The Time Of Green Magic

by Hilary McKay

  For Bella, with love

  Contents

  Salt Spray and Shadows

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Salt Spray and Shadows

  There were no curtains at the window and the room was bare, except for the sofa and Abi’s rocking horse and Abi herself, hunched over her book like a diving bird on the edge of a pool, poised between worlds. The grey late afternoon was cold, but Abi didn’t notice because in her book the sun was blazing hot, even in the shade of the big, creaking sail. Judging by the amount left to read, the journey was about halfway through.

  Abi turned the pages slowly, not wanting it ever to end. She was crossing the Pacific Ocean on a raft made of logs, rush matting and rope. Out in the ocean, buffeted by the lively wind, everything was moving: the long waves, the glinting reflected light, and the giant, rolling balsa-wood logs. There were no clouds. The enormous sky fitted the enormous ocean like a great blue basin, turned upside down. The basin’s rim was the immense circle of the horizon, sky blue against sea blue.

  Every now and then Abi looked up, to absorb the perfect roundness of that horizon, squinting to see against the brightness and salt wind. Everything was salty. Her lips tasted salty. Salt spray had twisted her already curly black hair into tight salty springs. They blew into her eyes and stung. She pushed them aside, hardly noticing, and read deeper and deeper.

  Her name was Abigail, but only Granny Grace called her that. Everyone else called her Abi. Reading was Abi’s escape. She read while other people cooked meals and loaded dishwashers and swept floors. She read while her father dragged into her life Polly as stepmother, plus two entirely unwanted brothers. She read through the actual wedding ceremony. She read while Granny Grace flew away, back to Jamaica, a trip postponed for ten years while she helped bring up Abi. She had read through the year that followed, squashed with three strangers into a too small house. Most recently she had read through the start of a new school.

  But she had never read a book like this.

  It was a hardback, with a faded blue cover. The Kon-Tiki Expedition, read the tarnished silver letters on the front. It was old-fashioned – she had skipped loads – but the bits she had read were entrancing. Lately, it had begun to have a sound to it, a soft echo when you opened the pages, like the ocean sound in a seashell.

  Abi read: ‘We were visited by whales many times. Most often they were small porpoises . . .’

  There was a parrot, bright green, always curious, never in the same place. It flew down towards her, swerved away at the last moment . . .

  ‘Abi, Abi, Abi!’

  Abi jumped so hard she would have fallen if she hadn’t put out a hand to save herself. Her book did slip. She grabbed it just in time.

  ‘Abi, I can’t see you!’

  ‘Here on the sofa,’ said Abi, blinking, half dazzled by Pacific sunlight.

  ‘There was . . . What was that green?’

  ‘What green?’

  But Louis had already forgotten. It had been no more than a wing tip, a fan-swirl of green parrot feathers; it had flickered into Louis’ vision and left no imprint as it vanished.

  Louis vanished too. Abi was alone in the quiet room again. It felt strange to be back, to look around and notice that the light in the room was autumn faded, and the wind had ceased to blow. She rubbed her eyes, and found them stinging, then cautiously tasted a tip of a finger.

  Salt.

  CHAPTER ONE

  In the beginning (and ever since her mother’s car crash when she was just a year old), Abi had lived with her father, Theo.

  Granny Grace, Theo’s mother, lived with them too. Granny Grace had been going to take a break from her work teaching and visit Jamaica when the accident happened, but she never did. She said she’d rather look after Abigail instead.

  At the same time (and ever since their father had decided he’d rather have no children and live in New Zealand), Max and Louis had lived with their mother, Polly.

  Abi and Theo and Granny Grace lived happily in a small sunny flat in one part of the city. Polly and Max and Louis lived just as happily in a small terraced house in another.

  These two sets of people didn’t know each other.

  This all changed one afternoon when Max and his best friend Danny were in a fixing-things mood and took apart their skateboards, cleaned out the gunk from the wheels and the axles, put them together again, and sprayed all the moving parts with expensive lubricating spray borrowed without asking from one of Danny’s big brothers.

