One Of Our Dinosaurs Is Missing Read Online Free PDF Page B

into their night clothes. “Supper,” she called. “It’s on the table.”
    The two children appeared in their robes.
    “Will you have something to eat with us tonight, please, nanny?”
    “I’m not hungry just yet,” said Emily.
    “Please, Nanny Emily,” pleaded Dagmar. “We miss you so much when we go to bed. Please stay and have some supper with us.”
    “I bought you an ice-cream, specially,” said Carl.
    “Well ...” said Emily, touched by the unexpected generosity. “Well, all right. Just this once, mind. Special treat. Nanny for supper.” She sat down at the table. Carl went back into the kitchen and returned a second later with a large chocolate ice cream on a saucer.
    “Here you are, nanny.”
    “U mmmmm . It looks delicious, Master Carl. It’s very kind of you to think of your old nanny.” The children looked at each other and stuck their noses into their cups of milk. Emily spooned the ice cream into her mouth. When she had finished she dabbed her lips with a napkin. “That was lovely. Thank you both, very much. Now... off you go to bed.”
    She tucked Dagmar under the soft blankets, kissed her goodnight and pulled the bedroom door closed behind her. She knocked on Carl’s door and called, “Sleep tight.” She frowned slightly as he laughed.
    The children’s day nursery appeared to be growing larger. It now seemed a long way from the table to the nursery kitchen door. Emily collected the supper dishes. They felt very light. She wondered if the maid had substituted plastic dishes for the porcelain ones. She took a step towards the kitchen and nearly fell. Her feet seemed to spring on the carpet, almost as though it was soft, rubber sponge.
    She put the dishes in the sink. The last cup dropped from her hand. Amazed, she watched it descend, in slow motion, into the sink. It floated down like a feather. She was quite startled when it shattered on impact, the pieces curling away beneath the washing bowl.
    “The heat ...” said Emily to herself. She fanned herself with her pince-nez as she walked towards her own apartment. Her feet dangled in the air. She had to struggle consciously to get them on the ground. She pushed open the door of her room and struggled in, puffing. The flowers on her wallpaper stood out three dimensionally. She blinked.
    “Aaaaah . . . eeeee . . . aaaaaaaah . . . eeee . . . aaaaaah,” roared her parrot, Tarzan, throwing himself, triumphantly naked, from the bars of his cage to his swing. He waited for Emily’s gentle scolding at the sight of the tangle of wool on the cage bottom.
    She felt in her handbag, swaying slightly, then produced his new waistcoat. She staggered a couple of steps towards the cage, brandishing the knitting at him. “Naughty, naughty Tarzan. But Nanny’s going to stop you, this time.” She eyed the interknotted stitches with difficulty, then opened the cage door. Tarzan climbed on to her arm and offered his head to be scratched.
    “No time, no time,” shrilled Emily, wriggling him into the new waistcoat. She pushed his wings through the miniature armholes. The bird seemed to grow heavier. Emily felt she was lifting a bucket of wet sand. She steered Tarzan toward the cage. He fluttered, angrily. Then hopped back in. He climbed laboriously up on to his perch and contemplated his latest woolly conundrum. Emily draped his cage with a piece of maroon towelling. Tarzan gave a final, deafening, ape-man yodel, and settled down for the night.
    “Whee,” said Emily. She felt suddenly gay. She decided to sing, then stopped herself. Nannies don’t sing when their children have just been put to bed, she reminded herself. She switched on her transistor radio. It was no use, she just had to sing . . . No, she just had to fly. Yes, that was it ... she had to fly. She wondered what would happen if she jumped up and down on the bed. She scrambled on to the patchwork coverlet and jigged on her feet, waving her arms, like wings.
    “What’s she doing?”