This Wonderful Thing

by Adam Baron

  ‘What?’ I said.

  Ellen pushed her hair behind her ears. ‘Dad just told me about it. He said you need help.’

  I blinked at her. So it was ELLEN who Stephan meant! ‘From YOU?’

  ‘Yes, from me. He knows I like puzzles.’

  ‘As much as you like Jaffa Cakes and chocolate fingers? And Not Mr Fluffy?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My … teddy! Not to mention stealing my friend, and getting Mabel to use all my Lego. Well?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘You what? Go on, tell me! Or deny it – say that you didn’t do any of those things. Well?’

  ‘Well …’ Ellen swallowed.

  ‘YES?’

  ‘Well, I just found …’ Ellen looked down at her shoes. From across the grass came another big cheer from Stephan. Mabel had scored a goal. ‘I found it hard.’

  ‘YOU did?’ I laughed. ‘Moving into MY house? What about me?’

  ‘I know, Cymbeline.’ Ellen winced. ‘Dad said. But it’s hard for me too.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘Moving here. It’s made it all really final.’

  ‘Made what final?’

  ‘My mum. And …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My dad.’

  I hesitated. ‘What … about them?’

  ‘Well, yours split up when you were a baby, didn’t they?’

  I hesitated again, but nodded, not really sure where this was going. ‘So?’

  ‘So it won’t have bothered you, will it?’

  ‘I suppose not, but …’

  ‘But mine only split up two years ago. It was really hard. You can’t believe how hard. And I kept thinking …’

  ‘What?’

  Ellen looked at her shoes. ‘That they’d get back together.’

  I didn’t know what to say to that. ‘Oh.’

  ‘And I so wanted them to. I dreamed about it almost every night. I kept asking why they couldn’t make up, just like Dad tells me and Mabel to when we argue. But they didn’t make up, or not enough to stay with each other. And moving in with you means that they won’t. Not ever.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said again. ‘And you wanted to make it bad at our house so your dad would take you away again?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ellen whispered, and I stared at her.

  ‘So what have you found then?’

  ‘Found?’

  I tapped Stephan’s phone. ‘On that.’

  Ellen looked up at me. ‘Oh. The medal – it was at Hall Place, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘And it changed its roses?’

  ‘It did. I am NOT making it up!’

  ‘I know! Dad said. So I believe you. But the medal actually doesn’t live there, does it?’

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘It’s part of a travelling exhibition. But what …?’

  ‘As I’ve just discovered. Did you never think to wonder where else it might have travelled to?’

  No. I hadn’t. ‘But why should I?’

  ‘Because there might be other reports of it being weird. Looking different. Yes?’

  ‘Er … yes? So you’ve …?’

  ‘Got a list. It wasn’t hard to find. Heard of Google? You should have told me about this earlier. Anyway, it’s here – all the places the Phoenix Medal has ever been loaned to.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘So we can …’

  ‘Phone them up. We can ask if anything happened when the medal was there. What do you think?’

  What I thought was that it was a good idea. It might not work but it was something – and I hadn’t been able to think of ANYTHING to do. So I stared at Stephan’s phone, squinting at the list – all the places the medal had been. The first was somewhere called Anglesey Abbey. Then there was Boarstall Tower (they were in alphabetical order). After that came Dalton Castle and Kingston Lacy, followed by Lodge Park, Old Soar Manor and Smallhythe Place, though it didn’t say where any of these places were.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Ellen said. ‘All we’ve got to do is phone them. There aren’t that many.’

  ‘No, wait,’ I said. ‘Scroll down a bit, will you?’

  I said that because the list carried on, continuing beyond the bottom of the screen. There can’t have been too many more because we were already up to S with Smallhythe Place, but I wanted to see them all. So Ellen did scroll down, swiping her finger up to the next name.

  Sudbury Hall.

  And the next.

  Tattershall Castle.

  And then she swiped again and the next name seemed to leap right off the phone and punch me in the face.

  Whitecross House.

  ‘Mum!’

  Stephan had unlocked our front door and I’d shoved it open.

