Watch your step

I'm reading, and enjoying enormously, 44 Scotland Street.  This interchange between Bertie, a highly intelligent, Italian speaking, saxophone playing five year old and his  mother Irene had me laughing out loud on the tube earlier, much to the amusement of the man sitting next to me.

"Do come along, Bertie," said Irene.  "Mummy has not got all day.  And why are you walking in that silly way?"

"Cracks," said Bertie.  If I step on the cracks, then they'll get me.  È vero."

"What nonsense!" she said.  "Non è vero! And who are they anyway? the CIA?"

"Bears..." Bertie began, and then stopped.  "The CIA? Do they get you too?"

"Of course they don't," said Irene.  "Nobody gets you."

They walked on in silence.  Then Bertie said "Who are the CIA? Where do they live?"

"The CIA are American spies," said Irene.  "They watch people, I suppose."

"Are they watching us?"

"Of course not. And they don't mind if you step on the cracks.  Plenty of people step on the cracks and get away with it."

Bertie thought for a moment.  "Some people get away with it? And other people? What happens to them?"

"Nothing," said Irene.  "Nothing happens to anybody if they step on the cracks.  Look, I'm stepping on the cracks, and nothing is happening to me.  Look.  Another crack, right in the middle, and nothing....."

She did not complete her sentence.  Her heel, caught in a rather larger than usual crack, became stuck and she fell forwards, landing heavily on the pavement.  Her foot, wrenched out of its shoe, twisted sharply and she felt a sudden pain in her ankle.

Bertie stood quite still.  Then he looked up at the sky and waited for a moment.  If there was to be further retribution, perhaps it would be from that quarter. But nothing came, and he felt safe enough to bend down and take his mother's hand.

"I've twisted my ankle," said Irene, miserably.  "It's very sore." 

"Poor Irene," said Bertie softly.  "I told you, didn't I?"

Irene rose to her feet tentatively.  The twisted ankle was painful, but not too painful to walk upon, and they could continue their journey, although more slowly than before.

"It's very important that you don't think that was anything but an accident" she said firmly, a few minutes later.  "That's all it was.  I don't want you developing magical ideas.  Belief in fairies and all the rest."

"Fairies?" asked Bertie.  "Are there any fairies?"

They were now at the end of London Street.  The nursery was not too far away.

"There are no fairies," said Irene.

Bertie looked doubtful.  "I'm not so sure," he said.