Roy the Pea
The next day, back at home, Evan and Chloé were curious. Francis lay on the floor, peering under the couch, muttering to himself. They got down beside him.
“What are you doing?” Evan asked politely.
Francis glanced at him then resumed staring under the settee. “If you must know, I’m talking to Roy the Pea.”
“Roy the Pea?” Chloé said, incredulously. “Who’s he?”
Francis looked at her as if he doubted her sanity. “Well, he’s a pea and his name is Roy and he lives under the couch.” He made a silly face for Evan.
“Are you sure? she said, lying as flat as she could.
“I can see him!” Evan cried out. “Is that him all covered in fluff?”
Francis smiled. “Yep, that’s my boy!”
“Does he say anything?” Chloé was straining to see properly but could just make out a small, dull green thing nestling in the fuzzy lint and dust that gathered in such places.
“Not a lot. He’s more what you would describe as a listener. And he’s quite shy, as well, so that’s probably why he only tells me things.” He sat up and rested against the coffee table’s leg. “He’s not been here for a while and he just said it was because he went on holiday.”
Evan jumped up. “We went on holiday! We went to Spain, didn’t we Chloé?”
“Yes, we did and it was lovely. Where did Roy go?”
“I’ll ask him.” He lay down again and they heard him mumbling something. Shortly, he sat up again. “Well, that’s very interesting. He says he only ever goes to places connected to food. He’s been to Turkey, Greece and Hungary. Next year, he says he’s going to go to Chile.”
Moopah strolled past. “What’s happening down there?”
“We’re talking to Roy the Pea!” Chloé chuckled.
“Oh, Roy the Pea again. I only hoovered under there the other day.” He looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe it was last week. Come to think now, it was the week before.” He left them, calling, “Fabby, dear, where’s my screwdriver?”
“Where you left it,” she hollered back.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, and entered the utility room. He’d probably be in there for hours, Chloé thought with a smile.
“How come he stays under there?” Evan asked with a serious face. It was a serious question.
Francis wiped some fluff off his nose with his paw. “Well, Dad says ‘there’s always a pea under the settee in any house and if there isn’t it’s because they’ve gone on holiday’. Have a look under yours when you get home.”
“Why’s he covered in fluff?” Evan idly asked as he now played with a Transformer.
“It’s what he makes his bed out of. I think he’s tired.”
“What does he eat?” It was a good question, Francis hadn’t thought about this before.
“Vegetables, I suppose,” he replied.
“So, he’s a vegan!” Evan declared triumphantly.
The little bear thought carefully. “I don’t think so. Vegans have pointy ears and they live in space. Like the man in Star Trek.”
Moopah wandered past again, holding his screwdriver, murmuring, “I think you’ll find that’s a Vulcan, Francis.”
“Does he always look the same?” Chloé interjected, slightly mischievously.
“Oh, no.” Francis answered, earnestly. “Sometimes when he’s not feeling well, he’s all small and wrinkly and sometimes, when he’s been ‘healthy eating’, he’s all bright green, shiny and bursting to ‘pop’.”