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I stop playing. Clarence is sitting on the windowsill now, hugging his knees, wings tucked in behind him, looking defeated like crumpled sellotape.
“I’m sorry.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then shivers throwing off his gloom like a cloak. “Thank you, my dear. In any event it led me here, to this…” he looks about him, aiming for a smile that lands more in the region of grimace,“…delightful seaside hamlet. And to you.”
“So we’re destined to be together, and you were sent here to look after me from a magical invisible world. Does that mean you’re my…” I leave a pause where the word fairy should go “…Godfather?”
“Godfather? I should say not, darling. I was a mere handful of birthdays above you when I met my end. But Godbrother? Perhaps. Now. From a party that never got started to one that is about to begin; I believe you have a soirée to attend?”
“Glad’s birthday! I completely forgot!”
“Luckily, I did not.” He raises an eyebrow and flutters over to my dressing-table, where he extracts from the bric-a-brac a toy tiara Holly bought for me last Christmas and plonks it on top of the already-enormous hairstyle he has created. “The finishing touch to your outfit and, if I do say so myself…fabulous.”
It’s not until our front door bangs shut behind me and the freezing air hits me in the face like a bucket of cold water that I realise Clarence is actually, like, coming with me. He swoops into the air in a reverse swan dive with a “WHO—HOO-HOOO!” shooting so high into the snowy sky he could almost be mistaken for a particularly shiny flake.
I do an immediate 180, simultaneously hissing over my shoulder in a shouty whisper, “Clarence! What do you think you’re—Get back here NOW!”
My Fairy Godbrother, meanwhile, is soaring high above like a demented shooting star. “Clarence! Come down here NOW!”
Nothing.
“CLARENCE!”
A faint giggle.
“CLAREENCE!!”
With a whoosh, he drops like a stone from the sky, a streak of light in his wake. I brace myself for a crash-landing on the roof of next-door’s car but somehow he brakes, stopping a fraction above it, then lowering himself delicately on to the frosty bonnet. He spreads his arms as wide as his Cheshire-cat smile. “Sweet freedom, Candypop! Has there ever been a better day to be practically alive?”
I sigh. “Look, Clarence, I know you’re happy to be out, I mean, back in the world and everything but…”
His grin shrinks a little.
“…but you can’t come to Glad’s party! You can’t just go flying about everywhere! People will see you! This is Bishopspool – there are no fa…I mean…we don’t do magic around here!”
Clarence smiles mischievously. “If we are going to agree on anything, my little Candypop, let us begin with this: we are not ‘around here’, here is ‘around us’ and we do precisely as we please!” And with that he zips off down the street, leaving me to run to catch up.
I wince as we enter the Day Centre. Clarence flits through the door ahead of me and off into the bowels of the building which is pulsating to the sounds of cheesy 70s disco and friendly chatter. I brace myself for a scream but none comes. Unsure of what else to do, I take my coat off and hang it up, then place Glad’s gift atop the growing present pyramid on a nearby table.
Clarence zips out of view momentarily, then returns asking loudly, “What kind of soirée is this exactly? Where are the cocktails?” before settling on my shoulder. I hear a gasp, then turn to come face to face with the gaspee – Calum Stainforth, who dropped Glad off the other day. He is staring at me with his mouth hanging open. Oh God! He can see Clarence!
“Candy!” Calum breathes, “Is that…? Is that a…” it seems like a phenomenal effort for him to get the words out. There’s a second’s silence that feels like an eternity. Clarence’s wings bristle beside my ear. Calum swallows hard. Just then, Glad appears by his side looking similarly shocked.
“Is that a new dress?” Calum manages to ask before Glad bursts into a peal of laughter and I remember that I have accidentally turned up dressed as a Guns ‘n’ Roses groupie from 1987.
“By God, lassie!” she chuckles. “It’s not that kind of party! You look like you’re dressed up for a night out there on the docks! Come inside and defrost!” She leads the way and I’m left with Calum who smiles awkwardly.
“Just trying a new look!” I laugh nervously, tugging down my mini-dress.
“I like it,” he says, almost in a whisper.
