Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Lost Fairy Tales

‘I sometimes imagine they are tiny dancing snow sprites,’ a familiar voice said, and Tilly turned to see Anne Shirley, the heroine of one of Tilly’s favourite books, sitting at the other end of the sofa staring out of the window in wonder.

‘Oh!’ Tilly said abruptly, looking at her. ‘Anne … Do you know that your hair is green?’

Anne turned and looked at her mournfully.

‘I have had such a terrible time of it. You would scarcely believe it could all happen to one person,’ she said dejectedly. ‘Truly the fates are against me. I thought I was dyeing it a beautiful, elegant raven black, but the man I bought the dye from at the doorstep has cruelly taken advantage of my vanity and, well, look. I have been washing it furiously for three days straight now and no change. My life in the most glittering of social circles has ended before it had a chance to even begin. It is one thing to go to a dance as a redhead, but quite another to make an entrance with green hair, especially in a town so ravenous for gossip as Avonlea. Just imagine what Rachel Lynde would say if she saw me!’ She flopped her head dramatically on to the back of the sofa and let out a groan of woe. ‘I am far too embarrassed to leave Green Gables – I will only permit dear Diana to visit as she is able to behave in the sombre manner that befits the situation – and so it’s a pleasant surprise to find myself here. Were you thinking of me?’

‘I suppose I must have been in some way, for you to arrive,’ Tilly said. ‘And do you know, short hair is very fashionable here? You could always cut it.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Anne said solemnly. ‘Why, the only thing worse than green hair would be short green hair. And if it comes to that I think I shall have to withdraw from polite society entirely.’

‘Well, fingers crossed it doesn’t come to that,’ Tilly said weakly, knowing – from having reread Anne of Green Gables just the other week – that it was destined to turn out exactly like that. Anne rested her green head on Tilly’s shoulder and sighed.

‘Winter is the most magical time of year, isn’t it?’

‘You say that about every season,’ Tilly said affectionately.

‘Perhaps,’ Anne said. ‘But the important thing is that I mean it fiercely in the moment. I do sometimes find that I mean things wholly and entirely when I say them only to discover that the next day, or the next season, my opinions have changed. Marilla says this makes no matter, and that falsehoods dressed up as enthusiasm are still falsehoods, but I think that if you mean something sincerely when you say it then it is the truth, whatever happens next, and that enthusiasm is a very good reason for almost anything – especially winter.’

‘I wonder what winter in Paris will be like,’ Tilly mused.

‘You’re going to Paris?’ Anne said, sitting bolt upright. ‘Why how perfectly romantic! When are you going?’

‘Very soon,’ Tilly said. ‘Our train leaves St Pancras station just before lunchtime, I think. Although I’m not sure it’s a good time to be going …’

‘Whyever not?’ Anne asked. ‘I should have thought that there was no such thing as a bad time to go to Paris!’

‘Well, a lot has been going on here,’ Tilly said. ‘And I don’t really know where I fit into it all. Grandma and Grandad say they’re going to fix everything while we’re away but I don’t really see how they will be able to do that, and Amelia – our friend – has lost her job, and no one seems worried about what Chalk is up to. And I just don’t know what anything means, and it feels strange to just pop over to Paris for a holiday when everyone seems so stressed and my mum is still so sad.’

‘She’s still sad?’ Anne asked gently.

‘Yes,’ Tilly said. ‘And she basically stays here all the time. She hasn’t gone into any stories since we said goodbye to my dad, and she won’t even talk to me about it either. It’s like we’re strangers.’

‘Well, it must be ever so peculiar to go from having a newborn daughter one day and then, suddenly, the next time you see her, she’s eleven and a whole proper person with her own dreams and memories and desires,’ Anne said. ‘It’s one of those ideas that sounds like it might be quite romantic if you read it in a book but when it happens to one of your bosom friends, you can’t help but worry it’s a little confusing and tragic.’

‘I mean, I’m not sure I’d go quite as far as tragic,’ Tilly said, bristling. ‘At least she’s back now. You shouldn’t feel sorry for me.’

