The Fire Lady and the Lollipop Lady

Part One. Cones in the Playground

On Monday morning, the crack in the playground had a fence around it.

It wasn't a very good fence. It was made of six orange traffic cones and a roll of red-and-white tape that said CAUTION. But it stopped most people from falling in, which was the main thing. A thin curl of steam rose from the crack. The tarmac around it was warm and soft, and a bit sticky, like toffee.

Sitting on the edge of the cones, with her bare feet dangling over the crack, was Miss Pele.

She had a long red cloak, and black hair streaked with orange that moved slowly, as if it were being blown by a breeze that nobody else could feel. Her badge said Miss Pele, Home Economics and Hot Water. Wherever she walked, her footprints glowed, and then faded, and left behind a faint smell of toast.

She did not look happy.

"Don't go near her," whispered Ollie, as we filed past. "She looks like she might go off."

"She looks sad," said Felix.

"She looks cross," said Alex.

"She looks both," said Felix.

Elfine and Marion were already waiting by the gate, with Willow tucked under Marion's arm. Willow was not purring. She had her head turned away from the crack and her whiskers laid back. Even the nine-year-old Reading Cat of our class thought this was too hot.

"I've been reading about her all weekend," whispered Elfine. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "I think this is going to be a tricky one."

Part Two. Elfine Has a Fact

We sat on the far side of the playground, as far from the crack as we could get. Elfine opened her notebook and read from her neatest page.

"Pele is the goddess of fire and volcanoes," she said. "She comes from Hawai'i, the islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. She is very powerful, and very old. And even now, people in Hawai'i still honour her and tell her stories with great respect. She lives in the crater of a mountain called Kilauea. Sometimes that mountain erupts, and glowing rivers of lava flow down to the sea."

"Hawai'i," said Dot slowly. "That's where Mister Maui comes from."

"The islands are the ones he fished up with his hook," said Alex.

"And Pele is the one who lives in them," said Elfine. "She's their fire."

"But why is she in our playground?" said Marion.

"I think she's running away," said Elfine. "In the old story, Pele used to live far away, in a place called Tahiti. She had lots of brothers and sisters. And one of them was Namaka, the goddess of the sea."

"Her sister is the sea?" said Ollie.

"And they didn't get along," said Elfine. "They quarrelled and quarrelled. So Pele sailed away in a canoe with her family. She was looking for a new home, where she could light a fire and keep it burning. And she dug a fire pit on one island. But her sister Namaka followed her in a great rolling wave, and put it out. So Pele moved to the next island, and the next. Each time she dug a pit, Namaka sent the sea after her. Pele was hot, and Namaka was wet, and neither one would give in."

"That's silly," said Dot.

"It's very silly," said Elfine. "Until at last, on the biggest island, Pele climbed right up to the top of a mountain, so high that the sea could never reach her. And she's lived there ever since."

"So why's she here?" said Felix.

"I don't know," said Elfine. "But I'm guessing Namaka is on her way."

Part Three. Home Economics and Hot Water

On Monday afternoon, we had our first lesson with Miss Pele.

We were nervous. None of us had ever had a teacher with a crack in the playground. But the Home Economics room smelled like a bakery on a cold day, and Miss Pele stood at the front with a loaf of bread and a very small smile.

"Today we are making toast," she said. "Does anybody know how to make toast?"

"With a toaster," said Dot.

"Watch," said Miss Pele.

She took a slice of bread and held it between her two flat hands, like a sandwich. A faint orange glow came up through her fingers. There was a little sizzle. When she opened her hands, the bread was perfectly golden, crisp at the edges, and smelling so good that Ollie had to hold on to the table.

She made a whole tray of it, one slice after another, and handed it round with butter. It was the best toast any of us had ever eaten. Alex ate his slowly, in tiny bites, to make it last. Felix ate his in about four seconds. Then they swapped halves, because that is how they do it.

"This is perfect," said Alex.

"Perfect," said Felix, with his mouth full.

Miss Pele went a bit pink. It was the first time we had seen her smile properly.

That was when the door opened and Mister Harris came in, with his clipboard.

"Sorry to interrupt, Miss Pele," he said. "The council say that crack in the playground will take two weeks to mend. And I wondered, in the meantime, if you could perhaps try to stay a little calmer? We had a rather worried parent this morning." He looked at the sparks in her hair. "Calm down, that's all."