At this point, Clarence takes off and performs an elaborate loop-de-loop around Calum’s baseball-capped head, shouting (somewhat unnecessarily, because I’m already starting to figure this out), “Don’t worry about him seeing me, Candypop! In my present state I am quite invisible to anybody other than you. It is only when I make myself into a physical object – a thing – that lumps like this one can spot me. Or hear me.” He zooms round and round Calum’s head, who obviously senses something as he shivers. Clarence laughs wildly. “I am incognito! Imperceptible! Undetectable!”
So, happily, Clarence goes unnoticed. Unhappily this makes me look as nuts as my outfit – try as I might, I just can’t keep my eyes off him. He whizzes around like a gust of wind through the busy Day Centre, delighted to be at an actual live party with real human people (even if the birthday girl is eighty-four). Clarence might be out of sight but he isn’t out of trouble. My gaze flits around the room in search of him. People can’t see him but they flinch as he whooshes by, wondering what just happened (especially Glad’s friend Alf, whose toupee is left spinning round like a record after one of Clarence’s fly-pasts).
I’m keeping one eye out for Clarence among the dancing crowd (who are getting stuck into YMCA) when Mum and Ray arrive.
“Superb event!” Ray says to Glad, shaking her hand.
A dose of dullness is exactly what this party needs. So – strangely – as he and Mum cross the room, I find I’m almost glad to see him. “Where have you two been?”
“Hello darling!” trills Mum a little bit more loudly than necessary. Is she a little bit tipsy? “We’ve been celebrating!” She’s tipsy. “You’ll never guess. Ray has bought me an engagement present. A holiday in the Lake District! Very romantic.”
“Skiddaw,” says Ray, evidently very pleased with himself.
“Come again?”
“Skiddaw, Candy!” choruses Mum. “It’s the fourth highest mountain in England and our hotel is just below it. Did you know some of the greatest literature our country ever produced was inspired by those views?”
Ray nods, “And the bass player from Jethro Tull.”
“Anyway, darling,” Mum continues, breezily, “I told Ray that I couldn’t possibly consider leaving you on your own for seven whole days.”
As she’s already quite clearly had a celebratory glass of something-or-other and has therefore decided she is going, I leave a pause for her to fill.
“Unless…”
Bingo. “Unless what, Mum?”
“I mean I couldn’t. Unless you were happy on your own? I mean, Glad’s right next door and your little friend can come over and keep you company. What’s her name again?”
“Holly, Mum.”
“That’s it! Holly. Such a sweet girl.”
And my only friend in the world for, like, four whole years. Would it kill you to remember her name? I think to myself.
“So it’s decided then? We’re going?” Mum squeaks in excitement, putting her arms round Ray and giving him a squeeze.
“Apparently so,” I shrug. “Have a great time. When are you going?”
“T minus fourteen days!” beams Ray. “We’d better get our crampons ready!”
“Excuse me?”
“I said we’d better get our crampons ready. And other climbing equipment. Your mother and I are going to scale Skiddaw.”
“You. And Mum. You mean my mum? You’re going to climb…” I turn to Mum confused. This is a woman who last wore flat shoes to her first Holy Communion. The most practical item in her wardrobe is made of PVC. I try to picture Mum dressed for a freezing March hike up one of England’s tallest peaks. Can’t. I take a swig of punch (which Glad claims is non-alcoholic, although on a day as mad as this, frankly, how would you know?) Mum’s eyes begin to mist.
“We’re going up the mountain, Candy! So romantic, don’t you think? A metaphor for our new life together! I’ve always loved the great outdoors as you know…”
“HA!” It’s a goose-like honk of a laugh, and it escapes before I can stop it. She looks hurt. “Sorry, Mum.” I put my hand on her arm, fighting to submerge a particularly buoyant smile and not quite managing. “I’m sorry, but when have you always loved the great outdoors?”
“I’ve always loved getting out and about, up and down the coast, breathing the fresh sea air…”
“Yeah. Through the window of a car!”
“That’s as may be. But now I’m ready to get out among it all, and Ray is quite the rambler.”
“He does go on a bit, I’d noticed,” I mutter under my breath. Ray doesn’t hear but she does. There’s a pause, during which Hot Chocolate’s You Sexy Thing starts up. Ray slinks off to dance. I make a conscious effort not to look.
“That’s not what I meant, young lady. You’re impossible! Can’t you just be happy for me about this one thing?”
“I am happy, Mum. You and Scott of the Antarctic go off and enjoy yourselves. Just make sure you take the number of the local Mountain Rescue with you when you go.”
