‘No fire, unfortunately,’ Vivienne said. ‘It’s not safe for the ferns. But we can still have a picnic. And if we get cold, we can jump back into the pool again.’
And so, with their blankets about them, and the dappling light of the lantern playing over the inside of Vivienne’s bower, the two girls ate slippery bits of fish, put jam onto dry biscuits with cheese, chewed on dried fruit and gnawed on the spicy, peppery jerky, sharing it all with Baxterr. He turned his nose up at the fish, and the pepper on the jerky made him sneeze, which reminded the girls of the day they’d all met. They talked of that adventure, and Vivienne told stories from the time when the Winged Dogs flew in the skies above the Peppermint Forest, and Tuesday told Vivienne about the amazing fish she’d seen when she’d been snorkelling on her holiday in the Pacific Ocean. Baxterr listened, and lay on his back and allowed both girls to scratch him on the tummy.
‘We should sleep,’ Vivienne said. ‘Tomorrow we have a long and difficult journey.’
She yawned, found her pillow and lay down, and Tuesday did the same. Baxterr crawled in beside Tuesday, his yawn accompanied by a faint whine. Vivienne jumped up and blew out the lantern flame, plunging the whole bower into blackness. Tuesday’s thoughts turned to all that lay before them.
‘When we get to the City of Clocks we’ll be searching for a door,’ she said to Vivienne in the darkness. ‘I think it could be any door. And Baxterr will help. That’s all I know.’
‘That’s not very useful,’ said Vivienne.
‘I know,’ said Tuesday.
‘Still, it wouldn’t be an adventure if we knew what was going to happen,’ Vivienne said.
Tuesday pulled the brown blanket up to her chin and thought. It seemed she had always known about Vivienne’s tree house, and she had actually been to her cave near the Cliffs of Cartavia. From reading her mother’s books, Tuesday also knew about Vivienne’s hammock house in a giant sky flower in the Oasis of Evermore, and about her bolthole in the trunk of a Heartwood tree in the Eldritch Forest. But Tuesday had never read about this bower. She wondered if her mother even knew it was here.
‘Vivienne, exactly how many homes do you have?’ Tuesday asked.
‘Seven,’ said Vivienne matter-of-factly. And then, thinking of the damage to her new tree house, corrected herself. ‘No, wait, six. Why is it always my favourite homes that get ruined?’
‘Will you build another tree house?’ Tuesday asked.
‘Definitely,’ said Vivienne. ‘And my next one will be so strong that absolutely nothing will break it apart. Not pirates, not falling dogs, nothing! It will be the strongest and most beautiful tree house in the world. So there.’
Tuesday laughed, and held her dog close to her in the dark, enjoying the warmth and the slightly damp doggy smell of his fur. She felt very happy. She loved being here: here in this world, here with Vivienne Small again … but she also felt guilty for enjoying herself quite this much when she knew that Denis and Serendipity would be at home waiting for her to return. Probably they were frantic with worry. Even if they had guessed that a story had come to get her, they would still be concerned, thinking that she could end up in Malta or somewhere south of Cape Town. Just before she fell into sleep, Tuesday imagined her parents, sitting up together at the kitchen table at Brown Street.
‘I’m all right, and I’ll be home as soon as I can,’ she thought, and she tried to send that thought all the way home to Brown Street like a falling star.
But Denis McGillycuddy and Serendipity Smith were not sitting at the kitchen table at Brown Street. They were not at home. Instead, they were at the City Hospital, Denis looking nothing like himself. Serendipity sat with her elbows on the white sheet of the bed, holding one of his hands and willing him to be okay.
Denis had come to the hospital by ambulance and Serendipity had followed in a yellow taxi, urging the driver to go faster, and faster, through the quiet Sunday night streets of the city. Denis had been rushed into various rooms with large machines that photographed his brain, tested all sorts of levels and provided every kind of measurement. He did not wake. Serendipity had filled in forms, given a medical history, then another one, told of everything that had happened, then told it again, until she wished she had written it down in the first place and could hand a copy to each new doctor, rather than having to tell it over and over. In the early hours of the morning, Denis’s head had been shaved and he had been taken into surgery and returned with a very large bandage on his head. There were tubes coming out from under those bandages. He was connected to screens that beeped, bags of fluid that dripped, and a machine that breathed for him at regular intervals. Serendipity was told he would not wake until his brain was feeling better.