‘I don’t at all,’ Anne said earnestly. ‘How could I feel sorry for someone who lives in a bookshop and has two grandparents, and one whole mother to love her, and is going to Paris in the snow! Why I would never trade Green Gables for anything, but I would not be so sad to have your lot in life.’

‘I suppose so,’ Tilly said, trying to feel as lucky as she knew she was, really.

The sound of the kitchen door banging made her jump, and she looked up to see Grandma heading her way.

‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked, sitting next to Tilly on the sofa, a book under one arm.

‘Anne’s just gone,’ Tilly said. ‘We were just chatting. And she had green hair.’

‘Ah, the green hair incident. I wish I could have seen it. It’s good to have friends you can talk things through with, you know,’ Grandma said. ‘I’m glad you have Anne, and Oskar. He takes in more than I think you sometimes realise. It will be lovely for you both to visit Paris and his family. Now, I wanted to share something with you before you go.’

Grandma placed the book she was carrying gently on her lap. ‘I thought you might like to have a look at this – it’s my book of fairy tales back from when I was working in the Underlibrary – it’s where I used to start from when I was mapping them.’

The book was very old and battered, with slips of paper marking certain yellowed pages and a few corners turned down. Tilly carefully opened the front cover and saw an intricately decorated contents page of familiar stories.

‘France is in some ways the home of fairy tales, certainly those in the Western tradition that are most familiar to us. Many of them were first written down in France, even if they originated elsewhere,’ Grandma explained. ‘It’s too dangerous to bookwander there at the moment, but if you’re keen, maybe we could go together once everything’s settled down?’

‘Yes, please,’ Tilly said, as she turned through the pages. ‘You said … You said there was a difference of opinion and that’s why you stopped working in fairy tales?’

‘Well, yes,’ Grandma said, a little hesitantly. ‘When I was the Cartographer I worked with another librarian, who used to be a close friend, and our job was to try and create a map of how fairy tales fitted together, and to research why the usual rules don’t apply there. We wandered together many times, exploring the stories and the fairytale lands. It really is a fascinating place. But once we started to get somewhere with our research, the next stage was to use what we’d learned to make fairy tales safer for bookwanderers, and to share our maps. However, my friend got what I can only describe as cold feet about the whole project. Through our time inside the stories, she decided that we shouldn’t be trying to make them safer, and their danger was what made them special. She believed that we were trying to impose order on something wild and beautiful. And to be honest, I agree with her to a certain point, but she started seeing conspiracy theories everywhere and ended up being forced to … Well, she ended up leaving the Underlibrary.’

‘Why does nobody seem to be able to agree on how bookwandering should work?’ Tilly asked.

‘Well, it’s all very complicated, more so than you realise,’ Grandma said. ‘Sometimes I feel that we should do away with the Underlibrary all together and let people just wander as they like, but then I think about Bea falling in love with your father and wanting to stay in A Little Princess, and then I think we need some rules and organisation. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the right answers to every question. We’re all just doing our best.’

‘Mr Underwood isn’t,’ Tilly said firmly.

‘Well, no,’ Grandma admitted. ‘What he’s doing isn’t for the best, I don’t think. But I am sure he believes it is. And if you can understand why someone is doing something it’s always a good start, even if you want to stop them. You heard what Amelia said: there’s something going on behind the scenes here, something motivating Melville Underwood beyond mere power. We’ll discuss with Amelia and Seb and see what we can uncover.’

‘And what about Chalk?’ Tilly said. ‘He’s just getting away with what he did to Mum. Don’t you think he should be punished in some way?’

‘Do you?’ Grandma asked.

‘Yes!’ Tilly said. ‘It’s not fair, otherwise.’

‘Well, I am sure that Melville is trying to find him and bring him to justice – whatever that might mean,’ Grandma said. ‘Melville is a very clever man, regardless of any of his less appealing characteristics, and getting Chalk back into his own story would be excellent for his reputation. I imagine Melville would love to have that success to mark the beginning of his career as Librarian. Chalk can’t cause any damage to our family, wherever he is, and you’ll be safe in Paris, away from this for a while. Don’t do any bookwandering, just to be on the safe side, and you’ll be back here before you know it.’

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