Pages & Co. Bookwandering Adventures – Volume One
- -
- 100%
- +
‘Mostly it’s almost fine,’ said Tilly, surprising herself at how comfortable she felt talking to Oskar honestly, ‘but every so often I can feel the gap where they should be. It’s not like that all the time, but I’m always aware of it a little bit.’
‘What happened to them?’ Oskar asked, still looking at his feet.
‘My dad got ill and died. I don’t know many of the details. He had to go abroad for work; he got ill; he died before he could get home. We don’t really know what happened to my mum. She left really soon after I was born without telling Grandma and Grandad or anyone where she was going and she never came back. We haven’t heard from her since.’
‘Whoa, that’s like something from a TV show,’ Oskar said, before stopping. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … It must be horrible. Do you really not know anything?’
Tilly shrugged. ‘She didn’t leave a note or anything. The police think that maybe she had postnatal depression and she ran away and is living a completely new life somewhere else. They said she might try to make contact at some point, but that I shouldn’t get my hopes up.’
‘Do you think about your parents a lot?’
‘Kind of. It’s funny because I can’t remember them at all, so it’s hard to miss them or feel sad about them in a very specific way. It’s like feeling sad that you never had a diamond ring, or a unicorn. I feel sad about the idea of them, and knowing that they’re not here, and I hate that I don’t understand why Mum left – but I don’t really have any memories of them as real people. I have this, though.’ Tilly pulled out her necklace from under her jumper and showed Oskar. The small gold bee was no bigger than the nail on Tilly’s thumb.
‘Was that your mum’s?’ Oskar asked.
‘No, it’s mine but she had one just the same. Hers was a present from my dad and when I was born she had one made for me too.’ Tilly tucked it back into her jumper.
The shop phone suddenly started ringing and made them both jump.
‘Anyway, I’ve never really told anyone else about all of that,’ Tilly said a little awkwardly.
‘I’m glad—’ Oskar started, but Tilly cut him off.
‘Let’s find a book for English. I need a new one too.’
Oskar nodded and followed her up the stairs to the children’s floor. Tilly picked out a pile of books for Oskar that she knew were printed on a different kind of paper that made it easier for people with dyslexia to read and placed them in front of him with a flourish.
While Oskar flicked through them, she went to find A Little Princess and realised the shop stocked several different editions. She looked through some of the different covers, wishing she’d had the chance to talk to her mum about the book. She was sliding the various editions back on to the shelf when, after careful consideration, Oskar settled on a slim book with a black cover and a creepy illustration on the front.
They took it downstairs where Grandad put it in a canvas tote bag stamped with the Pages & Co. logo, and refused to let Oskar pay for it.
‘It’s a pleasure to have you in Pages & Co.,’ Grandad said. ‘Special offer for friends of the shop.’
Oskar thanked Grandad and gave Tilly an awkward half-wave before making his way back across the road to Crumbs.
Tilly headed upstairs to her reading nook, but when she turned the corner she saw that her sofa was already occupied by a girl with red pigtails. She looked up at Tilly as she approached and sighed dramatically.
‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she said in an accent that Tilly couldn’t place. ‘You’re thinking what a dreadful burden it must be for a girl who is already so skinny to be forced to endure red hair as well.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that at all,’ Tilly said. ‘I was just wondering what you were doing on my sofa?’
‘I’m so awfully sorry,’ the girl said, jumping up and haphazardly straightening the cushions, ‘I didn’t know it was yours.’
‘I mean, it’s not really,’ Tilly said, realising that she must have seemed rude. ‘It’s just where I like to sit and read and you surprised me. I hadn’t noticed you when I was up here with my fri— With a boy from school.’
‘Oh, I know that feeling,’ the girl said, smiling broadly. ‘I have a tree that is laden with the most beautiful, sweet-smelling, pale pink blossom that I like to read under.’ The girl’s face suddenly morphed into a look of horror. ‘But can you ever forgive me?’