A few hours, eighty-four candles, lots more cups of punch, a very loud chorus of Happy Birthday and one tearful (on the part of Glad) rendition of Clair de Lune later, it’s time to leave. Ray escorted Mum home a while ago. “She’s a bit tired and emotional,” he explained, pulling her arm over his shoulders in a bid to keep her vertical. “It’s been quite a week for both of us. Do you want me to come back for you with the car?”
Awkward – him doing Dad-stuff. I suppose he thinks that’s his job now. For a second I imagined BioDad coming to pick me up and take me home instead. I pictured him driving a monster truck with massive wheels that rolled straight over Ray’s Mondeo until it looked like a tea tray. I twisted my mouth to one side and shrugged. “Nah, I’m walking home with…um, with a friend.” I extricate Clarence from the mobile DJ’s CD collection which he is flipping through making comments of the “Ugh!”, “Pah!” and “Bo-ring!” variety. I wish Glad one last ‘Happy Birthday’ and head out into the night.
6 The Magic Bus (Stop)
A few moments later we’re outside in the darkness, wending our way up from the old docks to the coast road. The snow has stopped, but there’s a thick, white blanket over everything but the sand. The place is soundless except for my footsteps and the slurp-slurp of the sucking black waves. I pull my collar up and (for the millionth time) regret that I am wearing so few clothes underneath my coat. Whatever Clarence turns out to be, I think we can rule out personal stylist. He’s hovering ahead looking out to sea, outshining the pale winter moon above him.
“Quite surprising. And quite, quite beautiful.”
I look around, picking up my pace to keep warm. “I s’pose you’re right. The snow and stuff. It’s pretty.”
“Not this! Ha! Beautiful. Well, I suppose you’ve never really been anywhere, so how could you know? No, I mean life, Candy. Your life. Too small. But it has…the makings of something.”
We’ve reached a deserted bus shelter – my stop to get home, across the road from The Blue (currently slumbering like the rest of the street: lights off, shutters down). I check the bench for grossness – negative – and perch on the edge, joined by Clarence. We’re both staring out to sea. That is, I presume we are. The view is so dark we could be looking over the edge of the world.
“So you’re really real, then? And you’re staying? I won’t wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream?”
Clarence stretches a small sparkling hand forward and places it on top of mine. “Quite the reverse, my dear. You will wake up tomorrow and that will become your dreams. Your music is going to cure your ills and answer your questions. And best of all, it’s going to make you a star.”
“Clarence, you might be, like, magical, but I hope you realise what a big job this is. I’ve got no idea who or where BioDad is. My band have got one messed-up guitar, there are only two members and all our songs are about school. Glad’s more likely to become an internet sensation than us.”
Clarence contemplates this. He makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger and through it, blows three hovering bubbles into the air in front of us. There’s a swirl of sparkling colour inside each: one blue, one red, one yellow; and each emits a harmonic little hum that together makes a chord.
The glittering colours whirl and eddy inside, like marbles come to life. Clarence pushes a gentle breath through pursed lips. The bubbles react like pool balls breaking – ricocheting off each other they burst as they hit, releasing what’s inside – colour, light and sound. Alive and delighted to be free, the music mixes and mingles, eventually coming to rest in the most incredible cloud. A glowing rainbow of every note and shade you could ever imagine (and a hundred more) is suspended in front of us, shimmering and swirling in the streetlight. I look over at him and he smiles. “My magic is made of music, Candy. It has the same possibilities and restrictions as a song. Entirely subjective, it can change the world for one person but it might leave another cold. That’s why I’ve waited such a long time to meet you.” He raises his hand, palm up. International sign language for, “Have a go, then.”
I take a breath, close my eyes and push my head inside the cloud. Instantly, it fills with music – major and minor all at once, happy, heartbreaking, quiet and ear-splittingly loud. Suddenly I’m not at the bus stop: I’m in the middle of every moment that ever meant anything to me. I’m out in space as big as a planet. And tiny: lost deep inside my own imagination. I hear Clarence speaking in the distance. “Think of it this way – you have the numbers, I know the combination. Together, we’ll make your life a work of art!”