  Then they went outside to try them, and Louis went with them to watch.

  ‘They should go much faster,’ said Danny, and he dropped his board on to the pavement and gave a mighty launching-off kick, and the front wheels could not have been fixed back on properly because Danny went hurtling down on to concrete paving slabs just as Max got into action. Max’s wheels stayed on, and his board was now spectacularly fast. Max mowed down Louis and went straight over Danny before he too hit the ground.

  Then Polly, hearing the roars, came rushing out of the house, and when she saw the boys all bleeding and wailing and blocking the pavement, she unhesitatingly took them to hospital in the old blue car she had painted herself, with the tiger cushions in the back. Louis had two skinned knees and a lump on his head like a great dark purple plum. Danny and Max had a broken arm each and various lesser injuries, but the chief thing that happened at the hospital was that Polly met Theo. Theo was the nurse in the Accident and Emergency department who oversaw the management of the skateboarding calamity. He did it with such admirable cheerfulness and calm that very soon the injured ones stopped feeling like woeful victims, and became instead very pleased with themselves, fine adventurers and heroes all.

  ‘Thank you so much for popping in,’ Theo said at last, six or seven hours later and pitch dark outside, when all the bandages, slings, plasters, and stickers saying how brave people had been, were finally in place.

  ‘It’s been lovely,’ said Polly. ‘I’ve enjoyed every moment.’

  Then Theo’s smiling eyes gazed into Polly’s sparkling ones, gazed and gazed and gazed.

  ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ asked Theo (unprofessionally).

  ‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘I do.’

  That was how the two families met, and a few months later, when Abi was eleven, Theo and Polly married each other.

  ‘Oh, my!’ said Granny Grace. Not at the start, though. When she’d first met Polly, she’d been awful about the thought of a stepmother coming into Abi’s life, but by the time of the wedding things were different. ‘A little bird has told me your Polly is a wonder,’ said Granny Grace. Granny Grace’s network of little birds stretched all around London, and even back into the past. They knew everything and were infallible. She trusted them completely, so she’d finally come round.

  ‘Oh, my!’ said Granny Grace, after much communication with many little birds. ‘Can it be that my work here is done at last?’

  Never once, throughout the whole ten years that Granny Grace had lived with them, had she
mentioned that long-postponed trip back to Jamaica. Suddenly she couldn’t hide her joy.

  ‘Did you know she wanted to write a cookbook with her sister?’ demanded Abi of Theo. ‘That she owns quarter-shares in a beach cafe and they are going to rebuild and relaunch with a whole new menu? Did you know she has so many nieces and nephews, and that they all have children she’s never seen? Did you know she inherited a cat that lives with her friend? Or how much she has missed Jamaican flowers? She’ll never come back!’ lamented Abi.

  ‘Then we’ll visit her,’ said Theo. ‘And meet the cat and eat at the cafe and learn the names of the flowers and admire all the babies.’

  ‘Just me and you?’

  ‘And Polly and the boys – they’ll love it. Don’t gaze up at the sky like that!’

  ‘Well!’ said Abi.

  ‘Abi, Abi,’ said Theo gently. ‘You know, and I know, that Granny Grace deserves every happy moment.’

  The next great change was that Theo and Abi moved into Polly and Louis and Max’s house.

  Then there were difficulties. The way that thirteen-year-old Max suddenly found himself sharing a bedroom with six-year-old Louis, which meant he entirely stopped inviting friends home and spent endless hours at their houses instead. The eye-rolling awfulness for Max and Abi (Louis didn’t care) when Theo and Polly, for instance, held hands. Also Abi’s problem with Louis, who had assumed little-brother rights much too fast. Louis continually forgot that his old room was now Abi’s. He wandered in unannounced whether Abi was there or not, and he always seemed surprised to find himself unwelcome.

