick?