“I thought Henry was the naughty engine?” I said closing the book. “Like this little boy?” I gave him a tickle through his bed covers.
“No, Mummy. Thomas is naughty because he smokes.”
“Ah,” I said, trying to keep up with my five year old. “That’s steam coming out of his chimney, not cigarette smoke.” Henry paused to digest this new information.
“But if he only had one cigarette a day would he be a naughty train?” I wondered what his father had been saying to him.
“The trouble is, if you have just one cigarette,” I said giving him a kiss, “you always want more. Like sweeties.” My hand was on the light switch.
“And dolphins,” he said as he shut his eyes.
This is a short piece of writing inspired by a postcard prompt by Elizabeth Rose Murray who is a guest blogger on http://www.writing.ie this week. Click here to read some of the others and Elizabeth’s post.