I looked at him warily, wondering what little game he was hatching. ‘We are friends now, aren’t we?’ I said.
‘Of course we are.’ Will dug his finger in the strawberry jampot and smeared my wrist and his own with scarlet jam. ‘We’ll still be blood siblings,’ he said, and then he licked my wrist clean and I licked his.
Mum made a fuss when she came downstairs in her green woollen dress, a purple scarf pinned into place with an amber brooch. Her face was very pale above her colourful outfit.
‘What’s all this about you not coming? Of course you’re coming – both of you.’
‘No, we’re not,’ said Will. ‘And you don’t want to either. You’re just going because Dad bullied you into it. Gran’s never been that nice to you either, has she?’
Mum flushed, looking uncomfortable. ‘Don’t, Will, please. All right, you don’t have to come. I do understand. But Violet, you must go. You’ll upset your dad so if you don’t.’
‘That’s just too bad,’ I said, folding my arms. I kept them folded, hugging myself for courage when Dad came back downstairs. His face was still bright pink, his neck nearly purple where his tight collar was digging into him. He always dressed in a formal shirt and tie and suit to see Gran because she said she couldn’t bear seeing grown men in sloppy T-shirts.
‘Last chance, Violet,’ Dad said. ‘We’re leaving in five minutes. You’ve still got time to get washed and get your togs on if you jump to it.’
‘I’m not jumping, Dad,’ I said.
‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘I’m not going to lower myself and plead. Though what if this is the last birthday your grandmother ever has? It’s surely not too much to ask, one little family visit on a special day, after all I do for you? I even act like your personal chauffeur, driving you round to see your fancy friends.’
I stood silently, hanging onto my elbows, trying not to react.
‘You stone-faced little cow,’ Dad said suddenly. ‘What sort of a daughter are you? Well, stew in your own juice then.’
He stormed out of the house. Mum gazed at us anxiously, fumbling in her purse and putting a ten-pound note down on the table.
‘There’s not much in the fridge apart from the lamb and stuff. Get yourselves something nice down at the corner shop. And don’t do anything silly, either of you. Do you hear me?’
I nodded, suddenly near tears.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,’ said Will.
Dad yelled from out in the driveway for Mum to get a bloody move on.
‘Hark at him, bellowing like a bull. What will the neighbours think?’ said Mum. ‘I’ve half a mind to stay home too.’
But she scuttled out to join him. We heard the car doors slam and then the roar of the engine as they drove off.
It was very quiet in the kitchen. Will tore a kitchen towel off the roll and gently dabbed at my wet eyes.
‘I’m crying because of Mum, not Dad,’ I sniffed. ‘You’re lucky, Will. I wish he wasn’t my real dad. I hate him. If only I had a dad like Jonathan.’ But I shut my mouth quickly. I didn’t want to spoil things by talking about Jasmine and annoying Will.
‘Cheer up, little sister,’ said Will.
‘Oh Will!’ I sobbed.
‘Hey, you won’t need a shower at this rate. Race you for the bathroom, eh?’
Will got there long before me, but he was only two minutes using the bathroom. I took much longer, washing my hair in the bath. I heard music coming from Will’s room, beautiful strange piano playing. He usually played really loud thumping rock music, partly to annoy Dad, but I knew he had a collection of classical CDs that he listened to secretly, using headphones.
When I was dressed I pattered shyly along to his room, my hair tied up in a towel. Will had propped the door open so I could hear the music properly.
‘It’s lovely. What is it?’
‘Debussy. It’s called “The Dance of Puck”. It’s the nearest I can get to fairy music for you.’
I hovered at Will’s door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
It was ages since I’d been in Will’s bedroom. Muffy’s cage was still there, taking up half the room. He’d tied black ribbon and white silk lilies to the bars and made a model of a chinchilla out of papier-mâché, painting it white and putting it on a pedestal so it looked like a marble memorial statue.
‘Oh Will. You must get another.’
‘No, no more pets. I’m not keeping anything caged any more. I’m getting into bats though. I’ve made a bat box and hung it out the back of our house. I want them to roost in our loft.’
‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ I thought he was, but I saw he had several library books on bats. He had piles of books all over his room, mostly non-fiction, but he had a lot of fantasy and horror paperbacks and there were all his old childhood favourites still on the windowsill, the Narnia books and The Wind in the Willows and The Jungle Book. There were reminders of the little boy Will all over his room. He’d kept his quartz collection, and the same little troop of pipe-cleaner mountaineers were trekking up this rocky terrain. I looked all round and eventually spotted Big Growl hibernating under a pile of crumpled clothes.
The pictures and postcards Blu-tacked to his walls were more sophisticated, mostly photos of tortured Gothic singers, boys in black with black hair, girls in white with long blonde hair. There was a set of Hieronymus Bosch creatures with rabbit heads and flowering genitals coupling in imaginative new ways, then a painful series of souls being tortured in hell. There were also five photos of Muffy crouching in corners, her snout in the air, her eyes bright with love. The only other photo was one of a baby, a peaky little creature with a shock of thick black hair and big violet eyes.
‘You’ve got my photo on your wall!’ I said.
‘Well. You were quite sweet then. You’ve gone off rapidly since,’ said Will.
‘I looked so weird as a baby. It’s odd, we are a bit alike. Look at the hair.’
‘I always used to wonder why there weren’t any baby photos of me,’ said Will. ‘I asked them once. Dad said it was because I was such an ugly little tyke that the camera broke. Mum got a bit flustered and spun me this long story about a photo album going missing. I was more inclined to believe the old man.’
‘What – that you were ugly?’ I said.
‘Well, I am,’ said Will, lying back on his bed, his arms behind his head.
‘Oh, come on! You’re milking the poor-little-me situation a bit too much now. You know perfectly well everyone thinks you’re drop-dead gorgeous,’ I said.
‘What do you think, Violet? No, OK, we’re related, more or less. What about little friend Goldilocks? You two obviously have long discussions about me.’
‘No, we don’t. Well. Just the once.’
‘And what did she say about me?’
‘I don’t know.’
I did know. Jasmine had said he seemed the only interesting boy in the whole school. But that was private, between Jasmine and me. She’d die if I told Will, I was sure.
‘I think we’ll maybe play a game of Truth or Dare,’ said Will.
‘Oh God,’ I said.
‘Don’t look so panic-stricken. It’ll be fun.’
‘For you. No, Will, let’s go out, please. We don’t have to go all the way to Brompton Woods. We could go anywhere. We could just have a little wander in the park, or go round the shops. We’ve got Mum’s tenner, look. We could have lunch in McDonald’s. Or I’ll cook us lunch. I could do the roast, I’m sure I could, though I’ll have to get started right this minute.’
‘You go and make us a coffee while I ponder,’ said Will.
‘OK, great, coffee coming up,’ I said, shooting straight down to the kitchen. I made us both black coffees and I snaffled two truffles from Mum’s secret supply in the tablecloth drawer. She always hid her birthday boxes of chocolates because Will and Dad would help themselves indiscriminately if she left them out on the sideboard.
Will came downstairs
when I called, ate his truffle and then mine too. I decided not to object. I made burbling small-talk, switching on the television and flicking from channel to channel, suggesting we play an old game where we turned the sound down and acted out madly surreal voiceovers. Will was exceptionally good at this. I hoped he might want to show off but he shook his head. He drained his coffee, and leaned back in the upright chair, rocking it precariously on two legs.
‘OK, we’ve had our light refreshments. Now it’s Jolly Japes time. Right, little Shrinking Violet, we’ll play Truth or Dare.’
‘Will, stop it. It’s a ridiculous game. And anyway, you don’t ever tell the truth, and I’m useless at dares.’
‘Which should add considerably to the fun! Come on, indulge me. Then we’ll go out. We’ll buy a picnic at Waitrose and get the bus to Brompton Woods, OK?’
‘Promise?’
‘Well, it depends. Indulge me now, and then we’ll see.’
‘I don’t want to play, Will. I hate games.’
‘But we’ve never played Truth or Dare. Don’t worry, it won’t be the ordinary kids’ game. It’ll be my special variation.’
‘Which makes it much more scary.’
