Mrs Threadbare didn’t come out of her house very often. At least that’s what Jack had noticed. He said to Poppy, “I think it takes lots and lots of time to make her lollipops. Like she’s got to be inside all day, keeping that great big lollipop machine working.”
But just as Poppy was going to nod and say, ‘Probably’, Mrs Threadbare’s front door popped open. It was their kind old neighbour herself. Smiling and beaming and squashing on her floppy pink hat and nudging her round granny glasses more firmly on her nose and pulling up her woollen gloves and swinging her old handbag and squinting at the sky to see if she needed to get her big umbrella … And then she noticed Jack and Poppy standing at her gate next to the letterbox with the weeds underneath.
She said, “Oh. Hello you two. What are you up to?”
Jack said, “Dunno”. Poppy smiled and said they’d just got back from school. So Mrs Threadbare said would they like to come with her to the shops. She said, “I’m making my next big batch of lollipops. But I’ve run out of something; a very special ingredient. So I’m going to pop off to the shop and get some more. Like to come with me?”
Like to come? Jack and Poppy definitely liked going to the shop. So they did a little this-is-going to-be-great’ dance.
Poppy raced into home and got the OK from mum. Then Mrs Threadbare gathered up her big handbag and the three of them set off down the footpath for the shop.
They soon arrived and Mrs Threadbare led the way inside and over to the shelf where the special ingredient was kept. Then she stopped. So suddenly Jack and Poppy almost bumped into her. “Look!” She waved her hand at the shelf. It was empty!
She said, “There’s no special ingredient today!”
Sure enough, there wasn’t. Mrs Threadbare even nudged her old granny glasses up her nose a bit, just to make sure she was seeing right. But the shelf was empty. “Bare,” Poppy said. “Nothing,” said Jack.
Well, Mrs Threadbare knew what to do. She spun around and called to the shopkeeper. He was behind the counter, lifting a wobbly stack of boxes up to the top shelf. He said, Yes. He was sorry. But he’d run out of the special ingredient.
Mrs Threadbare’s mouth dropped open. Her lovely old eyes went wide. Then she managed to say, “But I must have some. I’ve got lollipops to make!” The shopkeeper said, Yes. He was sorry. But it couldn’t be helped.
Mrs Threadbare pushed her floppy hat back a bit and scratched her head. She asked, “Okay. When’ll you be getting some more?” The shopkeeper said, Yes. He would be getting some more. But he didn’t know when it would arrive. He asked, “Can you come back tomorrow? It might come then.”
…
When it was tomorrow Jack and Poppy couldn’t wait for school to finish. They raced home and there was Mrs Threadbare waiting at her gate. By the letterbox with the weeds growing underneath.
“Hello, you two!” she called out. “Shall we?”
Jack and Poppy scooted into their gate, got the OK from dad (who was up a ladder at the backdoor putting a new bulb into the outside light), sent their school bags whizzing along the floor into the kitchen, and got back to Mrs Threadbare just as she was gathering up her big handbag. Off they went.
They talked about lollipops all the way to the shop. So when they went in, and the little bell at the door tinkled, they were all smiles.
But when the shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter Jack and Poppy could see something was wrong. He was not smiling. By now, Mrs Threadbare was also not smiling. A little worried crinkle began to grow on her forehead. Oh, dear.
The shopkeeper gave a little cough and wiped his big hands on his stiff, black storeman’s apron. “Hmm,” he said in a loud voice. “Have you come for some of that special ingredient?” Mrs Threadbare nodded. He hesitated and looked at the floor and wiped his hands again and said, “Look. I’m sorry. Terribly sorry. Even dreadfully sorry …”
Mrs Threadbare suddenly felt very very cold. She put her hands up to her face. She asked in a squeaky voice, “Did the ingredients come?” “Yes,” the shopkeeper said. “But I’m sorry to say …. Well, something’s happened.” He paused. Jack and Poppy gripped Mrs Threadbare’s hand. Everyone was looking at the big shopkeeper. He wiped his hands and coughed again. Then he said, “The ingredients did come. This morning. But just one box. And a customer came here at lunchtime and saw the box of ingredients and …”
Mrs Threadbare gasped. She said, “And you sold them to the other person?” “Yes.” No-one moved. Jack and Poppy’s mouths slumped open. Mrs Threadbare’s mouth moved but no words came out. Her shoulders sagged.