The room went very quiet.

Then her hair went up. Not slowly, the way it usually did. All at once, like a match dropped into straw. The tray of toast burst into flames. Dot shrieked. Mister Harris grabbed the fire bucket by the door and threw it, and the water hit the tray with a huge PSSSHHH. The whole room filled with steam.

When it cleared, there were twenty slices of toast on the counter, every one as black as coal. Miss Pele was standing in the middle of them, with smoke curling off her shoulders and her eyes very bright.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It just comes up."

And she ran out through the steam. We heard her bare feet in the corridor, glowing and then fading.

Mister Harris looked at his empty bucket. "Well," he said. "That didn't work."

"She was already trying," said Felix.

"And saying calm down never makes anyone calm down," said Alex. "It makes it worse."

Felix looked at the loaf. There was one slice left in the bag, plain and pale. He picked it up, and thought for a moment, and put it in his pocket.

"For later," he said.

Part Four. The Floor Is Lava

It was Tuesday when everything went wrong.

At break time, the Reception class were playing their favourite game. It's called The Floor Is Lava, and it goes like this. You pretend the ground is a river of burning lava, and you have to climb onto the nearest high thing before you get burnt.

"The floor is LAVA!" shrieked Dot, and the whole of Reception scrambled up the climbing frame.

It's a fun game. Right up until the moment when it isn't a game.

Miss Pele jerked her head up. Her eyes flashed red. "Lava?" she said, in a dangerous voice. "Who said lava?"

"We're only playing," said Dot, from the top of the slide.

"Everyone always says lava," said Miss Pele. Her hair rose up around her head like flames. "Everyone's always saying calm down, don't be so hot-headed, don't be so fiery. And I try. I really do try. But then it all comes bubbling up, and I can't help it, and..."

The crack in the playground split wider with a bang. A bright orange river of glowing lava came pouring out and spread across the tarmac in every direction.

It was real lava. It oozed. It bubbled. It lit up the whole playground in a flickering orange glow.

"Everybody up!" shouted Mister Harris, blowing his whistle. "Climbing frame! Slide! Anything high!"

Children scrambled onto the benches, the bike shelter and the roofs of the sheds. Reception clung to the top of the climbing frame. And the lava crept closer and closer, until the frame was surrounded on every side.

Part Five. Marion's Monkey Bars

"They can't get down!" shrieked Maya.

"They'll be stuck up there," said Kenji.

The lava rolled round and round the climbing frame in a glowing ring. The wooden legs started to smoke. Dot and the other Reception children huddled together on the top, crying and holding hands.

"I'll get them," said Marion.

She was already running. Marion has the best climbing legs in school, and she knew exactly what to do. She leaped onto the nearest bench, then onto the roof of the bike shelter, then along the top of the fence, three steps ahead of the lava. At the end of the fence, she jumped. She caught the bottom bar of the monkey bars with both hands, and swung.

"What are you doing?" yelled Elfine.

"The monkey bars go right across!" yelled Marion. "They go all the way to the frame! It's a bridge!"

She swung from bar to bar, hand over hand, her feet dangling above the glowing river. Alex and Felix jumped up beside her, one on each side, hand over hand, and Kenji, Ollie and Maya followed. They made a line of swinging children across the playground, with their toes inches above the heat.

"Come on, Dot!" yelled Felix.

"It's too far!" cried Dot.

"You can do it!" yelled Alex. "One bar at a time!"

Dot wiped her nose. She took a deep, shaky breath. "I'm small," she called, "but I've got strong arms!"

And one by one, hand over hand, with Marion and the twins cheering her on, the Reception children crossed the burning playground, until every last one was safe.

Part Six. The Lollipop Lady

That was when a whistle blew.

It wasn't Mister Harris. It was a thin, clear, cool whistle, like the sound a wave makes, sliding up the sand.

A woman was standing in the middle of the road outside the school gates, holding up a big round STOP sign. It was shaped like a wave. She wore a long, shimmering sea-green coat, covered in tiny shells, and her hair rippled over her shoulders like water. Her badge said Miss Namaka, Lollipop Lady.

She did not look hurried. She did not look cross. She looked completely calm, like a pond with no wind on it.