As I take in Clarence’s words, the cloud around me starts to move. Little smoky plumes of colour pull themselves into shapes, scenes, faces. The people I love, the things I want. I see a door and know BioDad is on the other side of it, waiting for me. Then suddenly I’m back on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury, like in the dream I always have. Only this time it feels less like a dream and more like…
“Ahem!” A loud cough behind me. A very un-Clarencelike cough. The cloud evaporates along with my Fairy Godbrother. I plonk back down on to the bench and spin round.
“Evening…Didn’t mean to interrupt you. I thought you were on your phone there but, um…”
Oh. My. Freaking. GOD! Dan Ashton. Dan Ashton scratching his head.
“Who were you talking to?”
My heart is beating like a kick drum but he can’t hear that. Can he? Scratching the nape of his neck, brows knitted in confusion, Dan steps into the shelter and sits down next to me, placing a battered leather bag between us. I’m too nervous to look directly at him so I look at it instead. It isn’t properly closed; I see the spine of a book, the title begins Psychotic Reactions and Car…white headphone wires and a plastic bag.
“Hey – I know you! You come into the café sometimes. With that emo girl!”
Emo? Sometimes? I practically LIVE THERE!
“Uh huh. Holly you mean. She’s not an emo. Not now anyway.” With the concerted effort of ripping off a plaster, I flick my eyes up for a second, taking a snapshot of his face I will always remember. Brown eyes made as deep and black as the sea by the streetlights; that dark mess of hair falling into them; an expression something like a question mark; half-a-smile and frozen breath. A shadow under his cheekbone so perfect it looks drawn on. I get a sudden urge to reach out and touch it. I sit on my hands. The half-smile gains a quarter.
“And you?”
Oh God, questions. I’m so nervous. Note to self: BE COOL. DO NOT TALK TOO MUCH. I REPEAT, BE COOL.
“Emo? No way! I mean I like all kinds of stuff. Some of it’s all right, I suppose. Apparently it all started with The Smiths and I like them. My mum used to play Girlfriend in a Coma a lot, which I always thought was really freaky, though…”
What are you going on about? Stop talking now.
“…She had a boyfriend once who used to sing it to her, which was just wrong. He had a quiff. Before, like, before it was OK again…”
STOPTALKINGSTOPTALKINGSTOPTALKING!
“No, I meant your name. What’s your name?”
Oh. God.
“Oh God. I mean…Oh no. No…it’s Candy. Candy Caine.”
“Candy Caine.” My name on his lips: half as good as a kiss.
“I’m Dan. Ashton. Pleased to meet you.” He extends a hand towards me, I pull mine out from under my leg as gracefully as possible (which is not very, it squeaks on the plastic bench) and slip it into his. We shake, palm against palm and it feels like we really are on the edge of the world and have just jumped off. “Been somewhere cool?”
“A party. Birthday party.”
“Where are you heading now?”
“Home.”
“Yeah? I thought a girl like you would have more options than that on a Saturday night.”
What does that mean? I give a non-committal laugh and hope it’s something good. We sit in silence for three seconds. My chest feels like an overstuffed birdcage. If this goes on much longer I might cough up a feather. I’m trying to think of something to say next when Dan speaks.
“Ah…bus!”
It is indeed a bus. With impeccable timing, the 160 thunders towards us and into our stop. A hen party are piled into the back few rows, big girls in small clothes and pink cowboy hats giggling over half-hidden bottles. Dan stands, shoulders his bag and gestures for me to go ahead.
“After you.”
I’m one step on to the bus home with the boy of my dreams when I remember: Clarence. I can’t leave without Clarence. I turn around just as Dan starts to step up and smack straight into him. His nose whacks into my cheek and even through my coat I feel the mortifying squish of his hand against my boob. The contents of his bag go flying and he follows them down, attempting to retrieve them from the snow. I crouch beside him but I’m not sure whether he’d mind me touching his stuff so I just make ‘helpy’ arm movements without actually doing anything useful.
“Oh God! Oh no! Sorry! I’m sorry. Is anything broken? Listen, I can’t…I mean I just remembered. I’ve got to…”
“You’ve got to what?” Dan brushes snow off his iPhone then presses the button to check it still works. It lights up.
Thank God.
“I’ve got to…to get the next bus!”
“What?”
“Yep. The one after this. I’m going with a friend. He doesn’t really know his way around here so I’ve got to meet him and…”
I look out at the empty seafront, snow and blackness and nothing else. I sound completely mental.
The bus driver, who looks like a potato and is evidently just as romantic cuts in. “Are you two getting on or getting off?”
