She slipped in and left the door slightly ajar. (To shut it you always had to bang it because the lock was stiff.)
She could hear Harry and her grandparents talking, about the play and about the evening and she heard the words, ‘No trouble at all. Not heard a peep all night. Good as gold.’
And at that Ember ran up the stairs two at a time, avoiding the squeaky third step, and was under the covers (with her shoes on) by the time her dad opened her door.
She pretended to sleep.
It was only once he’d kissed her on the head and gone out again that she began to fiddle with her shoelaces.
They had knots and in the end she just slipped them off, still tied, and let them fall to the floor for Harry to deal with in the morning.
Then she lay in the dark and cried, real tears. Wet tears. Salt tears.
Happiness was gone, and she hadn’t even said goodbye to her. She was really gone and nothing was going to bring her back. Not this time, no matter how clever Ember was, no matter how much she wished it.
There was a hole in her middle, and she fell down it.
She thought of her mum too, as she fell.
She thought of the picture of her on the mantelpiece that she’d always loved, not what she had become. It was surprisingly easy to let go of the memory of what had happened in that afterworld. The knowledge that her mum had waited was enough to know. The rest she could forget. Let go of.
Yes. Letting go. Let it go.
And so she cried.
Big sobs, like the dead deserve.
But, in time, she was all cried out, and she turned her pillow over to the dry side and tried to sleep.
December didn’t go to school on Monday, because it was the day of the funeral. The weather was suitably grey and blustery and she wore her smartest, darkest clothes.
There were a few other kids from school there, but she didn’t speak to them. She just sat with Harry and Penny and was quiet. It was what she wanted to do.
At the front Mr and Mrs Browne sat quietly too. Ness’s big brother had come back from university to be with them. He sat there, in a suit that didn’t quite fit, with his head in his hands.
The coffin was brought in and they all stood up and then they all sat down again.
Someone said some words she didn’t really hear, and then a cousin of Ness’s that Ember had never seen before stood up and sang a song that she’d written for the guitar. And then they all stood up and sang a song, and then they all sat down again. Ness’s grandad, who Ember had never met either, stood and said a lot of words about her, about how good she was and how kind and all that sort of thing.
She remembered some of the things Ness had told her, some of the stories she’d told her about him, and she smiled, almost laughed, in fact.
Then they played some music, and the coffin trundled off through some curtains into a hole in the wall and she knew that that was where it would be burned.
Everyone cried, and then afterwards they went to a nearby pub, where the Brownes had laid on some food.
Even though Ember wasn’t hungry she ate three sausage rolls, four little triangular sandwiches, a stale salted peanut and several handfuls of crisps out of politeness.
Before they left she went up to Ness’s mum, Mrs Browne, and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
She didn’t know what else to say.
I tried?
Mrs Browne didn’t need to know that.
She just said, ‘Thank you, Amber, dear,’ and dabbed her eyes with a soggy handkerchief.
No one corrected her. It wasn’t the time.
‘Come on,’ said Harry quietly, his hand on her shoulder.
They headed for the exit, but halfway there Ember turned and ran back to Ness’s mum.
‘Mrs Browne?’ she asked.
‘Yes?’
‘Can I ask … ? I’ve a question …’
‘Yes?’
‘When they give you the dust, can I –’
‘Dust?’
‘You know, from the coffin and …’
‘The ashes?’
Mrs Browne choked as she said the words.
‘Can I … Can you give me a bit? Just a little. She was my best friend, and I want to, you know, scatter a bit of her in the garden.’
It was what people did, wasn’t it? Harry had scattered her mum’s ashes in the woods where they sometimes walked, where the bluebells came out in the spring.
Mrs Browne was silent, as if she didn’t know what to say.
‘Of course you can,’ said Mr Browne, putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder. His eyes were huge and shining, still and deep and reflective as hammer ponds. ‘Can’t she, Hazel? Ember was all that Ness would talk about. She loved you, you know.’