Behind her, a line of cars had stopped dead. The drivers were all staring.

"Hello, Pele," said Namaka, in a voice like a rolling tide.

"Go away," said Miss Pele.

"I've been looking for you for three weeks," said Namaka. She walked slowly through the school gates. The wet tarmac hissed wherever her feet touched it. "You left in the middle of the night. You didn't even leave a note."

"I didn't want to be found," said Pele.

"I know," said Namaka. "That's the problem. You never do."

The lava fizzed. The air was getting hotter. Pele stood up, and the ground cracked under her feet. Namaka raised her STOP sign, and a swirling curtain of mist came rolling in off the road.

"She's going to put out the fire," whispered Elfine.

"She's going to flood the school," said Marion.

"They're both going to do something terrible," said Kenji. "I can feel it."

Part Seven. The First Try

"We have to stop them," said Alex.

"Before they flood the school," said Felix.

"Or burn it," said Alex.

They looked at each other. And then they did what twins do when something big is happening and there is no time to plan. They each picked a side. Alex ran towards Pele. Felix ran towards Namaka.

"Please stop!" said Alex, tugging at Pele's cloak. "Somebody's going to get hurt!"

"Stay out of it," said Pele. She did not even look down. A little flame jumped off her sleeve and singed one side of his fringe.

"Please stop!" said Felix to Namaka. "You'll flood everything!"

"This is between sisters," said Namaka coolly. A wave of mist rolled over him and soaked him from his hair to his socks.

They ended up crouching behind the bench. Alex smelled of toast, and one side of his fringe had curled up. Felix dripped. A little puddle was spreading under his shoes. Neither of them had been the least bit of use.

"She wouldn't listen to me," said Alex.

"She wouldn't listen to me either," said Felix, wringing out his sleeve.

"I was on Pele's side," said Alex.

"I was on Namaka's side," said Felix.

They both stopped.

"That's the problem," said Alex slowly. "Everybody's picked a side."

"Even us," said Felix.

Under the bench, where she had been hiding with her paws over her nose, Willow gave them a long look. It was the look she gives when somebody finally gets it.

Part Eight. Nobody's Side

So this time, Alex and Felix did not pick a side. And that was how they noticed the thing that everyone else had missed.

Pele and Namaka were shouting at each other, but they weren't saying what they really meant. Pele was shouting about being chased. Namaka was shouting about being left. Neither of them was listening, and both of them were crying.

Alex took Felix's hand, and Felix took Alex's. Alex's fringe still smelled of toast.

"Smell the toast," Alex whispered. It was what Nana always said, when they were about to go off.

"Blow out the candle," whispered Felix. They both breathed in, and out, and in again.

Then they walked through the glowing playground together, right between the two goddesses.

"Excuse me," said Alex, in his clear, careful voice.

"Excuse me," said Felix, in his gentle one.

Pele looked down. Her eyes were red from crying. A tear rolled down her face and sizzled when it hit the ground. Namaka looked down too. Her sea-green eyes were shining.

"We're twins," said Alex.

"We know about fighting," said Felix.

"We fight about all sorts of silly things," said Alex. "Who gets the red cup. Who started it. Who's the tallest."

"I'm the tallest," said Felix.

"No, I am," said Alex.

"We have a rule," said Felix. "When we have a fight that's too big to fix, we count to three. And then we both say sorry. At the same time. And then we have a hug."

"Even if it wasn't our fault?" said Namaka, slowly.

"Especially if we're not sure whose fault it was," said Alex.

"Because then it doesn't matter," said Felix. "You just want to be friends again more than you want to win."

Part Nine. The Canoe

Pele sat down on the edge of the crack, with her chin in her hands.

"It was the canoe," she said, in a small voice.

"The canoe?" said Felix, and he sat down next to her.

"Namaka had a beautiful canoe," said Pele. "She painted it herself. It had a long curved prow and a little carved bird on the front. And I borrowed it, without asking, to go and look at a volcano. And I got too close, and..." She sniffed. "I burnt it."

"The whole thing?" said Alex, sitting down beside Namaka.

"Right down to the water," said Namaka, in a wobbly voice. "It was my favourite thing in the world."

"And I never said sorry," whispered Pele. "I was too embarrassed. So I ran away. And then you chased me, and I got cross, and the more you chased, the more I ran. And now it's been a hundred years."

