by Julia Green
Tilly picked her way through the wet grass, and climbed over the fallen tree, trying not to get the slimy green stuff on her hands. Ahead, something moved: a hand, pale, waving at her from inside the den.
“I’ve been here ages!” Helen said very quietly. “I hoped you’d come, and then it started raining so I wasn’t sure…but I’ve mended the roof, look, with some old tarpaulin I found. It’s quite dry inside.” She shifted over to make room for Tilly.
“It’s amazing!” Tilly said. “It’s as good as new! Thank you!”
“Sshh!” Helen said. “Keep your voice down! We don’t want to scare her off.”
“Scare who?”
“The vixen. She’s getting ready to have cubs, I’m sure of it now. She might even have had them. I thought I heard tiny squeaking sounds, and I stayed really quiet and still, and then the vixen came running from the trees, and she shot into the brambles.”
“It’s a she fox!” Tilly said. “I never thought of that.”
Helen laughed. “She’s a vixen, and this will be her first litter. And that’s why she’s hungry all the time. She can’t find enough food for herself; it all goes on growing the babies, inside her. That’s what I think, anyway.”
“Is she your pet fox?” Tilly asked.
“No. You can’t keep a fox as a pet. A fox is a wild animal.” Helen laughed again. “But I feed her every day if I can.”
“I’ve fed her too,” Tilly said.
“I know.”
Tilly’s face flushed. “I waited for you that time. And I’ve looked and looked for you since then…but you never came. And I realized I’ve never seen you in the daytime. It’s always the night.” She looked at Helen: her smooth pale skin, her oval face framed by her red-brown hair. “But I found the book and the candle in the tin, so I knew you must have been back.”
“Did you like the book?”
Tilly nodded.
“You can keep it if you like…” Helen stopped talking abruptly to listen.
Tilly listened too. “Do you think we’ll see the babies?” she whispered.
“Not yet, it’s too soon. And you’ll have to be very careful and quiet. The fox will be extra nervous. It’s very early in the spring for cubs; she’ll have a hard time hunting for food.”
“I gave her some cake earlier,” Tilly said.
Helen sniffed. “She needs proper food.”
“Like what?”
“Mice and baby rabbits and small birds and frogs. Worms, even.”
Tilly shivered. “What’s that?” She peered out into the dark.
Something was rustling in the undergrowth. They both leaned forward, listening.
“The trouble is,” Helen whispered, “if the vixen gets disturbed she might abandon her babies. You mustn’t go too close. And promise not to tell anyone they’re here. Grown-ups get funny about foxes. They don’t like them.”
“Oh!” Tilly had a sudden, horrible thought. She remembered the words Granny had read aloud, from the sign. “What if someone buys the garden?” Tilly said. “And then they start cutting down the trees and the brambles and everything? What will happen to the fox cubs then?”
Helen looked as if she’d been stung. For a moment she sat completely still. “What do you mean, buy the garden?” she said. Her voice was cold and hard and quiet. “The garden belongs to us! Us and the birds and the foxes and all the wild creatures.”
“There was a sign up,” Tilly said. “About land for sale, and an auction or something. There was a date too.”
Helen stared at her, her eyes dark in her pale face.
Tilly shivered. She felt sick. Something was terribly wrong.
Helen started scrabbling her way toward the entrance, bundling the candles and book and everything into the blanket in a terrible rush.
“Where are you going?” Tilly said. “Don’t go, Helen! What’s the matter? What did I say? I’m sorry…Wait!” She tried to follow Helen out through the narrow door, but it was too late. By the time she’d crawled out of the den and stood up, Helen had gone.
It was raining again: icy rain, turning to sleet.
Tilly pulled the tarpaulin over the entrance to the den, to keep it dry inside. She picked her way across the sodden garden, back toward her own house. The sleet was turning to snow, soft wet flakes of it clinging to her pajamas and her hair. Her feet were soaking wet.
If there’s snow, there will be footprints, Tilly thought, and paw prints, and then someone will find out about the fox…And I’ve upset Helen and now she won’t be friends with me and I’ll probably never see her again…She began to cry. And now she’d started, she couldn’t stop. Tears ran down her face, mixing with the wet snow, and everything was blurred, so she could hardly see the way.
“Tilly? Tilly?” Granny was saying her name and holding her arm gently, talking softly. “This way, Tilly love, everything’s fine, just along here, back you go…no need to wake up.” She was steering her along the mossy corridor into the bedroom, toward the white bed, like snow. Granny was rubbing her wet hair with a towel and pulling off her wet socks…
Tilly heard her own voice whispering back, saying something muddled about babies and footprints, and Helen…but she was so, so sleepy, drifting off, sinking back under the warm blanket, and Granny was tucking her in, smoothing her hair, soothing her back to sleep.
Chapter 20
Tilly knew she was dreaming this time, even though she was in the dream too.
She was outside, at the gate. The fox led the way, like the last time, through the wet grass and under the trees, past the fallen rose and the newly repaired den, the bramble patch, into the woods.