Will bowed as if I was complimenting him, grinning at me. He had very good white teeth but there always seemed rather a lot of them, giving him a disconcerting wolfish look. When I was little and Will played around threatening to eat me up I took it very seriously.
He rocked on his chair, almost but never quite overbalancing.
‘First Truth or Dare challenge, Violet. If you could have a love affair with anyone, who would you choose?’
I felt as if I was overbalancing myself. This was a very different kind of game. Will never seemed the slightest bit interested in my feelings and we’d never discussed love in our lives. I’d often wanted to, and long ago when we shared secrets I’d try to start Will off on the subject, but he’d always groan and make vomit noises and tell me not to be so boring.
‘You’re hesitating, Violet. Come along, we’d better introduce a time limit,’ said Will, going to the kitchen and getting Mum’s timer. ‘OK,’ he said, returning. He adjusted the clock mechanism. ‘You have precisely sixty seconds in which to answer. Failure to come up with a truthful response or an acceptance of a dare means you will have to pay a dire penalty. Mmm, I shall enjoy making one up.’ He sat back on his chair, chanting, ‘Tick tick tick.’
My thoughts ticked over in time. I remembered going to nursery school and some scruffy little boy with a skinhead haircut taking a shine to me. He said he loved me. I lied and said I loved him too, to be polite, though I didn’t like his stubbly head, or his nose-picking habits. ‘That’s good,’ he said, exploring his nose thoroughly. ‘So we’ll get married, right?’
‘I can’t,’ I said, too shocked to stay polite. ‘I’m going to marry my brother Will.’
When I got old enough to know I couldn’t marry Will I decided I didn’t ever want anyone else. Will didn’t seem particularly interested in going out with any girls when he got into his teens so I had wistful fantasies about us sharing a flat together.
Now I was in my teens I could see this probably wouldn’t work. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to go out with anyone, let alone have a love affair. I thought of all the boys at school. Jasmine was right, they were all rubbish.
I thought of Jasmine. I loved her, but not in that way.
‘Tick tick tick, ten seconds left. Penalty looming,’ Will said.
‘Shut up, I can’t think.’ I shut my eyes tight to concentrate. Coloured lights danced behind my eyelids. When I was little Will told me these were fairy lights. I spent hours with my hands over my eyes, trying to see them more clearly.
‘Fifty-seven, fifty-eight—’
Fairies!
‘I know! Casper Dream,’ I said triumphantly, as the timer went off.
Will frowned. ‘He’s not a real person.’
‘Of course he is.’
‘You don’t know him. You don’t even know what he looks like. That photo on his books is all blurry.’
‘I don’t need to know him. I still choose him.’
‘OK, OK,’ said Will, sighing.
‘So who would you choose, Will? Come on, it’s my turn to play Truth or Dare. Who would you choose for a love affair?’
I set the timer and looked at Will. His eyes were very green, staring back at me without blinking. His face was impassive, utterly Zen-cool. I couldn’t wait to hear what he’d say. I sat forward eagerly, holding my breath. Then the phone started ringing, making us both jump.
‘Leave it,’ said Will.
‘But what if it’s Mum checking up on us? She’ll come back if we don’t answer.’
Will frowned and picked up the phone. He listened for a second – then held out the phone. ‘Jasmine,’ he said.
The timer went off, the sound filling the whole kitchen.
Dear C.D.,
Did you have lots of friends when you were at school? Maybe some of the tough kids teased you because you were quiet and sensitive and so very talented at art?
I expect you had one very special friend?
I wonder if it was another boy?
Did you really care about him?
Did you trust him?
Did you stay friends? I really really want to know.
Love from
Violet
XXX
From Shadowlands by Casper Dream
The Wraith
A spectral apparition of a person about to die.
Eleven
‘I’M SORRY, JASMINE, but I can’t really talk right now,’ I said quickly.
‘Yes, you can,’ said Will. ‘What does she want, your friend Jasmine?’
Jasmine giggled at the other end of the phone. ‘I can hear your brother! Look, I want some help with my homework. I can’t do any of it. Especially the maths.’
‘Oh Jasmine, I’m useless at maths too,’ I said.
