Timmy woke up before his alarm clock. He woke up before the birds. He very nearly woke up before the sun, which takes some doing. Today was train day, and Timmy had been waiting for train day his whole entire life — or at least since Tuesday.
At the front door, his mum handed him a bar of his favourite chocolate. "Eat it now, love," she said. "Before we go."
But Timmy was far too busy for chocolate. There were shoelaces to tie and a backpack to wear and a front gate to swing on while everybody else hurried up. So he pushed the chocolate deep into his pocket and said, "I'll have it on the train."
His mum opened her mouth to say something. Then she closed it again, the way mums do when they've decided you'll find out for yourself.
The train was even better than Timmy had imagined. It was long and green and it hissed like a dragon having a lovely dream. He got a window seat. The whistle blew, the platform slid away, and off they went — clickety-clack, clickety-clack.
Timmy saw mountains with snowy hats on. He saw a river that flashed in the sun like it was showing off. He counted forty-two cows, lost count, and started again. He made a friend named Priya two seats down, and together they held their breath through every tunnel — clickety-clack, clickety-clack — and once, for one magic moment, a deer ran alongside the train as if it were racing them. (The deer won. Deer usually do.)
At last the train slowed, and sighed, and stopped. And that was the exact moment Timmy remembered his chocolate.
He reached into his pocket. His pocket squelched.
"Oh no," said Timmy, pulling out a hand covered in warm, gooey, melted chocolate. It was on his fingers. It was on his pocket. It was, somehow, on his elbow.
His mum looked at the chocolate. Then she looked at Timmy. Then she raised one eyebrow — just one — which is a thing mums practise in secret.
"I know, I know," sighed Timmy. "Eat it now means eat it now."
"That's the one," said his mum, and she wiped his hands clean and kissed the top of his head, because a sticky boy who has learned something is still a boy you love very much.
The next morning she bought him a brand-new bar, and Timmy ate it on the spot — every square — before it even had a chance to get warm.
And that night, tucked up in his holiday bed, Timmy closed his eyes and could still hear the wheels going clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack… all the way to sleep.