by Hilary McKay
Abi’s jealousy left her like a bond untying and she saw the true Max behind the wary eyes. The fellow traveller. Her relief was like lightness. Max would help.
‘Abi had snow, too, but it melted,’ said Louis. ‘Now do you understand about Iffen?’
‘Tell me again.’
The second time was easier for Max. He began to grasp even the nowls that his little brother had tried to tempt to his window. He managed not to be distracted by the pigeon that didn’t fly. Despite the fact that Louis could not sit still and talk of Iffen – had to flap his arms like nowls, hold his hands above his tatty head for ears, bounce on and off his bed, reach out of the window for ivy leaves – Max followed, from the first glimpse of dappled fur, the glorious story of Iffen and how he grew.
He listened to it all.
Then Louis stopped. He turned his head away because to speak on felt like betrayal. It was Abi who showed Max the patchwork mat and commanded Louis to roll down his sock and lift the ivy leaves.
‘I’m worried now,’ said Abi.
Louis sat very close to Max and held a fistful of the dusty sweatshirt tight, so that he could not leave until he had heard more. How the bruise had been an accident, that he had been under the quilt and Iffen hadn’t meant to do it, and that it didn’t hurt. But even as the words tumbled around him, Louis saw the growing alarm on Max’s face, saw his eyes on Abi’s, and watched as they spoke to each other without words.
He guessed that Max was agreeing with what Abi had said the night before. That this was no world for Iffen, and that he couldn’t stay.
‘À bientôt!’
They all jumped.
It was Esmé calling from the doorstep. The morning had flown away over their heads. They raced for the stairs, but the front door slammed and she was gone. Only an ivy leaf left in the hall, dropped from her hair as she hurried. Max picked it up and folded it into his empty wallet. He thought he would keep it forever.
Then Theo and his bike came clattering into the house. Theo was pleased with himself. There were people recovering who might not have been if he hadn’t rushed off so quickly, and now he was full of plans. They were going to roast potatoes and onions and stuffing balls and veggie sausages, and there would be baked tomatoes and a sticky toffee pudding he’d bought on the way home. Proper Sunday lunch, as fast as they could make it.
‘Couldn’t Esmé have stayed too?’ Abi asked, and Theo said he’d asked, but she’d been in a hurry. She’d rushed away the moment she saw him ride up on his bike.
‘She’s left her book that she draws in,’ remarked Louis, and so she had. Her huge portfolio, as big as a desk, was still on the kitchen table.
‘Better put it somewhere safe,’ said Theo, and Max took it to the rocking-horse room where he could not resist looking inside once again.
Les Artistes et les Animaux de la grotte Chauvet
‘The Artists and Animals of the Chauvet Cave,’ Max read, on what Esmé had made into a title page, above a drawing of a huge branching map. Turning the heavy grey pages, Max found his running bison, and then deer in herds. There were more of Louis’ handprints, in ochre red and black and grey. He discovered the profile of an enormous bear. Rhinoceros and hyenas. Horses and horses, galloping, tossing their heads, horses overlaid with horses. Strange markings too, scored lines like arrowheads, swirling curves of finger traces, and then mammoths, an owl, two reindeer, feline shapes . . .
Feline shapes?
‘Max!’ The door swung open, and there was Esmé, out of breath. ‘You have it!’ she exclaimed, and seized it from his hands.
‘Could I just . . .’
‘No, no, I have to hand it in!’
‘Hand it in?’
‘End of assignment, hand it in. Tomorrow.’
‘Please, Esmé, could you leave it here, just for one night?’
‘Non, non! Why should I? Mais non!’
‘So I can show Louis.’
‘Louis has seen it many times. I must go. À bientôt, Max!’
That night, when Polly called to tell them not to forget their PE kit, and to ask what they’d had for supper, and to check that homework had been done and school bags packed for morning, Louis asked her when she was coming home. There was a very small, tiny, minute moment of pause, between Louis finishing speaking and Polly saying, ‘Very, very soon, Louis!’
‘You’d forgotten!’ said Louis, accusingly. ‘You’d forgotten all about coming home!’ and he flung away the phone and launched a blubbering attack on Theo because it was clearly all his fault.