‘I’m not,’ said Will. ‘Tell her to come round. I’ll help her.’
I stared at him. He didn’t seem to be joking.
‘What did he say?’ said Jasmine. ‘Did he say I can come round?’
‘Well—’
‘It’s sixteen Heathland Road, right? I’ll get Jonathan to run me over. OK?’
I looked at Will. ‘Do you want her to come over?’ I mouthed.
‘Is this another Truth or Dare?’ said Will.
‘What?’ said Jasmine. ‘What are you two on about? Anyway, see you in ten minutes? Your mum won’t mind, will she, Violet? I know you said she gets a bit funny about stuff.’
‘My mum’s gone out. And my dad,’ I said. I swallowed. ‘They’re out all day, actually.’
‘Oh great. So we can have a party, you, me and your brother,’ said Jasmine.
There was a little pause.
‘I’m joking, Violet,’ said Jasmine. ‘OK, see you soon!’
I put the phone down. The plastic was slippery. I wiped my hands on my jeans, looking at Will. He looked back at me steadily.
‘Why did you ask her round?’ I said.
‘Why shouldn’t she come round? She’s your friend,’ said Will.
‘But you always hate my friends.’
‘I hate little Munchkin friends. Jasmine looks like she’ll be more fun.’
‘Will, don’t play games with her.’
‘As if I would,’ said Will, his eyes glittering.
‘Don’t spoil everything, Will. It’s been so lovely this morning, the way it used to be. I wish she wasn’t coming. I wanted it to be just you and me.’
‘And now it’ll be just you and me and Jasmine,’ said Will. ‘It’ll be fine. Don’t look so fussed. I’ll be nice to your new friend.’
‘Really?’
‘Really and truly,’ said Will.
I reached out and squeezed his hand gratefully. Will’s hand was strangely damp too. He wasn’t usually a sweaty anxious person. Maybe he was just picking up on my emotions. I felt
so worried about Jasmine coming over. I scurried up to my bedroom, reaching up and setting all my fairies swinging. Maybe she’d think me an idiot, stringing a lot of limp rag dolls from the ceiling. No, she loved her own Jasmine Fairy, she said so. But was she simply being kind to me? Or even having a little laugh behind my back, like Marnie and Terry?
I stroked my collection of Casper Dream books. She wouldn’t laugh at them. Jonathan had been so impressed that I had The Smoky Fairy. I could show Jasmine all my favourite colour plates. Or would she be bored, looking at books? I didn’t really know. She was my best friend but I didn’t really know her properly at all.
I ran out of my bedroom, slamming the door shut. I hurried downstairs, into the living room. I smoothed the sofa, shoving all the scattered Sunday papers into a heap, finding Dad’s awful slippers and stuffing them out of sight.
‘It’s your best friend who’s coming, not the Tidy Police,’ said Will, following me. He flopped onto the newly tidied sofa. ‘God, look at you. You’re worse than Mum.’
‘Look, you could help! It was you who invited her,’ I said, whisking things around. ‘And get off that sofa – I shall have to plump up the cushions all over again. Jasmine will be sitting there.’
‘Oh my, golly gosh, I didn’t realize,’ said Will, leaping up. ‘Shall I restuff each cushion while we’re at it? Cover them with cloth-of-gold? Nothing is too good for the Jasmine bottom.’
‘Shut up,’ I said, swatting him with one of the newspapers. Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. I was still wearing my towel turban and old jeans and an ancient check shirt of Will’s. I gave a little shriek and ran back upstairs.
‘Oh my, are we off to tart ourselves up for the royal visitor?’ said Will.
But when I dashed downstairs again in my butterfly T-shirt and best jeans, my damp hair brushed out, bangles jingling on my arm, I saw that Will had changed out of his old tracky bottoms and torn T-shirt into his black jeans and a brand-new white T-shirt straight out of the packet. He wore his silver necklace round his neck – and he’d actually brushed his hair.
I was touched that he was trying so hard for me. We sat in our finery on the newly plumped sofa. And sat and sat and sat. I kept peering at the clock, leaping up every time I heard a car nearby, but Jasmine failed to appear.
Midnight Page 10