A Friend in Need, Indeed (standard:humor, 1308 words)
Author: scarlettorocker	Added: Mar 19 2004	Views/Reads: 3352/2194	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A wee girl's imaginary pal

Maire was much the same as any other five year-old girl, effervescent
and forever asking questions. Her little legs would take her gambolling 
along the Scottish beach and clambering up rocks. Where she would 
invariably get stuck and demand the attention of the grown-ups, whose 
capable arms would wheek her back to the safety of level ground. Her 
zestful nature was a joy to behold, for here was an new soul, minus 
inhibitions. However, Maire couldn't always be the centre of attention. 
And although she was the milk chocolate in the family selection box, 
the grown-ups were... jolly plain, actually. Maire's tears bubbled over 
her russet-red cheeks. Why did her auntie hide behind that door and 
pretend that her voice was only a recording, when Maire wanted someone 
to talk at? And why did Mummy claim that little girls weren't allowed 
to go to clothes shopping with their mothers? Maire was an only child, 
and she was all alone in the strange world of adults. They must think 
I'm daft, she thought. One Spring morning, Maire was sitting on the 
beach, deep in thought. But when she looked up from her sand-encrusted 
hands, her life changed for ever when she saw the green figure who was 
stumbling towards her. Toad! He'd come to save her from boredom, to 
listen to all her ideas, and most importantly, to never answer her 
back. He wasn't exactly a knight in shining armour - that's never been 
Maire's style. Rather, he arrived resplendent in a green hacking jacket 
and tweed trousers, seated in a plastic washing-up bowl that had 
crossed the sea from Fife. Maire had no need to question whether or not 
that was from where Toad's journey had started. After all, she'd never 
been to Fife, so how was she to know that it really existed? All that 
she could see from North Berwick beach was Fife's mottled banks across 
the sea, its shores alight in the darkness with scattered, sparkling 
speckles. Huh, that was Fairyland for sure, thought Maire, and Toad had 
to have come from there. And now he had to be treated like a prince - 
after all, he was her guest. Maire made the arrangements for Toad to 
move into her house - in other words, none of the adults were consulted 
at all. They couldn't see the shiny reptile who aspired to civilisation 
by walking on his two hind legs. And if they could they may well have 
wondered why Maire hadn't invited a pretty wee princess to stay 
instead. Their enquiries would have been met by rage. How dare they 
make fun of her friend! Wasn't Maire always polite to theirs? And so 
every day she'd take her new chum to the seashore, showing him the 
beach life that was to be found within the confines of the rock pools. 
In the end, the grown-ups got caught up in the silliness too. Maire's 
mother scolded her daughter for not offering Toad a slice of chocolate 
cake. “Always look after your guests, Maire,” she counselled. And Maire 
never forgot what her mother told her. But nothing prepared them for 
whatever their resident reptile would get up to next. And Maire learnt 
the art of passing the buck. It was one of those pre-school days of 
yore, when Maire would be dragged from shop to shop with Mummy and 
Granny. There were a hundred and one other more fun things to do, Maire 
whined as she stamped her foot on the pavement. No amount of sulking or 
tantrums would work this time though. The narrow High Street of the 
small seaside town may as well have been Princes Street in Edinburgh, 
with all its attendant bustle, to her stumpy legs. And all the 
interesting little nooks and crannies that Maire would have delved into 
were out of bounds today, for the grown-ups were going on a bathroom 
suite hunt. Into the diminutive branch of the village bathroom shop 
they trooped, with Granny making intelligent conversation with the 
salesman. Maire's mother glanced around, aware of her parents' outmoded 
taste. “How about this modern suite? You could get a set of fluffy 
towels,” Mummy suggested to Granny, anglicising her words to show the 
salesman how well-travelled she was. Meanwhile poor Maire stuck out her 
bottom lip, longing for her elders to make their minds up so theat they 
could go back to the beach. “Maire,” cried Granny, looking towards the 
back of the shop. “Kindly refrain!” For the little girl was certainly 
up to no good. Her little limbs were exhausted and she was sitting on a 
priceless, porcelain toilet. Or should that be, she was charging and 
leaping around in the background, a resounding 
C-R-R-R-AAAAAAA-C-C-KKK!! being the result. Maire stood very still, 
surveying the damage. She tip-toed towards her mother, her little head 
hung low. “Mummy,” she squeaked, pulling at the woolly, Afghan sleeve. 
“Mummy, I've broken that pan.” “Shush, Maire. I know,” Mummy whispered. 
But Granny didn't know and more evidently, neither did the salesman. 
And so Maire brought it to their attention. There was but one suspect. 
The salesman rounded on Maire and her elders accusingly. But the little 
girl had an idea. “It wasn't me, Granny,” she yelped, “it was Toad. 
Look, Toad broke that pan.” Mummy's face turned a vivid red, matching 
her curtains of hennaed hair. But Granny disagreed. “No he didn't, 
Maire, it was you! Toad was being a good boy,” she insisted. Maire's 


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