Theo took a deep breath, scooped up Louis and hugged him tight, and said, ‘Time we talked about Christmas. What’ll we get for Polly, everyone? Abi? Max? Help me out! Who’s got some good ideas?’
Max tried. He remembered that Polly liked black-and-white films, and that once he’d bought her chocolates with cherries in and she’d said they were her favourite. Abi said sparkly earrings were Christmassy. Theo said he’d seen a pink-and-gold scarf and very nearly bought it, only he thought he’d ask them first. ‘Shall I buy it?’ he asked Louis, and Louis gave a small nod. ‘All right, I will!’ said Theo, and then ruined all their good work by saying cheerfully, ‘And what about Mrs P.?’
‘She’s gone away! You know she has!’ cried Louis, and began howling when they laughed, and said horrible Abi had taken Mrs Puddock away, and he’d never camp in her room again. Abi was awful and so was Max, and Theo was the worst, and he wanted Iffen.
‘Iffen?’ Theo asked with his eyebrows raised, and Abi murmured uncomfortably that Iffen was sort of a story.
‘Iffen is real!’ said Louis, now completely losing his temper. ‘You saw he was real!’ and he lunged at Abi, and missed.
‘There’s quite a moon tonight,’ remarked Theo, and took Louis out into the cool night air to look at it and afterwards straight up to his room. There he sat on the floor and began a lot of talk about rockets and space; how astronauts went to the loo, what they ate, and how they managed not to float out of bed. Theo’s monologue on space travel had bored many a frantic child to stillness in the past. He had it down to perfection: the quiet, slow words, the floating teaspoons, the unsurprising views that drifted past the rocket’s steamed-up portholes. Louis yawned and yawned and was asleep within minutes of touching down on his pillow, with his quilt round his ears, his window tight shut, and his bedroom door ajar in case he should need to call for comfort in the night.
Not long afterwards, Theo was also sleeping the easy sleep of the heroic and exhausted, but Max and Abi were not. They hovered uncomfortably on the attic stairs.
‘I can’t go to bed,’ whispered Abi, ‘not with Iffen out there and Louis on his own, even if the window’s shut.’
‘Louis’ window wouldn’t stop a thing that size,’ said Max. ‘It’s not even double glazed – it could knock it out with one swipe. The minute we hear something, you drag Theo awake and I’ll charge the room.’
‘We’ll both charge the room. We’ll yell to Dad on the way.’
‘I’ve been thinking about where it’s come from.’
‘Iffen?’
‘Yes. And everything. I don’t know what’s been going on.’
‘Green magic,’ said Abi. ‘That’s what Granny Grace said. Shush now. We’ve got to listen.’
The night was soundless. Unbearably quiet. Silence rang in their minds like bells. At midnight Abi said she didn’t know how she was going to manage school in the morning, and at one o’clock Max suggested they take turns to stay awake. At half past one they brought their pillows and quilts out on to the stairs. Stairs made a sufficiently uncomfortable bed to allow them to believe they could safely close their eyes.
They did.
About five in the morning one of them slid into the other and the bump woke them up. They could hear large bearish snores from Theo, and small bearish snuffles from Louis, and nothing else, not an ivy leaf moving. The house had become very cold.
‘I’ve had enough,’ said Max. ‘This is s
tupid. It’s nearly morning and it’s freezing. I’m going to check he’s OK and then I’m going to bed.’
Abi nodded, too tired to argue. ‘Be careful. We mustn’t wake him,’ she murmured as she followed after Max.
‘We won’t.’
Louis’ door was still ajar. Very gently Max pushed it further, stepped softly on to the patchwork rug, smelt greenness and December air, realized with horror that the window was now wide open, and froze.
Louis looked like prey.
Prey caught between two giant paws. Limp. His pillow slipped sideways, his quilt thrown back and Iffen’s head raised above him, Iffen’s eyes watching, Iffen’s shoulder blades sharp, outlined against the dark of the window, and his haunches crouched into a waiting spring.
Max felt his stomach churn with fear.
Abi, one step behind him, shrieked out loud.