  ‘I’m getting dressed!’ Abi complained one morning.

  ‘I know,’ said Louis, unmoved.

  He was a fragile, bony, pale little boy, with sticky hands always eager to reach and grab, or hug or hold. Baths and showers made little impact on the permanent grubbiness of Louis. His clothes never fitted, his mouth never quite closed, his blond tattered curls dangled over his eyes and as often as not housed nits. Nits! Abi had caught them and the treatment had been terrible and, afterwards, her hair! Polly had helped, and Theo had helped, but the person who could have helped most was thousands of miles away: Granny Grace, whose deft, quick fingers had for ten years twisted Abi’s hair into woven braids and topknots with no apparent effort at all.

  ‘You need a professional,’ Granny Grace had dictated from Jamaica and commanded a trip to a hairdresser. That had solved the problem, and Polly had remarked, ‘Next time, we’ll know what to do.’

  ‘There won’t be a next time,’ Abi vowed, and she had had to become very stern with Louis. ‘Knock on the bedroom door, and then wait! . . . Put my bag down now! . . . No, I won’t look at your horrible knee! And you shouldn’t kiss people with your mouth full!’

  On top of Abi’s Louis problem, there was her intruder-feeling problem.

  ‘A new, ready-made family for us, Abi,’ said Theo. ‘I always worried that you were an only child.’

  ‘I still am an only child!’ protested Abi, although silently, in her head. (She found herself doing a lot of silent protesting in her head these days.) ‘But now I’m an only child in someone else’s house!’

  Abi had felt like that from the start, in the kitchen with its cupboards full of other people’s food and mugs and plates, and in the living room where she never knew where to sit. Even more, in her new tiny bedroom where she could not even escape with books without feeling guilty, because she was the only one with a room of her own.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abi stiffly, when she first heard that Max and Louis were going to double up and share.

  ‘Mum made us,’ said Max grimly. ‘I suppose we’ll get used to it,’ he added, sounding like he didn’t believe it for a moment.

  Abi didn’t believe it either. Great quarrels came erupting from behind that bedroom door. Louis, although utterly messy in his appearance, was obsessively tidy in his room. Max was the opposite. Max lived in a great heap of Max-junk. He and Louis stuck a line of tape across their bedroom floor, dividing the enormous Max-mess from the extreme neatness of Louis. Nothing could stop Louis seeing over the line, though, just as nothing could save Max from having to listen to Louis droning himself to sleep at night, like an out-of-tune mosquito.

  The rocking horse was yet another problem. He was no ordinary rocking horse; he was one of the full-sized, galloping sort, capable of catapulting a child some distance over his head when going at full speed, and foot-crushing and shin-rapping on an almost daily basis. Before Abi, he had belonged to Abi’s mother. Abi, who had parted with so much – her bedroom, her home, Granny Grace and nearly all her past life – had become silent when it came to what to do with Rocky. Not stubbornly silent, just plain miserable silent. And in the end Rocky had moved too.

  Louis had been delighted.

  ‘Rocky isn’t a toy – he’s an antique!’ Abi protested, finding his saddle smeared all over with chocolate. ‘What have you pushed in his mouth?’

  ‘Banana for his breakfast,’ said Louis unrepentantly. ‘Can I glue a horn on his head so that he can be a unicorn?’

  ‘No you CANNOT!’ said Abi. ‘Leave him alone! Why do I have to share everything?’

  ‘You don’t share anything!’ said astonished Louis, and Abi, equally astonished, had only just managed not to growl, What about my dad?

  There was no space for Rocky in Abi’s new tiny bedroom, so he lived a wandering life until he ended up in the hall, squashed against the coats, taking people by surprise (and once knocking out a tooth). After the tooth problem (which had happened with one of Louis’ friends) Theo said, ‘Abi, don’t you think . . . ?’