We straighten up. “Getting off,” I say. Just as Dan says, “Getting on…Shame. Hope you and your ‘friend’ have a great night, Candy. It was nice meeting you.”
Oh no! ‘FRIEND’? He’s annoyed. His eyes wander to the back of the bus. One of the younger prettier hens notices and starts to giggle in his direction, chugging on a bottle of something fluorescent.
“No! No, he’s not that kind of…he’s a friend. You know, like, just friends. I don’t have a – I mean, I’m…single.” His eyes find me again and there’s a flutter in my chest. I try to sound casual. “Single at the moment.”
By which I mean FOREVER.
“Oh, right. Well…I guess maybe I’ll see you in The Blue sometime?”
“Sure, yeah. Definitely. See you there. You will see me too! Unless there’s a freak accident and you go blind. Or I go invisible. Or both. Hopefully not, obviously. Do we have a nuclear power plant around here I don’t know about? Ha…”
Stop. Talking. Now.
I bite my lip. As the bus doors swing closed, Dan says, “Great dress, by the way.”
“What?”
What?
The doors hiss closed and I look down to discover that in the commotion my coat has come undone, revealing…well, revealing pretty much everything. As the bus pulls away I fingers-and-thumbs my coat up, frantically scanning the moonlit street for Clarence at the same time. Suddenly he appears, hanging upside down from the top of the bus stop.
“Clarence! It’s a miracle! I spoke to Dan Ashton!”
He smoothes his right eyebrow with his finger. “And what’s more unlikely it appears you can almost flirt!”
“Flirt?” I attempt a casual dismissal of the accusation with an accompanying hand gesture; but I’m so flustered it comes out as a fit of spluttering, choking and arm-flapping. Like an angry ostrich trying to start a really old car.
“Well,” says Clarence, when I have eventually come to an embarrassed stop, “I don’t know if I’d really call it flirting, either, that being a delicate and balletic art. Whatever it was, that young man was lapping it up. He likes you!”
The words light a little candle somewhere inside my chest. The sensation is so strange – a quiet ache as sweet as it is strong – that I hardly hear Clarence say, “And that is going to be very useful indeed…”
7 Bravery, Cunning and Feats of Daring Do
“What is going on with you today, Can?”
Monday. I’m at Holly’s, in her room. We’re supposedly doing homework but actually listening to last.fm and laughing so hard we almost wet ourselves. Still in our school uniforms, Holly has fashioned a ‘Ramboesque’ headband from her tie and I am wearing my jumper as a turban. And people say kids have nothing to do these days. We lie side by side on the bed. Pirate being somewhat funsize and me lanky, her feet just about reach my knees.
“Nothing! What? I’m fine! Finer than swine drinking wine!” I dissolve into another fit of hysterics.
“That’s just it, though. You had the biggest mope ever on all last week and now you’re…”
“I’m ridiculous!” I squeak, before being swept away in a tide of convulsive giggles. Holly is absolutely right, of course. Since actually speaking, and I mean actual words to D. Ashton, the world has been made of marshmallows and someone appears to have switched off gravity. But as is so often with Holly, it is unwise, nay, impossible to give her the full facts. If I told Pirate that Dan and I had spoken and specifically mentioned seeing each other at The Blue, she would march me down there instantly and force me to talk to him, probably insisting I start with a ridiculously implausible lie.
“Hello Daniel Ashton! Our car has broken down – is it all right if we shelter here in your special music-shop, cubby-hole thing until the AA arrive to tow us to safety? What’s that you say? Aren’t we fifteen and unable either to drive or indeed buy a car?”
No. No. Nonononono.
Previously, I would have caved and told her everything, but having Clarence to talk to has got enough Dan out of my system to stop that happening. Clarence has a fantastic ear for music as well as listening and put both to full use yesterday. I am now able to play pretty much any chord on guitar (although getting from one to the next sometimes takes a while). Late last night, I wrote a song. This time I actually think it might be a quite good song. Later last night Clarence also extracted and digested the entire story of my Dan obsession, chewing over each titbit of information like an olive from the bottom of a cocktail. I don’t know how, but Clarence B Major knows exactly how it feels to be a teenage girl. He has also managed to bring together my improved musical and romantic talents to hatch a genius plan – a plan that will light a fire under Operation Awesome and take the whole deal stratospheric.