Jack, Emmy, Millie and Mable and the Second Star to the Right

In a little white cottage above Faro, the cicadas hummed and the sea went gold. Jack’s suitcases stood by the door, and Emmy stirred in her cradle. “Time to fly home to London,” said Granny softly.

A rustle in the lemon tree by the window. Two pairs of bright eyes peeped through the leaves — Millie and Mable, all the way from London! “We’ve come to fly home with you,” whispered Mable.

A little white taxi wound down the eucalyptus-scented hill, past sleepy olive groves and a dozing donkey. Emmy yawned in Jack’s lap; the foxes hid quiet as mice in the back.

Faro airport glowed pink and gold in the last of the light. The suitcases trundled away on a long black belt. Jack held Emmy carefully. Millie and Mable peeped from his olive rucksack.

A kind stewardess in a navy cap waved them up the wobbly metal steps. Behind them the sky turned from rose to deepest violet. “All aboard,” she said with a wink.

Inside the cabin: rows of soft seats, warm reading lamps, oval windows full of evening sky. Mable nipped into Jack’s coat. Millie tucked under Emmy’s sage muslin blanket.

A long, rolling roar — and up they went! The Algarve fell away below, gold-rimmed beaches and tiny sardine boats. Emmy’s wide blue eyes glittered at the glass.

The sky deepened to indigo. The first star appeared, then ten, then a hundred. Jack whispered, “Look, Emmy — second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”

Up jumped Millie and Mable onto the tray-table. They flicked their tails — and tiny silver sparkles drifted out across the cabin. The reading lamps seemed to blink in delight.

The cabin grew hushed. A grandpa snored under a newspaper. A grandma knitted one slow row. Far down the aisle, a tiny baby began to cry. Emmy listened. So did Jack.

Then Emmy’s own lip wobbled. “Uh-oh,” whispered Jack. Millie pulled a silly fox-face. Mable did a little tap-dance on the tray-table. A tiny smile broke through.

Brave big-brother Jack tiptoed across the aisle. He showed the other tiny baby Mable’s notched ear. Both babies stopped, wide-eyed and wondering. Two tired mums smiled their thanks.

A calm friendly voice crackled over the speakers: “Welcome aboard. If you look out of the left side now, you’ll see something rather lovely…”

Far, far below, the dark Channel sparkled with the lights of slow ships, like fireflies on velvet. The moon laid a long silver path right across the sea.

A kind steward leaned down with a tiny tray. “A glass of warm milk for the brave big brother.” Mable purred quietly. Millie sneaked a sip when nobody was looking.

The white cliffs of England glowed faintly in the moonlight. Little villages twinkled below. Jack pointed each lit window out to Emmy as if naming the very stars.

The plane banked gently. Below — a vast carpet of golden lights stretching every way at once. “London!” gasped Mable. Emmy clapped her tiny hands.

Down they glided along a silver ribbon of river. Big Ben golden in the dark. Tower Bridge twinkling. The O2 like a soft moon on the water. The foxes’ fairy-dust trailed behind.

The runway lights at London City Airport strung out like fairy lamps along the Docklands. A gentle bump, a soft cheer. “Home,” whispered Jack.

In the cosy back of a black London taxi, Emmy fast asleep on Jack’s shoulder, the foxes curled nose to tail on his lap. The city lights slid quietly by. “Goodnight, foxes.” “Goodnight, Jack.” “Goodnight, Emmy.”