‘Forgive you for what?’ Tilly said, thoroughly flummoxed at the change in tone.
‘My horrible manners. I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is Anne. With an “e”.’
‘With an “e”?’ Tilly repeated hazily.
‘Yes, the “e” is ever so important. People are always telling me that the name is much the same with or without the “e”, but I think those people are severely lacking in imagination. How could you ever think that Ann without an “e” was the same as Anne with an “e”? It’s like saying … Why, it’s like saying that dessert is the same as desert! But there I go again with my terrible manners. I haven’t even asked what your name is. Oh, wait! Let me guess, you look like … an Emmeline, or maybe a Penelope. Or Cordelia?’ she added, sounding hopeful.
‘It’s just Tilly, I’m afraid. Short for Matilda, Matilda Pages.’
‘Why, that is a lovely name and I am quite envious,’ Anne said, looking entirely delighted. ‘I’m so thrilled to meet you.’
‘Are you looking for a book?’ Tilly asked.
‘That sounds wonderful, thank you!’ Anne said. ‘Autumn is the most magical time of the year for reading, don’t you think?’ She gestured towards the window, which framed only drizzle and grey skies, but Anne reacted as though she could see auburn leaves tumbling in the wind. ‘October is my absolute favourite month. And to read outside, with the sun dappling … Do you think dappling is a real word, Tilly? I think it must be, don’t you? With the sun dappling the leaves of a tree, a glass of raspberry cordial at hand …’ She tailed off, staring dreamily into nothing.
Tilly began to find the silence a little awkward, but struggled to think of something to say and so returned to her fail-safe question. ‘What’s your favourite story?’ she asked, jerking Anne out of her autumnal daydreams.
‘Do stories you’ve made up yourself count?’ asked Anne.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Tilly. ‘I think they have to be, well, proper stories, like in a book.’
‘A story you’ve made up yourself is just as proper, don’t you think? Although I suppose it is harder to share with other people unless it’s written down. But I do love telling stories out loud as well. My friend Diana and I have a club where we read each other our stories and offer helpful advice on how to improve as writers. I must say, though, the advice is mainly one-way. Poor Diana, she doesn’t have much of an imagination, although I love her fiercely regardless. I daresay it is good for my soul to be bosom buddies with a girl who is so lacking in imaginative powers.’
The mention of a friend named Diana made Tilly’s brain itch; something about this girl was so familiar.
‘But, anyway, it must depend on what the purpose of your story is, I suppose,’ Anne concluded, and looked up triumphantly.
Tilly nodded supportively, although she wasn’t really very sure what Anne’s point was.
‘Do you know,’ Tilly started, glancing down at the book in her hand, ‘you do remind me of—’ But she was interrupted by a harried-looking man who came up behind them and tapped Tilly on the shoulder imperiously.
‘Excuse me, young lady, I need to pay for this immediately. Do you work here?’ He was holding a very thick business textbook.
‘Not really,’ Tilly said, trying not to laugh as Anne impersonated the man’s cross face behind his back. ‘But I’ll go and find my grandad. He owns the shop.’
The man nodded curtly.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Tilly said to Anne.
‘I don’t trust you to come straight back, missy. I’ll come with you; I have an incredibly important meeting to get to urgently,’ the man said, and Tilly couldn’t be bothered to explain that she wasn’t talking to him. She delivered him to Grandad who took him to the till, but when Tilly went back upstairs she couldn’t see Anne anywhere. She ran down to find Grandad after the grumpy customer had gone.
‘Ah, Tilly, just the person I was looking for. Don’t forget, we need some of your inspiration for the Wonderland party later. I’d been wondering if we could possibly try to …’ He paused, noticing how distracted she was. ‘What’s up, sweetheart?’
‘Did you see a girl come past here a few moments ago?’ she asked.
‘No, afraid not, love. Was she a friend from school?’
‘No, just a customer, I think. She seemed nice, though. I thought she might have stuck around for a bit,’ Tilly said. ‘But I can’t find her.’