  Polly rescued her. Polly said it was only a first tooth that would have had to come out anyway very soon, and that she, personally, had organized extra compensation from the tooth fairy, and had paid in advance.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Abi, and Max, inspired, stuck a notice on the front door: BEWARE OF THE ROCKING HORSE, it said.

  It was the first joke anyone had made for some time.

  After that, very gradually, all of them living together began to be more bearable. Louis was just as grubby, Abi was still very quiet, but Max stayed at home slightly more, and the quarrels and negotiations became less frequent and noisy. And then, one March morning, a letter arrived in a long white envelope.

  Polly read it and handed it to Theo, and their eyes met again, very worried this time. Polly said, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but . . .’

  (At the word ‘but’ Louis, who was a worrier, felt an invisible line trace down his spine, as if drawn with gritty chalk.)

  ‘. . . this house is rented and the owner wants it back . . .’

  ‘So?’ said Max.

  ‘So we’re not going to be able to live here much longer . . .’

  Abi, with whom the being-silent habit had stuck, drew in her breath very suddenly, and they all noticed, the way people notice when leaves begin to move after a stillness in the air.

  ‘Not live here any more?’ Louis asked in such a doomed voice that Max explained, ‘Mum means we’re going to have to move house.’

  Louis, after glancing from face to face, checking he was hearing right, exclaimed, ‘But it’s stuck to the ground!’

  ‘Moving house doesn’t mean you move the house!’ said Polly. ‘We will move, to another house.’

  Louis couldn’t imagine how this could possibly be achieved. Did you one day just walk home from school to a different place? And then, did a new door open, and that was home? Did you take your stuff, or was that cheating?

  They hurried to reassure him. You took your stuff.

  ‘Everything in the house,’ said Polly. ‘Nearly. Not the carpets. Or the fridge. The washing machine, but not the cooker. It’ll be fun! An adventure!’

  An adventure, but not the cooker.

  ‘The taps?’ asked Louis.

  ‘There’ll be new taps,’ said Theo.

  Louis sighed with relief and asked, ‘Where?’

  Where
became everything. They house-hunted on the internet, and on the streets and in estate agents’ windows, and they asked people-who-might-know, and nobody ever did. They lost track of the number of places they visited, where the neighbours looked scary, or the traffic was endless, or the garden (if there was a garden) was a rubbish heap. The local schools to those houses were either much too posh or looked like prisons.

  Weekend after weekend, with more and more urgency, they searched. They stood in strange hallways and glanced uneasily at each other and the air smelt alien. Packing had already begun at home, and Louis wondered aloud about the possibility of packing air. Home smelt of toast, Polly’s lemony perfume, damp coats and the fern on the windowsill. After some thought Louis fetched a shoebox and carried it from room to room, scooping it full. Then he took it outside, lifted a corner of the lid and sniffed, taking care not to let much escape.

  It didn’t work. It smelt of shoebox.

  ‘Not of home,’ said Louis. ‘Not a bit.’

  ‘No,’ agreed Abi, for whom home had smelt quite differently, of cooking and coffee mostly, drying laundry and running shoes.

  ‘What’ll we do?’

  ‘You’ll have to put up with it,’ said Abi.

  ‘Put up with it?’

  ‘Bear it,’ said Abi. ‘Bear everything different. Like I did.’

  Bear it, wondered Louis. First the cooker, and the taps (although there would be new ones), now this new worry. He had grown accustomed to Abi not talking, the way he was accustomed to trees not talking. Now suddenly the words were back. Very startling words too. Everything different. What next would Abi announce in her hardly used, slightly husky voice?

  ‘I’ve found a house,’ said Abi.

  They were in yet another estate agent’s, and it was late in the day. Polly was in charge. She had marched in, determined, saying, ‘A house is a house. We are being far too fussy.’

  Then she had been far too fussy herself, instructing them, ‘We’re renting, not buying, so we don’t need to bother with places for sale. Louis!’

  Louis, who had begun running in small circles, changed to jogging on the spot.