Ollie’s Tooth Is Somewhere

Ollie had a wobbly tooth. It was his very first one, right at the front, and it had been wobbling for six whole days.

He told everybody. He told his teacher. He told the bus driver. He told the dog next door twice, because the dog did not seem to understand the first time.

All week, Ollie’s tongue wiggled it. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. In the bath. At breakfast. In the middle of stories.

Under his pillow there was a little tin, all ready. It had a nest of tissue inside. On the lid Ollie had written TOOTH, with one O much bigger than the other.

“Tonight it will come out,” said Ollie. “I can feel it.”

* * *

Ollie’s house was at the bottom of a steep street. On Friday at suppertime, its kitchen was very busy. Steam came off the potatoes. Dad was spooning out peas. Mom was cutting bread. Baby Bea sat in her high chair, banging her spoon.

Bea only ever said one word. The word was “Ah!” She said it to the cat, to the moon, and to her own feet.

Grandad was there too. Grandad had turn-ups at the bottoms of his trousers. Whenever anything at all was lost, he checked them. Lost keys. Lost spoons. Once, a lost hat that was on his own head.

Grandad shook the pepper over his potatoes. A little cloud of it floated across the table, right up Ollie’s nose.

“Ah,” said Ollie.

“Ah!” said Bea, very pleased. That was her word.

“Ah,” said Ollie. “Ah. AAAH-CHOO!”

It was the biggest sneeze anyone in that house had ever heard. The peas jumped. The spoons rattled. Bea clapped.

Then Ollie’s tongue went looking for his tooth. Wiggle? No wiggle. There was only a funny new space where the wobble used to be.

“My tooth!” said Ollie. “It’s gone!”

“It must have flown out,” said Dad.

“It could be anywhere,” said Mom.

“It’s somewhere,” said Grandad. And he looked down at his trousers.

* * *

Everybody hunted.

Dad took the big soup ladle and scooped up the peas. He held them up to the lamp, one pea at a time.

“Pea,” said Dad. “Pea. Pea. Pea.”

Mom opened the bread bin. There were crumbs and a crust, but no tooth.

Grandad bent down and checked his turn-ups. Something small dropped into his hand.

“Not in my turn-ups,” said Grandad. “But here’s a button!”

“Ah!” said Bea. She pointed her spoon at Ollie. Then she opened her own mouth very wide. “Ah!”

“Yes, Bea,” said Mom. “Very good.” And she looked under the toaster.

Ollie looked under his plate. He looked in his sock. He looked in the cat’s bowl. The cat looked back at him.

“Pea,” said Dad. “Pea.”

Grandad checked his turn-ups again.

“Not in my turn-ups,” said Grandad. “But here’s a raisin!” He did not know how long it had been there. He put it on the windowsill, in case it was important.

“Ah!” said Bea. She pointed at Ollie and opened her mouth as wide as a dentist would like. “AH!”

“Good girl,” said Dad. He held up another pea. “Pea.”

Ollie sat down. He thought about the little tin under his pillow, with its nest of tissue and nothing in it.

“It waited all week,” said Ollie.

Mom gave him a big squeeze. “We’ll find it,” she said.

Grandad checked his turn-ups a third time. Out came a small pink ticket.

“Not in my turn-ups,” said Grandad. “But look! My ticket for the little train at the seaside, last summer!” He was so pleased that he showed it to everyone, even the cat.

“AH!” said Bea. She banged her spoon. She pointed at Ollie with both hands.

Nobody listened. Dad was down to his last six peas.

* * *

It was getting late. The kitchen had been searched from the floor to the top of the fridge. Ollie was tired from looking. He was tired from sneezing. He was tired from six whole days of wiggling.

He opened his mouth and did the most enormous yawn.

Everyone turned to look.

And there it was, right at the front. The tooth had never flown out at all. The big sneeze had only knocked it sideways, so it leaned over like a little gate left open.

“Ah!” said Bea.

“Ah,” said Mom.

“Ah,” said Dad.

“Ah,” said Grandad.

Ollie gave the tooth one last wiggle with his tongue. Wiggle, wiggle, plop. It dropped right into his hand.

It was small and white. It was much smaller than a pea.

Dad looked at all his peas, lined up by the lamp. “Well,” said Dad. “At least I can eat these now.” And he did, one pea at a time.

* * *

At bedtime, Ollie put the tooth in the tin, on its nest of tissue. He put on the lid that said TOOTH. He slid the tin under his pillow, right in the middle.

Mom carried Bea in to say goodnight.

“Thank you, Bea,” said Ollie. “You knew where it was the whole time.”

“Ah!” said Bea, and she patted his nose.

Grandad came to say goodnight too. At the door, he stopped. He bent down and checked his turn-ups one more time, just in case.

“Not in my turn-ups,” said Grandad. And he held up a pea.

Everybody laughed, very quietly, because it was nearly sleeping time.

Mom tucked Ollie in. Grandad kissed the top of his head. Dad turned out the big light, and the house at the bottom of the steep street went quiet.

Ollie lay still. His tongue found the new gap in his smile. No more wiggle. Just a little window where his tooth used to be.

His tooth was somewhere at last, safe in its tin, right under his head. And Ollie fell fast asleep, with his tongue poking through the gap.