‘She probably had to go and meet her parents, Tils,’ Grandad said gently. ‘Maybe she’ll pop back in later. I’ll keep an eye out for her if she comes in; what did she look like?’
‘She had red hair in two plaits,’ Tilly said. ‘It was funny actually; she really reminded me of Anne Shirley from Anne of Green Gables – and her name was even Anne too! Such a weird coincidence. Maybe it’s like owners and their dogs,’ she joked. ‘You start seeing your favourite characters in real people. Although that’s not quite right with the dog thing, is it …?’ She tailed off, noticing Grandad’s face had gone pale. ‘Are you okay? Should I get Grandma? Do you need a cup of tea?’
‘No, no, I’m fine, love,’ Grandad reassured her. ‘Just a wobbly moment. Been on my feet for too long this morning, I think! I will take you up on that tea, though, and I’ll just have a sit-down behind here for a moment – I’ll be as right as rain before you know it.’ The colour was already returning to his cheeks as Tilly left to make the tea.
Grandad wasn’t at the till when she returned with the tea. She tracked him down in the corner of the shop that they rather grandly called the office, although it was really just a desk tucked into a corner of the fourth floor where customers didn’t venture as regularly. As she headed towards the office a sweet, smoky smell lingered in the air, one that got stronger as she got closer to the desk, alongside a murmur of voices. Someone very posh was responding languidly to Grandad’s questions and as Tilly rounded the corner she saw a tall, elegant man in an expensive-looking grey coat sitting opposite Grandad. To Tilly’s surprise he was smoking a black pipe, which was the cause of the sweet scent in the air, and he was wearing an odd hat with a flap on each side, even though it was always cosy inside the shop.
‘I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t think you should be smoking in here,’ she said, putting down Grandad’s cup. The man and Grandad stopped talking abruptly and stared at her, before turning to look at each other.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting, Grandad,’ Tilly said, instantly worried she’d been too terse with someone who looked decidedly important. ‘I just wanted ask you something, but I’ll come back later.’ Grandad nodded mutely and Tilly went back downstairs, but only a few moments later she heard her name being called.
‘Tilly!’ Grandad’s voice came down the stairs. ‘Wait for me a sec, will you?’ Tilly paused, so Grandad could catch up with her. ‘Sorry about that, love,’ he said, back to his usual self. ‘I was just deep in conversation and entirely forgot I’d asked for that cup of tea. Sorry if I was strange with you; you know how I get: can’t concentrate on more than one thing at a time.’
‘It’s okay,’ Tilly said. ‘Who was that anyway, and why were you letting him smoke?’
Grandad looked sheepish. ‘Ah, he’s an old friend, and he likes doing things his way, so I let the rules slide for him and turn a blind eye. I know it’s ill-advised.’
‘I can’t seem to turn a corner in this place without interrupting someone else’s conversation,’ Tilly said.
‘What on earth do you mean, sweetheart?’ Grandad said.
‘I barged in on Grandma catching up with a friend yesterday too,’ Tilly said. ‘And that lady vanished as soon as I interrupted; I just seem to make everything awkward.’
‘Which lady was that?’ Grandad asked slowly.
‘I think she was called Lizzy,’ Tilly said. ‘Grandma said she reminded her of Mum.’
Grandad took a deep breath, and then smiled warmly at Tilly. ‘Enough reminiscing – what were you coming to ask me about?’
Tilly showed him the book she still had tucked under her arm.
‘Ah, Alice in Wonderland! Perfect research for the party. Can you believe we’ve never had an Alice theme before in all our years of autumn parties?’
‘It’s one of Mum’s,’ Tilly explained, passing it to Grandad, who opened the cover automatically and saw the photo that Tilly had shown him yesterday. He stilled for a fraction of a moment before placing his palm on the photo, like it was on the cheek of a child.
