Leo wanted a red kite. It cost fifty coins, and he had thirty.
Every Saturday he fed Mrs Pell’s rabbit, and every Saturday she gave him ten coins. So that was two more Saturdays, and then the kite. He had it all worked out.
But on the way home from Mrs Pell’s, the path split in two. One way went up the hill towards the kite shop. The other way went past Mr Lamb’s sweet shop, which had its door open, and from the door came the smell of sherbet lemons.
Leo stopped.
Sherbet lemons were five coins a bag.
“I could,” said Leo.
“You could,” said Pip, the very small star who went everywhere with him.
“Aren’t you going to tell me not to?”
“They’re your coins,” said Pip. “I only do maps.”
And Pip unrolled a very small map. There was Leo at one end. There was a little red flag for the kite at the other end. In between were two hops, one for each Saturday.
“Here’s you with no sherbet lemons,” said Pip. “Two hops.”
Then Pip moved the flag along. “Here’s you with one bag. Three hops.”
“So the kite’s one week later,” said Leo. “That’s not so bad.”
“No,” said Pip.
“What about a bag every week?”
Pip moved the flag. It went past the edge of the rabbit’s hutch, and past the river. Four hops.
“And two bags every week?”
Pip slid the flag right off the end of the map, and it fell on the grass.
“Where’s it gone?”
“That’s you never getting the kite,” said Pip. “Which is allowed. Plenty of people prefer sherbet lemons. It’s just good to know.”
Leo stood at the place where the path split for quite a long time. A bee went past. Mr Lamb came out, looked at him, and went back in.
Then Leo went in and bought one bag.
He sat on the wall and ate one sherbet lemon, very slowly. It fizzed in the way that only a sherbet lemon can. It was the best one he had ever had, possibly because he’d thought about it for so long.
The next Saturday he walked past the shop with his nose in the air and his ten coins in his fist. That was harder than he’d expected. The Saturday after that was harder still. And the Saturday after that, he went up the hill instead.
The kite was a week later than it could have been. It was, he decided, worth a week. It wouldn’t have been worth for ever. But the only reason he knew the difference was that he had looked at the map first.
That afternoon, right at the top of the hill with the string pulling in his hand, Leo reached into his pocket.
He had saved three sherbet lemons. It turns out they taste even better up there.