Flash tale - "Litmus Test"

London, England

“I can see you’re working hard,” Nanny says, crouching down beside John. “Are you making something special?”

John nods. “Makin’ big.” He raises his arms above his head.

Nanny understands. “You’re making it tall, aren’t you. You’re making a tower.” She speaks in a bright tone that is both slow and enthusiastic at the same time.

“Tower,” John parrots. That’s the right word for something tall. Nanny’s so clever, she knows all the words. And she loves to watch John work with his blocks. Her attention makes him want to build the biggest, the tallest of towers, so Nanny will clap her hands and tell John what a good boy he is, what a good, strong boy. And then he gets lots of cuddles.

John knows all of this because it’s precisely how his morning has gone. He has been working hard in the nursery, to show Nanny that he’s a big boy and can play with all the lovely toys. He’s not a little baby, not a chance. And isn’t proving this to Nanny just the best feeling?

He smiles at the lady with the posh voice. She’s so pretty and sweet and she always knows just what to do. And when John thinks back to when he wasn’t sure – whether Nanny was the right lady to look after him, and whether in fact he even needed looking after – John knows that he was just being silly.

“I like your jumper,” Nanny says, rubbing John’s back. “It’s got the same colours as your blocks, hasn’t it.”

John looks down at his sweatshirt and blurts, “Blue! And…red, and green…”

“That’s right, clever boy, you know all your colours, don’t you.”

Nanny strokes John’s hair, and the boy smiles. “Know all the colours,” he repeats emphatically. Of course, he doesn’t say it as well as Nanny, because Nanny’s a grown-up and John isn’t. No duh culluz.

But Nanny still understands because she’s so clever and she always listens.

“My favourite colour is blue, like your sleeves,” Nanny says, patting John’s arms. “Do you have a favourite colour?”

John nods. “My favourite is blue,” he says. My fav-its boo.

Nanny laughs with evident delight. “Mine too!” She giggles. “No wonder we’re such good friends.”

“Does John-John want a choccy biccy?”

John grins, both at the use of Nanny’s nickname for him, and for the offer of a chocolate biscuit.

Nanny raises an eyebrow. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” John says immediately. Because he’s a very good boy.

Nanny gets to her feet, tousles John’s hair, and says, “Keep working your tower, sweetie. Nanny will be back with your snack.”

So John gets back to work, sitting by the chunky, plastic blocks and puzzle pieces. They all fit together somehow, but it’s up to John to work out exactly how. Because he has to use his imagination, just like when he imagined a really tall…

John’s nose wrinkles as he tries to remember the word Nanny used.

And then his eyes widen. He drops the building blocks. He looks at the beginnings of his…tower.

The word is back in his head, so but is so much more.

He’s sitting on the floor of his living room, and he’s a little boy.

He wasn’t little before. He was-

“Hope your tower is getting big!” calls Nanny from the kitchen.

John looks around, and the good feelings he had about the woman vanish.

He shouldn’t have been engrossed with toys meant for toddlers. He doesn’t need a nanny. He’s old. Or he was. Until…

He clasps his hands together as if trying to warm them up.

What did she do to him?

At the sound of footsteps, John struggles to his feet, annoyed at the chunky shortness of his limbs, embarrassed by the thick underwear that makes him waddle.

“Here’s your biccies, John-John.” She’s holding a plate with two chocolate digestives.

John steps back, waving his hands, as if the woman is offering to poison him.

“What’s-?” Nanny begins, and then she looks down in evident alarm as John stumbles back over his building blocks and falls down in a toddler-sized heap.

“Gosh!” exclaims the woman. “Poor little lamb, you had a tumble.” She puts the plate down on the couch and moves towards him. “Let Nanny- “

“No!” John cries. He holds his hands out, fists forming, as if he could hope to fight her off.

The woman does stop, and she looks at him with a puzzled expression. “What’s wrong, John-John?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t call me that.” And his diction is much improved. “I’m not really…” He waves at his reduced state. “This isn’t me.”

He expects that the woman will deny and deflect, she will try and persuade him otherwise. Instead, she nods, “That’s true. You’re not a little boy, not really. This was just a demonstration.”

John blinks. “Huh?”

The woman smiles. “John, you must remember. This is just a trial – you wanted to interview me, remember? For John-John? For your son? And I thought, why not give a full demonstration.” Her smile widens. “You called it a litmus test, remember?”

John fusses with the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “Okay,” he says softly. “But I don’t wanna be little.”

“Of course you don’t,” the woman replies, and she sits down on the couch. “It’s not as if this was forever.” She smiles. “Jus for today, a little while, so I could show you what a good nanny I am. Because if I can take care of you, then I can take care of your son, right?”

John nods. Although the idea of having a child of his own seems extraordinary. “I’m not a baby,” he whispers, looking down at his toes. “I’m not…it’s not…” He huffs. “All this is for babies,” he says, glaring at the toys littering the carpet.

The woman nods. “Yes, you’re right. The stacking blocks are for little boys.” She points at John’s waist. “And you’re wearing a nappy, but you didn’t use it.” She tilts her head at him. “Did you?”