Before leaving Brown Street, she had scrawled two hurried notes – one for the kitchen table, and the other for Tuesday’s bed. They each said: Call me immediately. Daddy in City Hospital, and gave a phone number. So every few minutes she went to the nurses’ desk. But no call had come from Tuesday.
‘You really should go home, Mrs McGillycuddy,’ a kind nurse said to her.
Serendipity noticed that he was wearing rather worn tennis shoes threaded with purple laces. ‘He won’t wake before morning.’
‘I can’t leave him,’ said Serendipity.
‘I understand,’ said the nurse. ‘That chair reclines if you want to try to get some sleep. If you need anything, buzz me right away.’
At some point, Serendipity was aware of the same nurse tucking a blanket about her as she curled up in the recliner chair. She dozed, half conscious of staff coming and going, checking the monitors, replacing the drips and checking Denis’s temperature. Denis slept on through all this and did not stir.
At nine in the morning, Serendipity made a call from the public phone in the hallway of the hospital.
‘Hello?’ said Miss Digby crisply.
‘I’m at the hospital,’ Serendipity began.
A note of panic came immediately into Miss Digby’s voice.
‘Why didn’t you call sooner? Is Tuesday all right?’
‘No. Yes, but—’ Serendipity began.
‘What happened to her?’
‘Not Tuesday. Denis,’ said Serendipity, and her voice wavered. ‘You see, after you left us …’ Serendipity proceeded to relate to Miss Digby the series of events that had led to Denis being in the hospital and Serendipity spending the night beside him.
‘But, if you’re at the hospital, where on earth is Tuesday?’ Miss Digby asked.
This was, Serendipity had to admit, a very good question.
‘Tuesday … is …’ Serendipity faltered.
‘At school?’
‘Of course,’ said Serendipity.
‘Well,’ said Miss Digby, ‘shall I meet her at the end of the day and bring her to you at the hospital?’
Miss Digby could be a little frosty with children, so Serendipity was quite touched to find her so concerned for Tuesday. But, then, Miss Digby had always been good in an emergency. There had been many of them over the years, most of them involving cancelled or delayed flights and the subsequent rescheduling of television shows, interviews, visits to schools and book launches. There had been mix-ups with luggage or hotels, cars and trains, the odd flu and a rare bout of food poisoning. In every instance, Miss Digby had been unflappable and efficient. So perhaps it wasn’t such a surprise that she was taking this particular emergency in her stride.
But if Miss Digby found that Tuesday was still missing … what then? Serendipity hadn’t the least idea what she would tell Miss Digby about where Tuesday had gone. Would Serendipity finally have to let Miss Digby in on what writers really did? She needed to buy Tuesday some time.
‘No, no,’ Serendipity said hastily. ‘No need for that. She’s very independent. Prefers to be alone. Especially after school. She often slips straight off into her room and we don’t hear a peep out of her until dinnertime. You know how girls are at that age. And I’ll be home, anyway, by then.’
&n
bsp; ‘I’ll come over,’ said Miss Digby. ‘I’ll use the spare key. I’ll bring something to eat. That way you don’t have to worry about anything. You can spend the day with Denis and we’ll see you when you get there.’
‘Of course,’ said Serendipity. ‘If she’s late, don’t worry about her. I mean Tuesday may go to a friend’s …’
‘On the first night of term?’
‘Of course,’ said Serendipity.
At last, Serendipity managed to dismiss Miss Digby and hang up the phone.
‘Lying’s not nearly so much fun without you,’ she said to Denis.
She leaned over and kissed his cool, pale forehead beneath the bandages and murmured that she loved him. For a moment she half expected him to say: The Leith Police dismisseth us, the Leith police are thorough, which was one of his favourite tongue twisters, but he did nothing. Denis simply lay there, quietly. Much too quietly.