‘It’s a lovely connection to have, isn’t it?’ Grandad said, holding the photo up to his glasses. ‘Having the same book she’s reading in the photo. She loved Alice in Wonderland too,’ he said, closing the book and pointing at the cover.
‘Do you know why she liked them so much?’ Tilly said, remembering her decision to try and find out more about her mother’s tastes in books.
‘Well, as I said before, she always felt a very personal connection to A Little Princess,’ Grandad said carefully. ‘And why do any of us love Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? Magic, mischief, nonsense, all the good stuff.’
‘I wish I could talk to her about it,’ Tilly said.
‘Me too, sweetheart,’ Grandad said. ‘Me too.’ He looked into her eyes quite seriously for a moment before an extravagant stomach rumble invaded the silence. ‘Well then, I suppose I’d best check on lunch. It’ll be ready soon. Pop down before too long.’ He gave her a kiss on the top of her head and set off towards the kitchen.
Tilly found the nearest chair, sat down and began reading the familiar first few sentences. Soon she was as lost in Wonderland as Alice, reassured by the scenes and characters she knew so well, and soothed by knowing that her mother had made the same journey years before.
‘Did I hit you? I’m sorry, I was aiming for the cat. Does it have a name? Do you think it likes sweets?’
Tilly stared at her and the girl widened her eyes in impatience.
‘The cat? What’s it called? My cat is called Dinah.’
‘She’s called Al—’ The girl looked directly at her and Tilly felt that little itch in her brain. ‘Alice? She’s called Alice?’
‘You don’t seem very sure about it,’ the girl said, peering at Tilly. ‘But never mind that, because my name is Alice too. How curious.’
‘Alice,’ Tilly repeated.
‘Yes … Al-ice …’ she said again slowly. ‘And … what … is … your … na—’
‘Matilda,’ Tilly interrupted.
‘Whatever your name is, there is always time for good manners; it’s very rude to interrupt.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alice. Um, would you like a cup of tea maybe?’
‘Nice to meet you, Matilda,’ Alice replied, and bobbed a neat curtsy. Tilly tried to copy, but just ended up doing a small, awkward bow. ‘And thank you, but no thank you. I don’t tend to eat or drink in new places until I’ve thoroughly got my bearings.’ Alice looked Tilly up and down. ‘We both seem to be around the same size, though, which is a good sign. Trouble always starts when you are out of proportion with who you are talking to.’
‘Are you looking for a book?’ Tilly asked.
‘Not especially, although I’m never averse to finding a book along my way; they can come in handy sometimes, except you never know what’s inside until it’s too late, in my experience.’ She sighed extravagantly. ‘Do you know, someone once told me that explanations take such a dreadfully long time that one should focus on adventures, and I’ve rather come around to their way of thinking. So, if you’ll excuse me …’ And with that Alice skipped towards the back of the bookshop, passing a round little man with a very neat moustache who was coming the other way. The little man gave no indication of having seen her, but gave a neat bow in Tilly’s direction.
‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle.’
Tilly’s head spun, but as she turned round to watch the man leaving she found herself face to face with the red-headed girl from that morning. They stared at each other.
‘You,’ the girl said, sounding surprised.
‘You!’ Tilly said. ‘You’re back! You seem so familiar to me from somewhere; what school do you go to?’
The girl tilted her head to one side and stared hard at Tilly. ‘I go to school in Avonlea,’ she said. ‘Near my home at Green Gables.’
‘And your name is Anne …’ Tilly said slowly.
‘With an “e”,’ Anne reminded her.
‘Anne, with an “e”, from Green Gables. Anne of Green Gables?’
The girl nodded, still openly staring at Tilly. ‘But who are you?’
‘I’m Tilly! With a “y”. From here!’
‘But you remember me. And, now I am here, I remember you,’ Anne said in wonder.
‘As I said, we literally met this morning,’ Tilly repeated. ‘But how can you be Anne of Green Gables? She’s not a real person.’