“No!” replies John hotly. “No way!”

“Well then,” says the woman, as if the matter is now settled. “The test is over, and now I can turn you back into…hmmm, what age were you before?”

John examines his fingers, as if the answer might at the end of his hands.

The woman laughs gently. “Back to being a big boy, right? No silly nappies. All big and strong, right?”

“Yeah,” says John, feeling better.

“So are you happy with my nannying?” The woman steeples her fingers under her chin.

John blinks. “Huh?”

“Have I passed the test? Have taken good care of you?”

John thinks back to the last few minutes. Or is it hours? Or even longer than that? There have been snacks, and stories, and games, and cuddles, and even baths. He blushes at the fuzzy memory of Nanny…the woman washing him from head to toe. But the memories aren’t bad.

“Yes,” says John finally. He walks up to the woman and stands in front of her. He nods. “You passed.”

The woman beams. “Lovely!”

“So I can be big now?” asks John shyly.

“Of course! You’re not a baby!” The woman rubs her hands together. “But you do have to pay me. For the litmus test, I mean.”

That makes sense. John understands money, he knows all about big, important matters like that. He reaches for the wallet in his trouser pocket, and then he blushes. His pockets are empty.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

John looks down, blushing. “I don’t have any money,” he whispers.

The woman reaches and lifts John’s chin with a gentle finger. “That’s okay, Nanny doesn’t need money.” She winks. “But she does love kisses and cuddles, and you do give the best cuddles, John-John.”

And she scoops John onto her lap.

John cries out in surprise. “Hey!”

“Silly John-John,” coos Nanny, patting his bottom playfully as if he really was just a toddler. “Let’s have a lovely cuddle, and then you can tell Nanny about what a big boy you are.” She giggles sweetly. “Or perhaps you’ll decide you’re just a sweet little baby making little messes in your nappy and drinking from a bottle, and Nanny will dress you all up in fluffy jammies and rock you to sleep.” She giggles again. “How does that sound, John-John?”

“Nuh-no,” John squirms, trying to escape from the woman’s enthusiastic embrace, because John’s biggest fear is not how terrible it all sounds, but how delightful. The woman has put some kind of spell on him, she has done something to his mind as well as his body, and he has to-

“Uh-oh,” says Nanny. She gives the best cuddles, but she’s got other tricks up her sleeve. She kisses his head and whispers in his ear, “Uh-oh…I think I heard…the tickle monster!” And she runs her fingers up and down John’s sides and over his tummy.

John squeals and wriggles in Nanny’s arms. “Stop, please!” But even though the tickling is close to overwhelming, and even though John is suddenly certain that he’s about to wet his pants like a silly baby, a part of him doesn’t want Nanny to stop. Because there is something so perfect about being tickled, about getting to wriggle and push and shriek as loudly as he wants.

“I don’t think you’re getting away,” Nanny says in a deep voice. “I think the tickle monster’s got you.”

It’s not scary. Nanny’s just playing, Nanny knows all sorts of fun games. And even when she pretends to be a monster, John still feels safe, nestled securely against Nanny’s soft cardigan.

“I think the tickle monster’s got you,” says Nanny, “because you’re just a little baby, aren’t you.”

“Nuh-no!” John protests, producing red-face laughter.

“No?” asks Nanny, her tone heavy with scepticism. “You’re not a sweet little baby?”

John shakes his head and pushes at Nanny’s mischievous fingers. “Not a baby!” Nodda bay-ee!

Nanny stops tickling but snakes her arms around the boy and holds him tight. “Can you escape, are you a big strong boy, John-John? Are you Nanny’s big strong boy?”

He pushes with all his might. “Uhhhh…uh-huh!” He shifts his hips and kicks with his bare feet, and then makes a supreme effort with his palms. “Bih…stoh…boy!”

That does the trick. The pressure releases, both physical and mental, and John is free. He scoots away from Nanny and scrambles to his feet.

He points at her with delight. “Diddit! Big boy!” And then he giggles at the warm, ticklish wetness in his crotch.

Nanny nods, looking just almost as warm as John’s nappy feels. He pushes on the wet mess captured in his nappy and wonders how that happened. Because he’s a big boy after all, Nanny just said so. And Nanny knows everything.

Nanny brushes hair from her forehead and exclaims, “Gosh! What a big strong boy!” She tidies her skirt, and then says, “But you must be hungry.”

John looks at the plate of biscuits and then back at Nanny. He nods and puts a finger in his mouth. “Uh-huh,” he mumbles. “Wan biccy, Nanny.”

The woman smiles indulgently. “Thought so.” She pats her skirt. “Up you pop, you can eat your biccies on Nanny’s lap.”

John wastes on time on climbing up, and he soon has a chocolate biscuit crammed into his mouth, enjoying the sweetness coating his tongue, and he forgets about the mess in his nappy, just as he forgets all about ever having been a big boy.

THE END

John is tasked with interviewing a nanny for his son. She seems very eager for John to understand just how good she is...