Cleo: Finding Her Drive

The hat was enormous. It had a feather, a ribbon and something that might once have been a plastic grape.

Cleo put it on.

“I am the Duchess of Biscuit,” she announced.

At Harbour House, the dress-up box was full of possibilities. A scarf could become a royal sash. A cardboard tube could become a telescope. Two socks could become a very small, very cross octopus.

Marin stood at the edge of the game, holding her sketchbook.

Cleo noticed.

“Room for one more!” she said, lifting another hat from the box.

Marin shook her head.

Cleo paused. Perhaps a hat wasn't what she needed.

“Would you like to draw our castle instead?”

Marin sat down beside her.

“Yes.”

By teatime, the Duchess of Biscuit had a castle, a friend and a pet crab.

Later, Felix and Vivienne adopted the five girls together, and they moved to Skylock House.

Cleo's new bedroom was lovely.

It was also huge.

Her funny hat looked very small on its hook. When she said hello, the room seemed to say it back.

“Showing off,” Cleo told the room.

That evening, Vivienne found her sitting on the bed.

“It's all right to need time,” she said.

Cleo looked down. She was good at making other people feel welcome. Asking for comfort herself felt harder.

“Could somebody stay for a bit?”

Soon four sisters arrived with blankets.

Pip brought a notebook. Juno brought biscuits. Marin brought the castle drawing. Astra made space for everyone.

The room filled with whispering and crumbs.

“Much better,” Cleo said.

The hat agreed, in a very dignified way.

As the girls grew, Cleo discovered that she liked old radios almost as much as old hats.

Felix showed her how to care for them at the workshop bench.

One radio crackled so loudly that she called it Sir Crunch.

“You have a beautiful voice,” she told it. “It just sounds like toast.”

With patient work, its music came through clearly.

Felix also taught her about engines. When she was old enough, trained instructors helped her learn to drive.

Then came careful rescue training and towing practice.

Magpie became her road rescue car: pearl white, twin blue stripes and four very ordinary tyres.

Under its classic shape were clever rescue tools.

“Anything it can't do?” Juno asked.

“Wear a hat,” Cleo said. “I've tried.”

Juno wisely decided not to ask for details.

One afternoon, a van driver called for help on the coast road.

“My van has stopped near the red sign,” he said. His voice sounded tight and worried.

Cleo checked the map. There were three red signs along that road.

She could have guessed. Instead, she asked a clear question.

“Can you see a place name on your side of the road?”

“The old lighthouse café.”

“Thank you. That tells us just where you are.”

While the rescue team secured the road, Cleo drove Magpie to meet him.

The driver stood in a safe place away from traffic, looking miserable.

“I've made a mess of everybody's day.”

“A van can break down,” Cleo said. “People can ask for help.”

Then she added, “Magpie loves an excuse to show off those stripes.”

That earned a small smile.

The van was carrying boxes for a seaside puppet show. Its engine would not start.

“The children will be waiting,” the driver said.

“We'll tell the organisers what's happened,” Cleo replied. “Then we'll get you somewhere safe.”

She explained the plan before the team began.

Magpie would lead. The approved tow connection went from the back of her car to the front of the van.

Cleo and the trained crew checked everything together. Nobody stood between the vehicles when they moved.

Soon Magpie was pulling the van along the cleared road towards the nearby garage.

Can you picture those blue stripes leading the way?

The driver could still hear Cleo's calm updates over the radio.

One tool was doing the pulling.

Another was helping him feel less alone.

At the garage, the puppet-show organiser met them with another van.

The boxes were safe. The show could still happen, a little later.

The driver opened one box to check.

A purple puppet in a huge feathered hat stared up at Cleo.

“My word,” she said. “A fellow professional.”

The driver laughed properly this time.

Back home, Cleo parked Magpie and joined her sisters for tomato and mozzarella pasta.

“Big rescue?” Astra asked.

“A small tow,” Cleo said. “And some useful words.”

She thought of Marin beside the dress-up box. She thought of asking her sisters to stay in that enormous bedroom.

Being brave didn't mean never needing comfort.

It could mean offering it.

It could mean asking.

After supper, Cleo fetched her oldest, funniest hat.

“Room for one more game?”

There always was.