Dot and the Magic Tree

Dot

Hello. My name is Dot, and I have just had an extraordinary adventure. You won’t believe me of course, because nobody ever believes what little girls say, but it’s true. In fact, I think it’s the most extraordinary adventure that has ever happened to anybody, anywhere. Auntie Jennifer and Sam wouldn’t want me to tell what happened: they always say it’s not good to make up stories. But Ginger says I should tell people anyway, and let them make up their own minds.

Ginger is my cat. He can’t really talk, but he looks at me in a way that I think I know what he’s saying. I have known Ginger for ever, and Ginger always seems to know the right thing to say. If Ginger says it’s okay to tell, then I believe him.

So, I’ve had this amazing adventure, I know, I said that already. You wouldn’t believe where I have been – well, you will, when I tell you how I got there!

It all started because my shoes didn’t fit properly. Auntie Jennifer didn’t really want to buy me any new ones, she said I am growing too fast and could I slow down, please. I think that’s a silly thing to say, because I can’t, I don’t know how. So, anyway, one Saturday Auntie Jennifer said she would take me to the shoe shop. At least, she says it was last Saturday, but I don’t believe her, that is too long ago.

Ginger says that sometimes, grown-ups say things to keep children from asking questions.

When we went to the shoe shop, we didn’t just go to the shoe shop. First, we parked in a car park that was absolutely miles away. Aunt Jennifer said it was cheaper, but it wasn’t, because on the way, she had to buy me a piece of flapjack to keep me going. Auntie Jennifer doesn’t like to buy me crisps, she prefers to give me things that she thinks are healthy. That’s a shame because I like crisps, and chocolate. But at least I haven’t got any spots.

Ginger says eight-year-olds don’t have spots anyway.

When we finally got to the shoe shop, we had already been in three other shops, and each one was more boring than the one before. First, we went into a kitchen shop, which had lots of clever things you could buy for the kitchen. They are just toys for grown-ups, said Auntie Jennifer. “Why are they all so sharp, then?” I asked. Auntie Jennifer just shrugged and smiled, like she always does when she hasn’t got an answer.

That shop was quite interesting, but the next one wasn’t. It was called an antique shop, and all it had in it was lots of old stuff.

“Why are they selling old stuff?” I asked. “Don’t people like nice, new things?”

“Not everybody,” answered Auntie Jennifer. “Lots of old stuff is nicer than new stuff,” she said.

Finally we went in a ladies clothes shop. This was as dull as well. Auntie Jennifer is very old, so she doesn’t wear nice clothes, she prefers boring clothes.

When we finally got to the shoe shop, I had finished my flapjack and I was feeling hungry again. Tough, said Auntie Jennifer. I would have to wait, she said. At least, I thought, we would be doing something for me when we got there.

We had to take a number, sit down and wait patiently. We had to wait for ages, as the two assistants dealt with lots of other people. I don’t know why, if it was me I would have the shoe shop in the same place as the clothes shop because then we wouldn’t have had to waste time.

While we were waiting, I thought I would have a look around. The shoe shop was really two shops, one with grownup shoes and one with children’s. There weren’t any doors, but there were two arches so you could go from one shop to the other. The grownups’ section had lots of very elegant shoes for ladies, and then some really boring ones like Auntie Jennifer would wear. There were also men’s shoes, but I didn’t look at those. In the children’s section, right in the middle and between the two arches, was a huge great tree. At least it was shaped like a tree, but everyone knew it was made out of plastic. There was an arch cut into the tree as well, big enough for me to stand in, and on the floor were a pair of footprint shapes. When I walked up to the tree, somebody must have pushed a button because a robot voice said, “Please remove your shoes”.

I just stood, staring at it for a moment, but then it said the same thing again: “Please remove your shoes.” So, I did. I knew I’d have to anyway, as I would need to try on some new ones. I picked them up with one hand and carried them over to Auntie Jennifer, who looked at me dubiously.

“We haven’t been called yet,” she said, “you’ll get cold feet.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“I think you should put them back on. You’ll get dirty socks.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“Well, don’t walk around too much then.”

Auntie Jennifer always did this: she told me what I shouldn’t do, and then didn’t really mind when I did it anyway. I wasn’t quite sure why she told me in the first place.

I walked back over to the robot tree. “Please take off your shoes,” said the robot tree.

“I already have, I said.

“Oh, sorry,” said the tree, said the robot tree, which I thought was a very strange thing for a robot tree to say.

“That is strange thing for a robot tree to say,” I said.

“And what, pray, might be a normal thing for a robot tree to say,” said the robot tree.

I thought that was also a strange thing for a robot tree to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I walked into the archway, and stood with my feet in the foot shapes. The foot shapes face outwards, so I turned round first. There in front of me, sitting on a chair by the opposite wall, was Auntie Jennifer. The assistants had worked through just about everybody that I had seen in the shoe shop when we arrived, so I knew it would be our turn soon. I looked down and I saw there were some stripes of light crisscrossing underneath the floor and underneath the footprints.

“Your feet are size 6½,” said the robot tree. “That’s unusual.”

“What’s unusual?” I asked the robot tree.

“Size 6½ feet,” said the robot tree. “We don’t often get size 6½ here. For some reason, we get lots of 5½s, lots of 6s and lots of 7s but not many 6½s.”

“That’s boring,” I said.

