Charlotte Jackson and the Magic Blanket

A Magic Blanket Story

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(This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s. 

Copyright © A. I. Jackson, C. A. Jackson, L. R. Jackson 2024. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission in writing from the publisher and copyright owner, or license permitting restricted copying, issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.  Nor can any part of this book, characters, illustrations or content therein be used by or in AI generation.

All images, characterisations, illustrations and designs are registered designs © A. I. Jackson, C. A. Jackson, L. R. Jackson 2024

First edition 2025

The moral rights of the author and editor have been asserted

Printed and bound by Lapwing Services for Tiger and Jam Ltd)

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For Charlotte and Larissa.

Make your lives your best story

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Foreword

The Magic Blanket stories began life at bedtime. Once she began talking, Charlotte, my eldest daughter, very quickly worked out that bedtime could be pushed back by a few precious minutes if she told me a story. Always starting in the same way and in the same place, these soon grew into a set of adventures that we returned to night after night with a cast of real and imagined characters, locations and events that changed as much as they stayed the same each time.

When circumstances meant that our family would be apart for a while, it was Charlotte who asked if we could turn her stories into books. Although I had very little experience of the publishing industry and none whatsoever of drawing, I said we should for the simple reasons that living up to my children’s belief in me helps me be the Dad they need, and helps them see anything is possible with a plan and a bit of effort. Creating Charlotte Jackson and the Magic Blanket became a shared project that brought us together even as the pandemic kept us apart.

Although they drew from our own family experiences, the original Magic Blanket stories shared common elements with every young family’s life: the routines and rituals that make up the daily round; the wider networks of family and friends; and the exploration of that wonderful window where what’s imagined is as real and deeply felt and experienced as reality. In creating these books, we hope that you use them as launchpads for your own adventures; that you colour the pictures in as you go; and that they bring you as much pleasure as they’ve brought us.

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 One

Once upon a time …

                           … not a particularly long, long time ago.

In a place not particularly far, far away called …

                                                                        Sheffield …

… lived a girl called Charlotte Jackson.

Charlotte Jackson was five years old. She lived in a tall thin house at the top of a tall thin hill with Daddy Jackson; her big brother Sam, who was eight; and the Baby Lara, who was nearly two.

The night it all began started like any other.

After school, Charlotte helped Sam with his homework at the table like she always did while the Baby Lara sat in her high chair and tried to push a spoon up her nose – like she always did.

‘Tell me something about the Romans,’ said Daddy Jackson, making tea in the kitchen.

‘I know that Julius Caesar was a silly old geezer who caught his nose in a lemon squeezer,’ replied Charlotte.

‘Veni, Vici, Ouchee. I heard he once adsum jam forte too.’

This was a Daddy joke, which meant no-one got it but him.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened at bath time either. Yes, more water came out of the bathtub than stayed in it but this happened every bath time. It wasn’t bath time unless everyone ended up wet.

At bedtime, Charlotte and Lara chose three stories each and then everyone sat down in the big green armchair in the corner of the big bedroom to read them together.

They did this every night, acting each story out. So they romped and they stomped to The Dinosaur Who Roared. They giggled at the antics of The Lairy Fairy. They sang all of the rhymes to The Little Brown Mouse in the Big Bad House; got up and danced to Goblin Feet and the Rocksteady Beat; and then read John the Scone with Butter On, Treacle ‘round the Edges and The Toadstool King aloud from beginning to end.

Daddy Jackson then tucked Lara into her cot and Charlotte into her little white wooden bed opposite, singing them their lullabies, and finishing, as he always did, with the Ten Little Fingers and the Wah Wah Wah song.

Just like he always did, Daddy Jackson paused at the door as he clicked off the light switch, and said:

‘Night, night, my beautiful girls. Sleep tight. Lara?’

 ‘Da.’

‘I love you, Poo. Sleep tight. Charlotte?’

‘Yes, Daddy?’

‘I love you too, darling. Sleep tight.’

‘Tiny, tiny,’ replied Charlotte.

She said this every night to remind Daddy Jackson to leave the bedroom door open a crack. Charlotte wasn’t scared of the dark. She just liked being able to see the glow of the landing light as she fell asleep.