‘Well, I’m absolutely really here,’ she said, reaching out and touching Tilly gently on the arm.
‘Is this a joke?’ Tilly said, looking behind her as if she would see hidden cameras somewhere, or wondering if it was part of some elaborate set-up by Grandad to entertain her during the holidays. ‘You’re from a story?’
‘Why, yes,’ Anne replied happily, not seeming at all perturbed by this fact, and settling herself on the stairs.
‘You’re real. But you’re not real. You’re from a book. But you’re here,’ Tilly said, feeling like her brain wasn’t quite keeping up with what was happening in front of her.
‘Well, why on earth does being from a book mean I’m not real?’ asked Anne. ‘I’m as real as you or this shop, or Julius Caesar or the Lady of Shalott. You can touch my hair, if you’d like, and you will see it is ever so real – to my eternal frustration.’ Tilly had to admit that Anne’s physical presence was undeniable.
‘Right,’ Tilly said, sitting down next to Anne, determined to try to wrap some logic round what seemed to be happening. ‘Well, what were you doing in Green Gables before you came here? How did you get out?’
‘I was sitting in the orchard, imagining all the places I might visit when I am older. And then I was here!’
‘But how?’ Tilly was almost bursting with frustration.
‘I don’t know, I just was. I think it is rather marvellous. If you like, I can invent a thrilling story about how I got here with magic spells and a glittering portal. Maybe some kind of benevolent but cursed princess living in a tower who writes poetry and is only allowed a single glass of water each day—’
Tilly interrupted her before she got even more carried away. ‘But how will you get back? Won’t there be gaps in your book spoiling your story somehow, you being here?’
‘I’ll just go back after I am here. And I don’t think it can spoil my story; I rather think only I can spoil my own story.’
Tilly sighed and put her head on her knees, and then thought of something.
‘Did you see the other girl that was here?’ she asked. ‘Alice?’ But when she raised her head Anne was no longer there.
‘What’s that I spy?’ Mary said. ‘Is it an offering from Jack?’
‘Yes!’ Tilly replied, holding the cake box up. ‘Pop cakes fresh from the oven! They’re best now while the honey is still a bit warm.’ She opened the box and Mary took one.
‘Jack sent enough for Oskar too,’ Tilly said loudly, and he looked up hopefully.
‘Let me bring you two some drinks to have with them,’ Mary said, pulling another chair up to the table Oskar was sitting at and nudging Tilly into it.
‘What are you drawing?’ Tilly asked him as she took her coat off. Oskar spread his arms over the paper, like he was trying to stop someone copying a test at school.
‘Nothing much, only scribbling. Just something to do,’ he said.
‘Oh, okay,’ Tilly said, embarrassed at having made him uncomfortable. She messed with the ends of her hair as he painstakingly smoothed a bent corner of paper.
‘So, uh, what’s your favourite kind of cake?’ Oskar asked awkwardly after a pause.
‘Carrot cake, I think,’ Tilly said, surprised at the line of questioning. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Red velvet.’
‘I like that too,’ Tilly replied, unsure how the conversation had dried up so much since that morning.
‘I like carrot cake too.’
The silence seemed to solidify around them.
‘Anyway, I’m not really very hungry,’ Tilly said, standing up and banging her knee against the table as her coat sleeve got twisted round the back of her chair. ‘I was just bringing the cakes over for your mum. See you in school.’
‘Don’t go,’ Oskar said abruptly, watching Tilly untangle herself. She stopped wrestling with her coat. ‘I mean, I just wanted to ask which book you decided to read for English homework,’ Oskar said, picking at his fingernails.
‘I think I’m going to read one of my mum’s old favourites,’ Tilly said. ‘You know I found that box of her books the other day? Well, I thought I might choose one of those that I haven’t read yet. Maybe Treasure Island?’
‘I love that one,’ Oskar said.
‘You’ve read it?’
‘Well, I’ve listened to the audiobook, if that counts.’
‘It definitely counts,’ Tilly said.