Please be all right,’ Serendipity whispered to him. ‘I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.’
Serendipity thought of Tuesday, too. ‘And please come home soon,’ she said silently to her daughter.
But of the two of them, Denis was the one she was more worried about.
Chapter Thirteen
Baxterr and the two girls journeyed through patches of forest, and around the edges of small, deep green lakes. For a time, they climbed along the side of a series of steep valleys, following what appeared to be sheep trails. Or maybe they were goat trails. In the fields they passed, Tuesday saw both sheep and goats, grazing peacefully, the bells of the goats making a tinny sound as they moved about. Baxterr showed remarkable restraint in not chasing them, although he did chase quite a few rabbits.
When Vivienne glanced up at the sun and announced it was lunchtime, the three travellers sat down on a pair of rotting, mossy logs in a boggy stretch of open forest. No sooner had they sat down, drunk from their flasks (Baxterr from a nearby stream), and bolted some food, than Vivienne Small was back on her feet and ready to continue.
‘Can’t we have a bit more of a rest?’ Tuesday begged.
‘You don’t want to rest here,’ Vivienne said.
‘Why not?’
‘Leeches,’ said Vivienne.
‘I don’t care about the leeches,’ said Tuesday, lying back on one of the soft, mossy logs and feeling the midday sunshine warming her face.
‘You will care in a moment,’ said Vivienne. ‘See?’
Tuesday followed Vivienne’s pointing finger, to see a horribly oversized, bulbous black leech – about the same width as her own forearm – inching towards her. Tuesday wasn’t at all the kind of girl to squeal at a spider, or a scorpion, or even a normal leech, but this was something quite different. So she squealed, and Vivienne chuckled, and Baxterr barked as Tuesday hefted up her pack and they set off once again, Tuesday looking behind her to make sure the leeches weren’t following.
Sometime after lunch, Tuesday’s feet went beyond being hot and sore and entered a state of numbness. Her legs ached. The path took them through a broad plain of short, wheat-coloured grass that rippled in the breeze. Tuesday made Baxterr walk very close to her, having been convinced that she had heard slithery sounds nearby.
By late afternoon, Vivienne was slightly ahead, tramping along with even, measured steps. The terrain rose to a crest ahead of them and Tuesday watched as Vivienne lifted her wings and fluttered up to the top, then stood still with her hand shading her eyes.
‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Come on! Come on up.’
Tuesday and Baxterr scrambled wearily up the rise and there, in the distance, was a broad, tranquil river, carving its serpentine way through green hills and tawny valleys. Along the river’s edge were small villages with low buildings of timber and stone.
‘The Mabanquo River,’ Vivienne announced.
‘Why is it called that?’ Tuesday asked as she set off after Vivienne once more, this time with a fresh spring in her step.
‘It was named after a famous explorer,’ Vivienne said. ‘Letitia Mabanquo. There’s a statue of her in the City of Clocks.’
Vivienne struck a pose of a person pointing upwards. ‘That’s what the statue does,’ she explained. ‘You’ll see it when we get there.’
They reached the riverside at twilight. On the grassy bank, the two girls pooled their supplies and made a meal for Baxterr. Although they had intended to ration their food for tomorrow, they were so hungry after their long walk that they ate most of it. Tuesday, with a full stomach and no further to walk, felt the delicious feeling that you get after being out of doors for an entire day.
‘Shall we get going then?’ said Vivienne.
‘We’ll sail at night?’ asked Tuesday, a little surprised.
‘I’m game if you are.’
‘Hurrrrrr,’ said Baxterr, who was not especially pleased to see Vivienne unwrap the miniature red boat in the glass vial. Tuesday could understand why.
‘It’s all right, doggo,’ she said. ‘There won’t be any falling in this time … I hope.’
Some of you may be wondering how one small girl and one regular girl, along with a small-to-medium dog, were going to sail a swift, deep river in a tiny boat in a glass bottle. Well, it was entirely possible, but it involved a little bit of magic.