‘Of course,’ repeated Mrs Browne.
‘It’ll be a few days,’ Mr Browne said. ‘I’ll bring them round.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ember, not feeling in the least bad about the lie she’d told them.
She had no intention of scattering Ness’s dust. She’d seen her ashes scattered already. She wanted to keep some of it together, keep it safe. That was all. She had no plan to do anything with it. She just wanted to have her friend close.
With a tear rolling down her cheek and a red nose, she walked back to Harry and Penny and took them each by the hand and walked with them out into the car park, out into the cool spring afternoon, out into the rest of their days together. Happy days.
Not to be forgotten.
Not to be rushed through.
Not to be wasted.
Praise for The Imaginary
‘By turns scary and funny, touching without being sentimental, and beautifully illustrated by Emily Gravett, The Imaginary is a delight from start to finish’
Financial Times
‘A moving read about loyalty and belief in the extraordinary’
Guardian
‘The kind of children’s book that’s the reason why adults should never stop reading children’s books. Touching, exciting and wonderful to look at (Emily Gravett’s illustrations are incredible), I absolutely adored this.
And I cried a little bit’
Robin Stevens
‘A glorious delight … Loved it!’
Jeremy Strong
‘Packed full of heart’
Phil Earle, Guardian
‘This is young fiction of the very best quality, showcasing inspiration, inventiveness and an intoxicating passion for storytelling. The Imaginary has the potential to be a family favourite and a future classic’
BookTrust
‘A richly visualised story which explores imaginary friends and the very special role they play in children’s lives. Emily Gravett’s illustrations capture the hazy world of the imaginaries brilliantly’
Julia Eccleshare, Lovereading4kids
RUDGER IS AMANDA’S BEST FRIEND.
HE DOESN’T EXIST.
BUT NOBODY’S PERFECT.
Winner of the UKLA 2016 Book Award in the 7–11 category
Longlisted for the CILIP Carnegie Medal and the Kate Greenaway Medal 2016
Praise for The Song From Somewhere Else
‘Extraordinary … as moving, strange and profound as David Almond’s Skellig’
Guardian
‘Broodingly atmospheric black-and-white illustrations by Levi Pinfold … the tale turns into a fantasy of another world, blending the strange and the everyday’
Sunday Times
‘Wildly imaginative and heartbreakingly moving … Levi Pinfold’s superbly evocative, misty illustrations complete a glorious and unforgettable tale of loyalty, loss and friendship’
Daily Mail
‘A curious story about two bullied children who end up forming an unlikely friendship based on a haunting melody, an improbable mother, an invasion from another world and a disappearing cat. There are wonderfully evocative pictures by Levi Pinfold’
Evening Standard
‘What begins as a story of bullying becomes a
whirlpool of mystery as Frank tries to undo the damage she has done. A magic story of friendship and love, with atmospheric black-and-white illustrations by Levi Pinfold’
Irish Examiner
‘There is a delicate sensibility, a happy strangeness, to this; sometimes scary, sometimes funny, always essential. The illustrations by Pinfold – black and white, pencil, dramatic and evocative – are a vital component’
Big Issue
SOMETIMES YOU FIND FRIENDSHIP WHERE YOU LEAST EXPECT IT.
Longlisted for the CILIP Carnegie Medal and shortlisted for the Kate Greenaway Medal 2018
Winner of the Amnesty CILIP Honour 2018
BLOOMSBURY CHILDREN’S BOOKS
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First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Text copyright © A.F. Harrold, 2018
Illustrations copyright © Emily Gravett, 2018
A.F. Harrold and Emily Gravett have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author and Illustrator of this work
'Arrangements' by Douglas Dunn from Elegies (© Douglas Dunn, 1985) is printed by permission of Faber and Faber Ltd 'Arrangements' by Douglas Dunn from Elegies (© Douglas Dunn, 1985) is printed by permission of United Agents (www.unitedagents.co.uk) on behalf of Douglas Dunn
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