"A hundred and four," said Namaka.

"I'm sorry," said Pele. "I should have said it."

"I'm sorry too," said Namaka. "I should have stopped chasing and just asked why."

There was a long pause. The lava gave a gentle bloop. The mist swirled. Neither goddess moved.

"Say it together," said Felix.

"On three," said Alex.

Part Ten. Willow's Moment

Pele and Namaka glanced at Alex and Felix. Then at the ground.

"I can't," said Pele. "I'm too hot. If I hug her, I'll burn her. And she's so wet, she'll put me out."

"Could somebody help me?" said Pele, in a very small voice. "I don't know how to stop."

"We'll help," said Elfine. "Willow's going to help."

Everyone looked at Willow. She was sitting on the bench where she had been hiding, with her paws tucked neatly under her chest, looking at the goddesses with half-closed golden eyes.

Elfine whispered in Marion's ear. Marion nodded. She picked Willow up gently and carried her across the playground, past the glowing lava, past the swirling mist, and held her out to Pele.

"She's a Reading Cat," said Marion. "She's very good at calming people down."

Pele hesitated. Then, very carefully, she took Willow in her arms.

Willow looked at the glowing lava. She looked at the swirling mist. Her tail twitched, once. Then she looked up at Pele, and blinked, and tucked her nose into the red cloak. And she started to purr.

It was the biggest purr we had ever heard. It rolled out of her chest like a motor, deep and slow and warm. And as it did, the orange glow in Pele's hair began to fade. Her shoulders loosened. The heat around her dropped, a little at a time, until her cloak stopped smoking and her feet stopped glowing.

"Oh," said Pele, softly. "Oh, that helps."

"She does that," said Marion proudly.

"She puts up with us," said Elfine. "But sometimes she makes an exception."

Part Eleven. Sorry on Three

Pele held out her hand to Namaka. It was warm, but not burning. Namaka took it. Her hand was cool, but not freezing.

"On three," said Alex.

"One," said Felix.

"Two," said Alex.

"Three," said both twins.

"Sorry," said Pele and Namaka, together.

And they threw their arms round each other. It was a very big hug. There was a sizzle, and a hiss, and a great billow of white steam that rolled across the playground like a cloud. We couldn't see anything for a moment. We heard laughing, and sniffing, and somebody saying "I missed you so much", and somebody else saying "me too".

When the steam cleared, the two goddesses were standing with their arms round each other's shoulders. Namaka's sea-green hair was tangled up with Pele's red-gold curls. Their cheeks were wet.

"We did it," said Dot, who was sitting on Mister Harris's shoulders. "They said sorry!"

"We always knew you could," said Felix.

"All you needed was a little help," said Alex.

Part Twelve. How Islands Are Made

But the lava was still creeping across the tarmac.

"Oh dear," said Pele, wiping her eyes. "I forgot about that."

"Don't worry," said Namaka. She held up her STOP sign. The wave on it began to glow. "Shall we?"

"Together?" said Pele.

"Together," said Namaka.

Pele held out her hands, and the lava rolled gently towards the edge of the playground. Namaka raised hers, and a soft sparkling spray of seawater drifted over the glowing river. Where the water met the fire, there was a hiss, and a puff of steam. And then the lava went dark and still.

It had turned to black rock. Smooth and shiny, like glass. And along the edge, where the waves of spray had settled, a pile of fine, silky black sand had been left behind, like a tiny beach.

"It's an island!" whispered Elfine.

"It's a very small island," said Alex, looking at it. "About the size of a bus stop."

"Population, one worm," said Felix. A worm had popped up on the black sand and was looking round in alarm.

"That's how islands get made," said Pele, with a wobbly smile. "Fire pushes it up out of the ground. And the sea carves it into beaches. We were never meant to be enemies. We were meant to be partners. It just took us a hundred and four years to remember."

All around the playground, the black rock was cooling into smooth, shining patches. In the middle, where the crack had been, there was a round black stone, warm as a hot-water bottle, smooth enough to sit on.

"That's the best seat in the school," said Kenji.

"It'll stay warm all winter," said Pele. "I'll make sure of it."

Part Thirteen. What Pele Said

At the end of the day, Pele sat on the new warm stone and told us something.