Vivienne placed the bottle on the grass, as close as she could to the river’s edge. From her pocket she took a silver and gold marble, which she unscrewed into two parts. The silver half fitted neatly into the neck of the bottle; the gold half fitted into a groove in the bottle’s base. Then they waited and watched as the bottle wriggled itself into two glassy halves, and the little red dinghy began to grow.
It was not the first time Tuesday had seen this happen, and she had read about it happening a hundred times or more. That didn’t make it any less strange or magical. Tuesday remembered the last time she had seen Vivacious grow. She was glad that, this time, Vivienne was here and she wouldn’t have to manage alone.
In a matter of seconds, Vivacious was the size of a normal sailing dinghy. She had a varnished interior with a centreboard, a single mast and two sails fully rigged – a smaller one at the front, and a larger one in the middle. Ropes were beautifully coiled on her decks. Vivienne unlaced her long boots and threw them into the dinghy and Tuesday tossed her sneakers in after them. She could hardly wait to feel the cool of the river water on her tired feet.
‘Come on then, in you get,’ Vivienne said to Baxterr.
Baxterr gave a reluctant whine.
‘Oh, doggo,’ Vivienne scolded. ‘It’s a lovely evening for a sail. Go on, you can jump in now, and you won’t even get your feet wet.’
Baxterr hesitated only a little, then seemed to decide that Vivienne was offering a good deal. Once he was safely aboard, the two girls slid the boat into the river, pushed off from the shore and jumped in too. A gentle breeze filled Vivacious’s white sail, and Vivienne expertly steered the small craft out into the middle of the broad river. Soon the twilight became darkness and Tuesday could only wonder at the billions of stars above.
‘It’s hard to imagine there’s anything wrong in the world when the stars are so perfect,’ she said, pulling her blanket out of her pack and wrapping it around her. ‘Maybe things will settle down tomorrow. Maybe everything will go back to normal.’
Vivienne gave her a puzzled look. ‘You do know that’s not the way things usually happen in an adventure, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I know,’ Tuesday said, and giggled.
And so Tuesday, Vivienne and Baxterr were carried downstream towards the City of Clocks, Vivacious a silhouette on the thoroughfare of the Mabanquo River. Although neither of the girls said anything about it to each other, both of them had the strange sensation that something was about to happen. To Tuesday, it reminded her of the sound in a concert hall right before an orchestra begins to play. The whole audience has settled, and it’s very quiet, and everyone is waiting for the first note, and no one knows quite how it’s going to sound.
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bsp; After a time, Tuesday fell into the kind of dreamless sleep that often comes at the end of an exhausting day.
‘Sleep is a wonderful thing,’ Denis had said to her on many occasions. ‘Enjoy it while you’re young, because you get precious little of it when you get older.’
Denis and Serendipity never minded if Tuesday wanted to spend the day in bed reading, as long as, at some point, she took Baxterr for his walk and got the regulation amount of fresh air that Denis insisted was at least eighty-seven minutes for someone Tuesday’s age.
‘Rain, hail or shine,’ Denis said. He did not order; he compelled.
So, in the hallway at Brown Street there were always numerous raincoats on pegs, and umbrellas in the hallstand.
But there was not an umbrella in the world that would have withstood the sudden downpour into which Vivacious sailed some time in the early hours of the morning. Tuesday woke from the depths of her sleep with a gasp, thinking that someone had thrown a bucket of freezing water over her. As she scrambled to sit up, she realised the cold, cold water was coming from the sky in a deluge that threatened to swamp Vivacious entirely. Baxter barked ferociously; Vivienne struggled to control the helm.
‘What is happening?’ Tuesday yelled over the thunderous sound of the water hitting the deck. ‘Is this rain, or have we sailed under a waterfall?’
‘Not a waterfall! We’re in the middle of the river. I wish I had a boat with a cabin!’ Vivienne called back.
Baxterr continued barking at the rain as if he thought this might make it stop. Tuesday put her arms around him to soothe him. She would have put her blanket around him to shelter him, but it was completely drenched and useless.
‘Ruff, ruff, ruff,’ Baxterr told the rain crossly.
A Week without Tuesday Page 9