Tilly looked for things to remember the way: landmarks she could find in the daylight, by herself, but it was hard, in the dark, to see anything very much, and it was all the same: trees and prickly bushes and dead leaves and fallen branches; ghostly ropes of old creeper that swayed and rustled. It smelled of damp and decay and rot, musty old smells like forgotten cupboards and blocked drains.
The dark got less black as they came out of the trees, onto grass. But where before there had been a huge round lawn with stone statues, and a pond and the house with its open front door, light spilling onto the gravel path, now it was all empty and dark. The lawn was a tangle of overgrown grass and bushes; no one had cut it for years. The blank windows of the empty house looked like hollow eyes.
She knew there was no point going forward. The house was deserted and the girl Helen was long gone.
“Take me home!” Tilly whispered.
But the fox had disappeared.
Tilly was alone in the dark, and she had no idea how to find the way back.
Granny was there again, sitting on the bed. “It’s all right, Tilly,” she said. “You’re safe in bed, and everything’s fine.”
Tilly blinked. The light was glowing on the bedside table, making shadows around the room.
“You’ve been dreaming again,” Granny said. “That’s all.”
Tilly looked at the clock. “Five o’clock,” she said. “That’s nearly morning.”
“Yes. But it won’t be light for another two hours, Tilly. So go back to sleep, yes? Please try.”
Tilly nodded.
“Should I leave the light on?”
“Yes.”
When Granny had gone back to her own room again, Tilly got out of bed to look out the window. It was snowing properly now, huge feathery flakes filling the sky, whirling down. Tilly watched it for ages.
Little by little, the horrible empty feeling from the dream drained away.
Little by little, as she sat at the window, a new feeling came. A sort of fizzing, tingling feeling, that started at the tips of her toes and went right through her, to the top of her head.
The feeling that com
es when something exciting is about to happen…
Tilly watched the falling snow until her feet were too cold to bear, and then she crept back into bed and snuggled under the covers.
Outside, the garden filled softly with snow.
Chapter 21
The telephone was ringing. It seemed to fill the whole house with its urgent sound. Tilly sat bolt upright. The bedroom was full of light; she’d been asleep, and it was properly morning now. The ringing went on and on. Tilly shot out of bed and ran downstairs to pick up the phone.
“Tilly?” Dad’s voice! He sounded breathless, excited. “Guess what?”
Tilly could hardly breathe. “The baby?”
“Yes! A little boy. And he’s fine, and Mom’s fine.” Dad sounded as if he was crying.
Tilly’s insides turned somersaults.
Granny was padding downstairs. She stopped at the bottom step and waited, her face full of questions.
Dad was still talking. “He’s very small but completely perfect; he’s breathing by himself and even feeding, and oh—you have to come and see him as soon as Granny can bring you, Tilly. Is she there? Can I speak to her?”
Tilly passed the phone to Granny.
She went into the kitchen, opened the back door, and a blast of cold air rushed in. The snow had settled on the path and the grass; not a single blade of green showed now.
She shoved her feet into her boots and ran out, leaving huge prints over the white garden. Even the tree was covered: little avalanches of snow slid off the overloaded twigs, making shooshing sounds. The snow creaked under the weight of her boots as she ran and danced and spun.
It had snowed, and her baby brother had just been born! The very same night! And now Mom would get better. Everything was going to be all right!
Tilly started picking up handfuls of snow, packing it with her bare hands, rolling it into a ball. I’ll make a snow fox, instead of a snowman! An Arctic fox.
She remembered the book in Mrs. Almond’s classroom.
She swallowed hard.
But she’d decided, hadn’t she? She’d told Dad she would go back to school today, and she would. There wasn’t anything to be frightened of.
“Tilly?” Granny called from the back doorstep. “Come and get dressed! You’ll freeze to death dressed like that!”
Tilly ran back to the kitchen.
Granny gave her a huge hug. “Isn’t it the best news? Amazing and wonderful! A baby brother, Tilly!” She held Tilly tight, and Tilly squeezed her back. “We’ll go and see them later,” Granny said.
“Am I still going to school?” Tilly asked.
“What do you think? What would you like to do?”
Tilly took a deep breath. “School,” she said. “And go and see Mom after.”
“Let’s get breakfast, then,” Granny said.
Granny wanted to come into the classroom, but Tilly said no.
“It’s not allowed,” Tilly said.
“I don’t see why not!” Granny huffed.
“Only the preschool classes allow moms and dads in,” Tilly explained. “I’ll be fine! Don’t worry, Granny!”
Granny was giving her that look again, as if she didn’t quite believe her.
“I’ll be back at three thirty, and we’ll drive straight to the hospital,” Granny said. She kissed Tilly good-bye on the top of her head.
Tilly stamped her snowy boots on the mat and went down the corridor to her classroom. She hung up her wet coat and went straight in. She was early.
Mrs. Almond was sitting at her table at the front, writing notes. She looked up. “Tilly! How lovely to see you. Welcome back!”
Tilly smiled shyly.
“How’s your mom?” Mrs. Almond asked.
“She’s in the hospital. The baby was born last night.”
“Oh, Tilly! How exciting!”
“I haven’t seen them yet,” Tilly said. “I’m going after school today. It’s a boy.”
