Long before any of this, Tuck was simply a word. Our daughter Isla’s very first word, in fact. She was not quite one, tucked into her pram by the edge of the pond, when she pointed a determined little finger at a duck paddling past and announced, with enormous seriousness: “Tuck.”
She meant “duck.” It came out “Tuck.” And we never had the heart to correct her.
From that day on, a duck had to be in everything. Every made-up story, every splashy bath-time adventure, every wobbly drawing on the back of an envelope. If a tale began without a duck, Isla would fold her arms and wait, quite patiently, until one waddled in. Pirates were welcome, dragons too, but only ever alongside a duck.
So we gave the duck a proper home: a little wooden bed, a too-big grey nightcap, and the name that had been his all along. Tuck is sleepy, a touch nosy, and absolutely hopeless at dropping off until he’s heard a good story, which is exactly why he tucks himself in beside every child who reads with us.
These days Tuck has been a pirate and an astronaut, a knight, a deep-sea diver and a fairy’s best friend, whatever the night’s adventure happens to call for. But his favourite part is the one he was born to play: the little duck at the end of the bed, keeping watch while you drift off to sleep.
Sweet dreams, from Tuck. x