“Well, of course it’s boring,” said the robot tree. “How can measuring feet be anything else?”

“Why don’t you do something else then,” I said.

“What like?”

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps you could be a spaceship?”

“Oh no, I could never do that,” said the robot tree. “I don’t have the life-support systems necessary for deep space transport.”

“What on earth are you talking about,” I said.

“Well, first you’d need to be able to breathe, and I don’t have a door so the vacuum would all just get straight in. Second I don’t have any rockets, so how could I possibly get the thrust to withstand the pull of the Earth’s gravity and break through the atmosphere? Thirdly, we’d need all kinds of things: food supplies, medical equipment. And, where would you sleep, where would you go to the loo?”

I felt slightly flummoxed by this. “I didn’t really mean you could be a spaceship,” I said. “I just meant, it would be nice to pretend.”

“That’s true,” said the robot tree. “I could pretend to be a space ship. What’s your name?”

“Dot,” I said. The robot tree put on a gruff, official robot tree kind of voice. “Right, captain. Where would you like to go, Sir?”

“Right now? I’d like to go to another planet,” I said.

“What sort of planet?”

“Well, it had better be a planet that means I don’t need all that stuff you just talked about. I’ll have to be able to breathe, for a start.”

“We could go to Shimeron Chileron,” said the robot tree. “It’s a little way, but it has a reasonable atmosphere and I think you’ll agree that it will be worth it.”

“What, now?” I said.

“No time like the present,” said the robot tree.

I looked towards Auntie Jennifer, and she was still waiting. “Okay then,” I said, “let’s go.”

Almost at once, I felt ever so slightly fizzy and just a little bit fuzzy. What happened next was all very strange. Auntie Jennifer, and indeed the whole shoe shop, sort of shimmered and vanished, and in their place was a desert of purple sand, and some very strange looking trees.

Of course, I screamed. Almost immediately the desert and the trees vanished, I felt fizzy and fuzzy again, and I was back in the shoe shop with Auntie Jennifer sitting nearby. I ran out from the robot tree, straight over to Auntie Jennifer and pulled her very tightly to myself.

“What are you doing?” asked Auntie Jennifer. I twisted my head and looked behind me. There was the robot tree, not doing anything in particular. I didn’t know quite what had happened, but I thought I’d better keep my mouth shut. As Ginger always says, sometimes it’s better to do that, than try and explain to grownups. Auntie Jennifer glanced over at the tree, and then back down at me. “Oh, did the tree scare you? I see. I remember once, when I was your age…”

For a moment, I thought Auntie Jennifer was going to tell me she knew all about the tree. She didn’t, though. She was just making something up about a big scary tree when she was young. She often did this, because she wanted me to know that she was a little girl once. At this moment, I wasn’t too interested but I listened anyway, looking back at the tree as I did. As soon as Auntie Jennifer finished her story, I let her go and went back to have another look at the tree.

“Please remove your shoes,” said the robot tree.

“I have,” I said, a bit indignantly. After all, it had already asked me.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise it was you again. I hope I didn’t scare you just then,” said the tree. “The instantaneity of matter transference can be a little unnerving, the first time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said,”but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“Instant matter transference,” said the robot tree. “Moving things from one place to another, in no time at all.”

“Can you do that?” I said.

“Oh yes,” said the robot tree. “In fact, I’m very good at it.”

“This might sound like a silly question,” I said, “but why is a robot tree in a shoe shop good at instant mattie tinfoil, or whatever you said.”

“Oh,” said the robot tree. “I’ve not always been a robot tree, you know.”

“No?”

“No. I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but it’s been so long I think they’ve forgotten about me completely. I actually shouldn’t be here at all.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s a long story,” said the robot tree.

I glanced back at Auntie Jennifer, who was looking at me like I was already late. “I’m not sure if I have much time,” I said. “Look, they’re just about to call our number.”

“In that case,” said the robot tree, “perhaps it’s better that I just took you. Would you mind that?”

“You mean, go back in the machine?”

“Yes. It’s not so bad the second time,” said the robot tree.

I could see the people before us we just finishing off with the shoe lady. She was putting some shoes into boxes, and carrying them to the counter.

“Okay then,” I said. “We’d better be quick.”

“Don’t worry,” said the robot tree. “I can get you back here the very moment that we left.”

“That is clever,” I said. “How do you do that?”

“Just… get in,” said the magic tree.

I know all sorts of nasty things about strangers, because Auntie Jennifer has told me all about them. What if the robot tree was actually a nasty stranger, who was going to take me away and I would never be seen again? They had to be easier ways to do it, I thought to myself, than constructing an instant mattie tatty thing (or whatever it was called). Besides, I wasn’t actually going anywhere at all: I was getting into a robot tree and staying in the shoe shop. Perhaps. Maybe.

I stepped into the tree and turned around and put my feet in the foot shapes. Almost immediately, I felt just a bit fizzy and a little bit fuzzy. I was prepared for it this time, so I didn’t scream, but I did close my eyes as everything started to shimmer.

“Here we are,” said the magic tree.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, and… and I… I got it. I looked up at the magic tree, and the magic tree looked down at me. “You’d better tell me your story,” I said.

“Where to begin?”

“At the beginning, silly!”

“Alright, then. You’d better sit down.”

I took my feet out of the foot shapes and stepped, carefully, into the space beyond.