‘Tiny, tiny,’ nodded Daddy Jackson.

So far, everything had been exactly as it was every night. But then Daddy Jackson added:

‘Oh, and Charlotte? Make sure that the Treasure Island Monkeys don’t steal the Baby Lara.’

This was new. Charlotte sat up, interested.

‘The what?’

‘The Treasure Island Monkeys. I’ve heard they’re out and about. Make sure they don’t steal the Baby Lara.’

‘What’s a Treasure Island Monkey? And why would they steal the Baby Lara.’

Daddy looked shocked.

‘You mean to tell me that you’ve never heard of the Treasure Island Monkeys?!’

Charlotte shook her head. 

‘Well, I’ve no idea what they’re teaching you at that school if they’re not teaching you about Treasure Island Monkeys,’ smiled Daddy Jackson, coming back in and sitting down on the edge of Charlotte’s bed.

‘They teach us boring stuff.’

Charlotte didn’t like school. She’d spent every day with Daddy Jackson from when she was born until she’d had to go and she’d much preferred it. It had been far more interesting, she’d learned a lot more and it had been a lot more fun.

‘So? What are they?’

‘Treasure Island Monkeys? Well, do you remember the crabs we caught at Tynemouth last summer with Grandma Jackson?’

‘Yes. We used bits of bacon and fishing line.’

‘Exactly. Well, they look like that but they’re bigger – about the size of a dinner plate. And they’ve got the face of a monkey between their pincers.’

Charlotte looked at her Daddy doubtfully.

‘Really? I’ve never seen one.’

‘They don’t live in Sheffield. They live a long, long way away.’

‘And they steal babies?’

‘They steal anything, but especially babies.’

Daddy Jackson stood up, pinching his fingers together like a crab’s claws clacking. 

‘I’m sure you’ll be fine, though,’ he added. ‘No-one’s seen one for years and years and years. Got White Bear?’ 

Charlotte nodded. White Bear was her bear. He had arrived on the same day Charlotte had been born, and they’d done everything together since. He was long, lanky and floppy, with a kind face and soft paws.

‘And Lara has Ra-ra.’

Ra-ra rabbit had arrived on the day that Lara had been born too. With shaggy white hair, pink ears and a button nose, even with the Baby Lara growing fast, Ra-ra was still almost as big as she was.

‘Got Sam’s lightsabre?’

Charlotte nodded again. She always took Sam’s lightsabre to bed in case she needed a wee in the night and the landing light was off.

‘And of course, you have the Magic Blanket,’ finished Daddy.

The Magic Blanket was the blanket Charlotte had come home from the hospital in. Charlotte had slept in, on or holding it ever since. She didn’t know why it was called the Magic Blanket. Charlotte thought it might be because even though it had been chewed, sucked, sneezed, snotted, wee’d and poo’d on, it always came back out of the washing machine the same pale blue colour it had always been. It was like magic.

‘Right here,’ said Charlotte, cuddling it in with White Bear.

‘Well then,’ said Daddy. ‘I’m sure everything will be just fine, then. Everything always is in the end.’

Charlotte recognised one of the many sayings that her Daddy used to stitch together their days.

’And if it isn’t, it isn’t the end,’ she finished for him, snuggling under her bedclothes.  

Daddy Jackson kissed her, stood up, gave her a wink, and left, pulling the door tiny, tiny behind him.

Charlotte lay in bed, gently chewing the Magic Blanket as she stared at the long finger of light coming from the landing through the crack in the door across the carpet, thinking about what she’d just heard. On the other side of the room, she could hear the Baby Lara gently snoring, already fast asleep.

Daddy must have been joking, Charlotte decided. He often did. Surely there were no such things as Treasure Island Monkeys? And who would want the Baby Lara? Charlotte loved her sister, but as far as she could see, the Baby Lara hadn’t done much besides eat, sleep, wee and poo since Daddy had brought her home from the hospital.

Sleepy herself, Charlotte felt her eyes start to close and she began to drift into that delicious halfway space between being awake and being asleep