  ‘Cym?’ Mum said. ‘What is it?’

  I ran into the kitchen. ‘The painting, Mum, that was stolen. Was it one of your … special ones?’

  Mum’s eyes widened in shock and I could tell she didn’t want to answer. But she nodded.

  ‘Of Whitecross House?’

  She nodded again. ‘It’s okay, though. I have a couple more.’

  At one time she’d had loads more, as it was all she ever painted – because of my twin brother Anthony dying. The painting showed the picnic rug that I’d been sitting on with Anthony, near the river. It showed Mr Fluffy, actually, but what was more important was that we’d been to Whitecross House again – six months ago. Mum had nearly drowned in the river.

  ‘And the Phoenix Medal I saw at Hall Place was also at Whitecross House!’

  Mum frowned at me. ‘So?’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘The one at Hall Place IS a fake. They must have got the roses wrong and only realised when I spotted it. So they changed them to make it look right.’

  ‘Okay, but …?’

  ‘But we’ve also been burgled, haven’t we? And not just us. Veronique’s been burgled too. And our bedrooms were the worst!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So Veronique came with us to Whitecross House, didn’t she? The second time?’

  ‘Yes, but I still don’t—’

  ‘Get it? But it’s obvious!’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes! Mum, the burglars must think that I’ve got it. Or that Veronique has!’

  ‘Got what?’

  ‘Mum! Pay attention. They must think that one of us has the REAL Phoenix Medal. That’s what they came here looking for!’

  ‘But how could you?’ Mum said.

  ‘How could I what?’

  ‘Have the Phoenix Medal? The real one? How could you have it, Cym?’

  I had no answer to that. Veronique and I didn’t even go inside Whitecross House, or know that the Phoenix Medal was there. We’d stayed outside. It was confusing, but I knew what I had to do to find out. ‘We’ve got to go to Hall Place!’ I said. ‘And speak to them. We’ve got to tell them what happened. And, Mum!’

  ‘What is it, Cym?’

  ‘I recognised her! The helper woman at Hall Place! I knew that I’d seen her before. Maybe it was at Whitecross House. Maybe that’s where I first saw her!’

  ‘Saw who?’ Dad said, as he sauntered into the kitchen.

  Dad had shaved. He’d also ironed his shirt and was wearing his best jeans.

  ‘The woman from Hall Place,’ I said. ‘You know, who we spoke to at the end.’

  ‘Well, that’s funny,’ Dad said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to her.’

  ‘Speaking to her?’

  ‘About being Henry the Eighth. The woman from Hall Place. You remember that she wanted me to meet her to talk about it?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, she wants to meet right now. And she still wants to see you too.’

  ‘When?’ I said.

  ‘Right now.’

  I stared at him. ‘Me?’

  ‘That’s what she said. Probably because you were so into the house, you know? She said you were very interesting. Well, shall we go, then
?’ Dad said.

  ‘To Hall Place?’ I asked, but Dad shook his head.

  ‘She’s down in Greenwich today. She works at the Cutty Sark too. She wants us to go and meet her there.’

  The Cutty Sark is this huge former tea clipper, a sailing boat that went all round the world delivering things (before the Internet took over). It lives in Greenwich and is a bit of a landmark. People come from all over to see it.

  ‘Much more convenient than Hall Place,’ Dad went on. ‘And maybe I can get some work on the Cutty Sark too. I said we’d see her in half an hour, okay?’

  I said okay, though half an hour? That gave me almost no time to think. Would I say anything to her? About the Phoenix Medal? What if she just laughed at me? I had to find out more first, though I couldn’t ask Dad for help. He was too focused on getting this new job. He wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of that and he wasn’t interested in my thoughts about the Phoenix Medal anyway. I was still trying to think of a plan when Ellen piped up.

  ‘The Cutty Sark? That big ship you can see? Can we go too, Dad?’

  Stephan shrugged, and so did Mum. So we bundled out of the door. It had just stopped raining, but Dad thought it might start again. He wanted to get a taxi.

  ‘I need to compose myself,’ he said. ‘This could be a really important meeting.’