“Has he got a name yet?”
Tilly shook her head. She went to her drawer to take out her school reading book. It seemed a long time since she’d looked at it.
“Do you want to choose something else?” Mrs. Almond said. “Have a look through the new books I’ve put on the shelf.”
New books smell wonderful! Tilly thought. She liked being the first person to open up the pages. She chose one with a lovely cover, about an elephant. She read the first page, about a girl called Kirsty. That was Mom’s name. The story made it sound as if the girl was exploring in a jungle but really she was playing. It was the sort of game Tilly liked, where you make stuff up.
The classroom was beginning to fill up. Lucy said hello to Tilly shyly, when Harriet was busy talking to Simone. A girl she didn’t recognize, with lovely dark hair and eyes, came through the classroom door and hovered there, unsure. Mrs. Almond went over to the girl. She brought her over to Tilly’s table. “Susila only started on Monday. Perhaps you would help her today?”
Tilly nodded.
Susila kept her eyes down, looking at the table, not at Tilly.
So Tilly had to do the talking to begin with. “I’ve been away for a few days,” she explained. “My mom’s just had a baby, and I’m going to see them this afternoon. We moved here in the middle of last term, so I’ve only been at this school since then.”
Susila didn’t speak.
Tilly tried again. “Have you just moved here too?”
Susila nodded. “From London.”
“I’ve been to London,” Tilly said. “On the train. To the Natural History Museum and the Science Museum and the London Eye.”
“Which was your favorite?” Susila asked.
“I liked the Natural History Museum,” Tilly said, “because of the whale and the dinosaurs, but I didn’t like the stuffed animals and birds.”
Susila pulled her reading book out of her bag and put it on the table.
Tilly glimpsed the title: The Midnight Fox. Her heart beat a little faster. She thought about her own fox, with tiny cubs, in the snow…
Mrs. Almond started to call the names for attendance.
At recess, Susila followed Tilly outside.
Harriet, Lucy, and Simone were already sitting on the bench, looking bored and cold.
Lots of other children were racing around and throwing snowballs when the teachers weren’t looking. A big group from fifth grade started making an igloo.
“We could make a snow animal,” Tilly said. “I was going to make a snow fox in our garden at home, but I ran out of time.”
“We could make lots of little snow birds. That would be quicker,” Susila said.
Two younger girls wanted to help. Other children came to watch. Soon there was a row of small snow doves on the playground. And then the bell rang and it was time to line up to go back inside.
Tilly’s hands were bright red, freezing cold, but it was the first time she’d actually enjoyed recess in a long time. And after that, Tilly was just excited about going to see Mom and the baby, and it was hard to concentrate on anything else at school at all.
Granny was waiting for her at the gate at three thirty.
“How was it?” Granny asked.
“Good,” Tilly said. “We made snow birds, but they’ve all melted now.”
“I went shopping,” Granny said, as she started the car. “I thought you might want to give a little present to the baby, and then I couldn’t resist one for you. It’s in that bag if you want to look.”
Tilly opened the bag. Two soft animals were in there: a white polar bear and a small fox with red-brown fur and a white-tipped tail.
Granny glanced at her. “The fox is for you, to replace the one you lost.”
Tilly took it out of the bag. It was quite sweet: s
oft, furry, all clean and new, but it was nothing like Little Fox, and anyway, you couldn’t just replace one animal with another. Granny should know that!
“It’s nice,” she said quickly. “Thank you, Granny. But would you mind if I gave it to the baby instead?”
“As you please,” Granny said. “The polar bear can be from me and the fox from you. How about that?”
“There’s hardly any snow left,” Tilly said sadly, as they went up the hill to the hospital. “I wish it would snow again, lots more.”
Granny laughed. “Me too, but only when we’re safely back at home. All of us: Mom, Dad, baby, you, and me.”
“You go first,” Granny said when they reached the maternity ward.
The nurse at the desk smiled at Tilly. “Who are you visiting?”
“My mom.”
“Kirsty Harper,” Granny said.
“Fifth door on the right.”
Tilly ran ahead, counting the doors, then stopped.
She stood on tiptoe so she could look through the glass window in the door. It was like looking into a picture in a frame. Mom was in the bed but sitting up, talking to Dad, who was in the chair by the bed, one hand on the tiny mound of blanket inside a plastic crib. No wires. No horrible machines or feeding tubes.
Tilly let out her breath with a big sigh.
Slowly, she opened the door.
“Tilly!” Dad sprang up to give Tilly a huge hug. He held her so close his stubbly chin tickled her face.
Mom’s eyes looked big, shiny with tears about to spill. But she looked fine too, not so pale, and now she was smiling and asking questions, and Tilly felt the huge knot of worry inside her begin to unravel.
“Here he is,” Dad said, lifting the bundle out of the crib. “Get comfy next to Mom, and you can give him his first ever cuddle from his big sister.”
The baby was as small as a doll, but the blanket wrapped around him made him feel more sturdy, and it wasn’t so scary after all, holding him by herself. His eyes stayed tight shut, his tiny hand poking out at the top of the white blanket stayed curled in a fist. The blanket went up and down, in time with his breath.