LITMIR.BIZ

      All but one kid put their hand up. No one actually enjoyed going to the dentist. At best it was tolerated. The one boy who didn’t put his hand up was too busy texting.

      Alfie reached his hand in the air as high as he could.

      “Oh! So many hands. Ha ha!” she laughed, though not in a way that suggested she found it funny. “So how many of you REALLY REALLY REALLY hate going to the dentist…?” incanted Miss Root in that singsong voice of hers.

      Most of the hands stayed up, and Alfie actually rose out of his chair so his hand would be the highest. This boy was the king of really really really hating going to the dentist. After he had the wrong tooth pulled out, no one in the known universe hated going to the dentist more than Alfie.

      “Ho ho ho!” said the dentist.

      “Who on earth says ‘Ho ho ho’?” whispered Alfie to Gabz.

      “So lame!” replied the little girl.

“Well, Mummy is here today to tell you there is absolutely nothing to be scared of…” The words danced in the air as she spoke. If her tone of voice was meant to sound reassuring, it didn’t. It sounded the opposite of reassuring. It was in fact decidedly unnonreassuring*.

*Made-up word ALERT

      “Now I need a volunteer, hands up…!” said the dentist.

      All those little hands that had been up were now well and truly down. To avoid any confusion, Alfie shot his hands down to his feet. Any lower and they would be underground. He wanted there to be a less than zero chance that he would be picked.

      “Nobody…?” asked Miss Root.

      Even the swots and show-offs kept deadly silent.

      “Come on, children, I don’t bite!” The dentist smiled and flashed her blindingly white teeth.

      “Who hasn’t been to the dentist for a very very long time…?” she purred.

      The pupils started whispering to each other and looking around. Soon hundreds of pairs of eyes were glaring at Alfie. Everyone at school had at some point noticed his teeth. They were so bad, they might as well have been a tourist attraction. They could even have their own café and gift shop.

      The dentist followed the children’s gaze and fixed her eyes on Alfie.

      “Oh yes, I thought it might be you…” Miss Root’s long, thin, gnarled finger pointed straight at him. “You, boy. Come to Mummy…”

      When Alfie’s shaking legs finally propelled him to the front of the hall, he looked into the dentist’s eyes for the first time. Miss Root’s eyes were black. Blacker than oil. Blacker than coal. Blacker than the blackest black.

      In short, they were black.

      The dentist stared long and hard at the boy, before uttering…

      “Don’t be scared, child…”

      There is nothing designed to scare a person more than being told not to be scared.

      “Let Mummy have a little look at your teeth…”

      Alfie kept his mouth firmly shut.

      “Open wide, there’s a good boy…”

      Suddenly Alfie felt as if he couldn’t help doing exactly what the dentist told him. He opened his mouth, and she peered inside.

      “Oh…” moaned the woman in pleasure. “Your teeth are absolutely abhorrent…”

      The whole of the lower school laughed at him.

      Except two children – Gabz, who looked on with sadness at the cruelty, and Texting Boy, who was still texting and had missed everything.

      “Oh dear, oh dear. What is your name, child…?” enquired the dentist.

      “Alfie, M-M-Miss…” the boy spluttered.

      “Call me Mummy…”

      There was no way he was ever going to call anyone that, least of all her.

      “Alfie what…?” continued Miss Root.

      “Alfie Griffith.”

      “Well, young Alfie Griffith, you simply must make an appointment to come and see me at my surgery very soon…”

      Alfie shuddered at the thought. He had vowed never to go anywhere near another dentist as long as he lived.

      “Do you like presents, child…?”

      Like all kids, the boy loved presents.

      “Y-y-yes…” he replied.

      “Well, Mummy’s got a little present for you. For being such a good boy today, here – have a free tube of my own special brand of toothpaste…”

      From the trolley, Miss Root picked up a thick white tube with the word ‘MUMMY’S’ emblazoned in big red letters on the side.

      The slogan ‘Mummy loves your teeth’ was inscribed in smaller black letters under that.

      “And one of my special toothbrushes. Do you prefer hard or soft bristles, Alfie Griffith…?”

The boy had had the same toothbrush all his life. He had no idea whether it once had been hard or soft. Right now there was only one lonely bristle left. It was virtually bristleless*.

*Made-up word ALERT

      “I don’t mind…”

      “I’ll give you a nice soft one, then…” announced Miss Root.

      A gleaming white ‘MUMMY’S’ toothbrush was produced from the trolley. The bristles on the end were sharp and wiry. Alfie ran his finger along them and winced. It was like stroking a porcupine.

      Holding the brush and tube in his hands, Alfie looked like a tearful child you might see at the zoo who has been made to face their fear of spiders by being given a huge, hairy, highly poisonous

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