  Mum wasn’t having that, though, so we went over the big crossing and ran for a bus.

  ‘Come on,’ Ellen urged me, as Mum, Dad and Stephan found seats on the bottom deck. She meant for me to go upstairs with her and I did, Mabel clomping after us (clutching a Lego unicorn). I thought Ellen just wanted to discuss what we were going to do, but, once we were all sitting on the front two seats, she turned – and held out her dad’s phone.

  ‘Forgot to give it back,’ she said, emphasising the ‘forgot’ to tell me that she hadn’t forgotten at all.

  ‘So call Whitecross House then!’ I said.

  The bus lurched off, pushing us back in our seats. Ellen found the number for Whitecross House and tapped it in. She put the phone on speaker and pretty soon an automatic voice was giving us loads of options. We were confused until it said,

  ‘To organise school or corporate visits, press seven.’

  ‘Press seven!’ I shrieked.

  Ellen did, and we waited. The phone rang for a long time and I thought there was no one there. But then a friendly voice said, ‘Hello? Whitecross House. Sorry to keep you. Deborah James speaking.’

  For a second neither Ellen nor I spoke. Then Ellen’s eyes went wide and she grimaced at me. She held out the phone and flapped it up and down so I’d take it. I had no choice and before the woman – Deborah James – hung up I mumbled, ‘Hello. My name is …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Cymbeline Igloo,’ I said.

  ‘That’s an interesting name.’

  ‘Er, thank you.’

  ‘And how can I help you, Cymbeline?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘Er …’

  ‘Is it about a school visit?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I answered. ‘More of a …’

  ‘Yes?’

  I took a breath. ‘School project. We did go on a visit, but not to Whitecross House. We went to Hall Place, in London.’

  ‘I’ve been there!’ said Deborah James. ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘And we saw this travelling exhibition of Elizabethan things. It’s been to Whitecross House too.’

  ‘It may well have done,’ Deborah James said. ‘We have a lot of visiting exhibitions. But …?’

  ‘And we saw something called the Phoenix Medal. It’s a …’

  Deborah James laughed. ‘You don’t need to tell me about that. The Phoenix Medal! It’s world-famous. A marvellous piece, one of the best things we’ve ever had in the house. I haven’t seen that for years.’

  ‘Years?’

  I didn’t understand. We went to Whitecross House six months ago! Why would the burglars think that I had the Phoenix Medal if it hadn’t been there then? ‘You mean,’ I said, ‘it wasn’t there recently?’

  ‘Recently? No. I’d only just started here, I think. Now when was it exactly? Hang on a second and I’ll find out for you, Cymbeline.’

  Ellen and I looked at each other, as Mabel stared at both of us. From the phone came the sound of a keyboard being tapped as Mabel asked what was going on. I was about to try and answer her when Deborah James came back on the line.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Got it. The Phoenix Medal was here at Whitecross House as part of our Travelling Tudors exhibition. Goodness, how time flies. That was in 2011.’

  I thanked Deborah James and hung up. I was still staring out of the bus window.

  ‘But that’s ten years ago,’ Ellen said – and my mouth dropped open.

  TEN years ago?

  I’m nearly ten.

  And I went to Whitecross House when I was a baby.

  Mum bought me Mr Fluffy there.

  He was my first !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance! Mr Fluffy was my !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance! for nine years until I lost him – six months ago! At Whitecross House! I lost him in the river. But how could a baby (me) have taken the Phoenix Medal? It was impossible – and I still had NO idea why the burglars might think I’d taken it. It made NO sense at all – until a thought crashed through my brain.

  ‘What is it?’ Ellen asked, but I didn’t answer. I just went through it.

  I got Mr Fluffy from Whitecross House when I was tiny. And the burglars had attacked Veronique’s teddies – but only the teddy teddies, not the other ones. And Veronique had been to Whitecross House too!

  So – were the burglars looking for Mr Fluffy, not the Phoenix Medal?!