She had a cup of cocoa in her hands, which Missus Tibbs had made, and Willow was curled up in her lap, still purring. Namaka sat beside her, with her feet in the school pond, which was suddenly bigger and bluer than it had ever been.

"I'm very, very hot-tempered," said Pele. "Everyone knows it. I flare up quickly, and I say things I don't mean. And I always thought that made me a bad goddess."

"It doesn't," said Felix.

"I always thought it was only me who got this cross," said Pele. "I didn't know I was allowed to ask for help."

Marion nudged Elfine. "We should try the counting thing sometimes," she whispered.

"We don't fight," said Elfine.

"We fight about the bathroom," said Marion.

"Fair point," said Elfine.

Part Fourteen. Smell the Toast

The next morning, Miss Pele was in the Home Economics room before any of us. We were early too, because Felix had said something might happen.

"I'd like to try again," she said, "but I'm frightened it will go wrong."

Felix took the slice of bread out of his pocket. It was a bit squashed, and still a little damp from the sea mist.

"I kept this," he said. "For later. In case you wanted a go without the whole class watching."

"You kept it?" said Pele, and her voice caught.

"We've got a trick," said Alex. "Nana taught it to us. It's for when you feel like you're about to go off. You breathe in slowly, like you're smelling toast."

"And then you breathe out slowly," said Felix, "like you're blowing out a candle."

"Smell the toast," said Alex.

"Blow out the candle," said Felix.

They did it three times, all three of them, in and out. The first time, Pele's breath came out in a puff of smoke. The second time, a little wisp. The third time, nothing at all, only warm air.

She held the slice between her hands. At once it began to glow, too bright and too fast, and her hair flickered.

"Smell the toast," whispered Alex.

"Blow out the candle," whispered Felix.

She breathed in. She breathed out. The glow settled, steady and orange, like the flame on a birthday cake. When she opened her hands, there was a slice of perfect golden toast.

She tore it into three. "One for Alex," she said. "One for Felix. One for me."

We didn't get any. But we could smell it, and it smelled like the best morning ever.

Just then the door opened, and Mister Harris put his head in. He had a full bucket of water behind his back, which he thought nobody had noticed. He saw Pele, and he stopped.

"I was going to say something," he said carefully. "But I don't think I should."

"You can say it," said Pele.

"Calm down?" said Mister Harris, in a very small voice.

Pele shut her eyes. She breathed in. A single wisp of smoke rose from her hair. She breathed out. It faded.

"Thank you, Mister Harris," she said. "I'm working on it."

Very quietly, he put the bucket down.

Mister Harris turned the colour of a boiled sweet, said "Jolly good," and walked into the door.

Part Fifteen. The Ending, with a Hook

Later that week, as the November evenings drew in, something very odd happened.

It was Friday, nearly home time. Pele and Namaka were sitting on the warm stone, comparing shells and rocks and telling each other stories. Mister Hadad was leaning against the cabin with his arms folded, looking pleased with himself. And Alex and Felix, who had a few minutes before their nana arrived, were sitting on the steps by the school door, watching the sunset.

Dot, who notices things, tugged on Felix's sleeve.

"Look," she said. "On the windowsill."

We looked. On the windowsill of every classroom, as far as we could see, there was a small clay lamp. They were round and shallow, like tiny saucers, and each one had a little flame dancing in the middle. There were hundreds of them. They twinkled all the way along the building.

"Who put those there?" said Maya, flipping open her notebook.

"I didn't," said Mister Harris. He looked baffled.

"It's Diwali soon," whispered Elfine. "It's the festival of lights. It's in just over a week."

On the steps below us, in the damp earth by the door, was a single line of tiny footprints. They were perfectly formed, and they were shining like gold, and they led from the school gate to the front door.

A single pink lotus flower lay on the doorstep.

"Lotus," said Elfine, very quietly. "Gold footprints. Lamps." She looked up at the doorway. "I know who that is."

Pele and Namaka stood up. Hadad took off his helmet. Even Willow lifted her head and sniffed.

A voice, soft as silk, drifted out of the school hallway. "Is anyone in? I've come to bring good luck."

Everyone looked at Alex and Felix. The golden light was flickering in their eyes. They said, at exactly the same time, "Monday."

The End.