Storytime
A Story about the dangers of picture books
Cathy’s father Michael writes children’s books, or used to, but finds fault with Cathy’s ones. Gemma’s losing patience, and not just about the books.
Opening
Sunday
‘Now Cathy, my little tarte tatin: they’re lovely pictures, but even very hungry caterpillars don’t really eat salami, and - ’
Gemma interceded. ‘He was a beautiful butterfly. The End. Night night, Cathy caterpillar! Say ‘Night night’, Daddy.’
‘NightnightDaddy,’ said Michael. Cathy giggled. ‘But Gemma -’
‘Sh!’ said Gemma’s finger.
Downstairs, he objected.
‘That - that inane work of surreal fiction describes a balanced diet for neither child nor caterpillar. It should read: “On Monday he ate through one nice green leaf. On Tuesday, he ate through another nice green leaf.”’
‘Fine.’
‘So you’re OK with me changing the words?’
‘What? Saying different words?’
‘Just the odd thing here and there.’
‘Well no, that’d confuse her, because it has pictures. And she’s starting to read!’
‘She’s only three!’
‘Nearly four. She reads bits.’
‘Alright. I’ll change the letters then.’
‘What?’
‘Wine?’