  That HAD to be it! For some reason the Phoenix Medal and Mr Fluffy were connected, but how? I bit my lip and continued staring out of the window for inspiration, Mr Fluffy (who really was SO fluffy) flashing into my mind.

  I saw him in my bedroom and on our kitchen table.

  I saw him on the sofa as I watched a movie with Mum.

  I saw him at school on Bring a Teddy Day, and then I saw him in the river, when I lost him, drifting right away from me, and then …

  It was INCREDIBLE.

  Because I didn’t just see Mr Fluffy in my mind.

  I was still staring out of the bus window. I wasn’t taking anything in because of the thoughts spinning through my head – but my eyes were trying to focus on something. They were doing it on their own, almost without my knowledge. They took in the pavement below us, one stop before we were due to get off. They took in all the people looking in shop windows or heading towards the Cutty Sark.

  Then they took in the girls.

  There were two of them. One big and one small. Were they sisters? I didn’t know, but I could see that they were holding something, swinging it between them like Mum and Dad had swung me at that brilliant time on the way to Hall Place. For a second I had an image of that too, before it disappeared.

  And I stared at Mr Fluffy.

  The first people came on Thursday. Right after school. They said they liked the living room and the garden. Milly and I were silent. We just watched them, staring around, looking like they were in some big shop instead of OUR house. When they went up the stairs, I fought the urge to shout out that they weren’t allowed in our room. Watching them go in was terrible, though not as bad as watching the next lot that came round later. They had kids with them. They were boys, both a bit younger than us, and they ran into our room and started shouting, one of them getting told off by their dad for jumping on OUR beds. That made me feel sick, but I didn’t complain. I didn’t want to upset Mum, though she hardly said anything. She left it to the estate-agent man, who sounded all bright and cheerful like this was some great, happy thing. When the people were leaving, they stopped in the drive and the parents told the estate agent that they’d definitely be in touch. I felt worse than TERRIBLE and I could see Mum’s fists closing, her chipped fingernails digging hard into h
er hand.

  On Friday three more sets of people came.

  I tried to stay out of the way but, wherever I went, they showed up, and I had to keep moving. Milly said we should go to the park, but I shook my head. I wanted to be in our house for as long as I possibly could. I didn’t even want to go to London on Saturday, though I had to of course because Mum was taking Dad to the hospital.

  ‘Come on,’ Mum said on Friday night. She must have seen that I was miserable. ‘Let’s just have a great day out tomorrow. Let’s forget everything and have fun. It’ll be great. And …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t told you this, though you’ve probably guessed. It’s not his fault that he’s ill, but Dad feels so guilty. I know you’re upset about the house and everything, but tomorrow, at least, can you try to pretend that you’re having a nice time?’

  I shook my head. ‘No.’

  ‘Jess! Come on. I know it’s hard, but …’

  ‘No. What I mean is …’ I hesitated. ‘I won’t pretend. I will have a good time. It’s not Dad’s fault. We’ll have a great day out in London, won’t we?’

  Mum laughed. ‘If you count sitting in a hospital and then watching Brighton play Charlton! Go, Seagulls!’

  ‘Can’t we do something else as well?’ Milly asked.

  Mum said she’d think about it. She said she’d find out where Charlton was and see if there was anything interesting to do nearby.

  ‘Now bedtime,’ she said. ‘Early start tomorrow.’

  It was early. After breakfast, Mum pushed Dad down to the station in a wheelchair while Milly and I took turns pushing Benji. It was so weird seeing Dad in the wheelchair, but I didn’t say anything. On the train it was better because he stood up and just sat down normally, though when we got to London we couldn’t get on the Tube. We had to take a taxi to the hospital and I could see Mum and Dad glancing at the meter as the money ticked over, the ride getting more and more expensive.

  ‘Mum,’ I said, ‘did you find somewhere to go near Charlton?’ She nodded. ‘Well, can we only go if it’s free? There are lots of free things to do in London, aren’t there?’

  Mum dragged her eyes away from the meter and lifted her chin at me. ‘Too late,’ she said. ‘I already bought the tickets online. Don’t worry,’ she added, before pulling me into a hug.