Then she patted her big handbag, put on a brave smile, said it didn’t matter and asked if more ingredients would come to the shop. “Yes,” the shopkeeper said. “Maybe tomorrow,. “Sorry about this, but please come again. Tomorrow.”
…
Tomorrow came and Jack and Poppy and Mrs Threadbare went to the shop as early as they possibly could. Dad went too. He said he didn’t want to miss any of the ‘action’. And this time the shopkeeper was beaming his biggest ever smile.
As they came into the shop, past the little tinkling bell, he let out a big, booming, cheery “Hello!” He said, “Mrs Threadbare, it’s arrived! The ingredients are here! Come and have a look!”
He led the way behind the counter into the room at the back of the shop, flicked on a dim yellow light and stood back so everyone could crowd inside. This was the storeroom. Each wall was filled with rows and rows of shelves all stuffed and overflowing with boxes and bundles and tins and jars and paper bags. And there, in the middle, was a big pile of something on a wooden pallet all wrapped and covered in plastic. The shopkeeper waved his hand and said, in a big ‘announcement-type’ voice, “Here, are your ingredients!”
A delicious smile spread across Mrs Threadbare’s face. Poppy gave her a little squeese. Jack said, “Good.” Dad shook the shopkeeper’s hand. And everyone dived at the stack of ingredients and unwound and uncurled and unwrapped the plastic. It fell in crackling sheets onto the floor of the shop and there it was; a pile of ingredients neatly packed in lots and lots of white boxes.
Mrs Threadbare stepped back from unwrapping and said, “Hmm. Do we have a problem? Those boxes are pretty big. I just need a little bit of ingredients, not a full box.”
The shopkeeper stopped. He looked up and gaped at Mrs Threadbare. Then he said, in a tiny, quiet, doubting voice, “But this is how the ingredients came. The smallest quantity is one full white box.”
Now it was Mrs threadbare’s turn to gape. She said, “You mean if I don’t buy a box I can’t get any ingredients for my lollipop machine?”
The shopkeeper stood up. He nodded. Jack and Poppy looked at Mrs Threadbare. She pushed her glasses a little more firmly on her nose. And blinked. Dad mumbled something.
Mrs Threadbare patted her big handbag and looked around. “What to do?” she asked out loud. Then, “I can’t afford to buy a whole white box. Just a small packet.” She looked at the shopkeeper and asked, “Will you be getting small packets of ingredients? Say, next month?” He gave his head a little sad shake and said, “No. I don’t think so. I’m very sorry.”
Jack said, “But we need the ingredient!” Poppy looked at Mrs Threadbare and said, “What are we going to do?” Mrs Threadbare squashed her floppy pink hat on her head and didn’t know quite what to say.
But dad did. He gave a big smile and said he would buy the box and Mrs Threadbare could take out of it the little amount she needed. She could pay him for that and dad would find a way to use the rest. Maybe in mum’s cooking.
Mrs Threadbare clapped her hands and did a little ‘thank-you-so-much’ dance. Right in the middle of the shop! The shopkeeper was beaming. Everybody was laughing and picking up a box and carrying it home to Mrs Threadbare’s. Dad called mum. She came over, with a big tray of something covered up with a cloth. Everyone crowded inside.
Mrs Threadbare poured a little bit of the special ingredient into a packet ready to make into lollipops. “There!” she said. “Just what the doctor ordered! I’ll make the next fresh batch of lollipops tomorrow!”
And then it was mum’s turn. She said, “It’s quite a story how you got the ingredient, Mrs Threadbare! You kept asking and asking at the shop and going back …” Dad nodded and said it reminded him of Jesus’ story about the man who asked his friend for some bread in the middle of the night. He had to ask and ask but finally the friend got out of bed and gave him some.
“I like that story,” Jack said. “I remember you read it to us the other night, dad.” And dad said, “Glad you liked it.” Then a mischievous smile slid onto his face and he asked, “Do you think you might like what your mum’s got covered up on that tray?” They certainly did!