Iffen’s ears went flat against his head, his lips curled back, and at the same time, across the landing, the large bear snores stopped and were replaced by great heavings and growls and suddenly Theo was amongst them.
‘I don’t believe it!’ Theo groaned, pushing past them both, ‘Whatever’s going on? Is someone ill? Who opened that window?’
Louis, with his eyes tight shut, murmured, ‘I did. Go away. It isn’t morning,’ and reached out to Iffen. Max exclaimed, ‘Theo, can’t you see?’
Iffen snarled silently, head low, neck arched into a crest, the light from the landing reflecting curved lines of brightness down ivory-coloured fangs.
Abi begged, ‘Dad! Get Louis! Quick!’
Theo glanced at her as if she were mad, murmured, ‘What’s the matter with you?’ tugged the quilt from between Iffen’s two massive front paws to tuck it round Louis’ shoulders, and said, ‘I’m going to close that window!’
‘No!’ wailed Louis, pushing him away. ‘I don’ wan’ it shut! Go away, leave me alone!’
‘OK, OK, Louis, I’ll leave it,’ whispered Theo. ‘Just didn’t want you cold.’
‘I’m hot!’ said Louis, and rolled over, deep into Iffen’s chest.
‘Right!’ said Theo to Max and Abi. ‘He’s fine. He’s asleep again. Now, you two, bed!’
He turned Abi round, ushered Max out of the door, and said, ‘I don’t know what you were thinking of. Poor little kid, creeping in on him like that. Get back to sleep, the pair of you!’
‘We can’t leave Louis in there!’ said Abi.
‘Bed,’ said Theo, terribly, on guard at Louis’ door.
‘Will you stay with him?’ asked Max. ‘Because I’m not going anywhere if—’
‘Listen!’ interrupted Abi.
Outside, the ivy stirred suddenly, as if a wind had passed through it. The green smell became strong again. There came a quiet, heavy thump. Abi ducked under Theo’s arm to check if what she thought had happened was true, and it was.
‘Gone!’ she told Max.
‘I am losing patience,’ said Theo, who never lost patience, so they retreated back up the attic stairs. There they waited, hidden in shadows, and saw Theo peep round at Louis, saw his face melt to a smile, watched him cross the landing to his own room.
In an incredibly short time, the large bear snore and the small bear snuffle resumed again. However, the night wasn’t over for Abi and Max. Louis’ window was still open. They gathered their discarded quilts around them, and settled down on the attic stairs to wait it out till morning.
‘Esmé’s art book,’ whispered Max.
‘What?’
‘That’s where he’s from. Her cave art. All those animals.’
‘Of course!’ exclaimed Abi, as soon as she understood. ‘Of course! Of course he is! And Louis has seen it loads of times! Max, tonight, when she brings it . . .’
‘She’s handing it in today.’
‘She can’t!’
‘She told me yesterday.’
‘He’s got to go back, Max. He’s too big. He’s much too big. Louis knows he is too.’
‘At least we know where he’s from now. When I . . . when that weird thing happened to me, after I got Louis down off the wall – I told you – and I was covered in that white dust?’
‘Yes?’
‘There was something chasing those bison. Big cats, a bit like Louis’, not spotted, but big like Iffen.’
‘I’ll text Esmé when it’s properly morning,’ said Abi. ‘I’ll try and explain. I’ll ask if we can borrow it, just for a little while. Maybe she could give it in late.’
‘Even if we had it, what could we do?’
‘I don’t know yet. Something. It must be the way.’
‘I think so.’
‘I’ll get it. I’ll explain everything. She’ll probably think we’re mad.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Anything.’
‘Anything,’ Abi agreed.
Morning came and it was awful. A winter gale blew through the house from Louis’ open window. Abi and Max felt sick from lack of sleep. Theo texted Polly an unhappy message: Home Sweet Home?
I hope so, Polly wrote back.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was lunchtime, and Max was lurking by the bike shelter. It was one of the two places where it was possible to avoid the school’s mobile-phone signal blocker. Max knew that Danny must be balanced on a toilet seat, hanging out of a top-floor washroom window, because that was the other place. Danny was busy sending his customary daily insults. Experience had taught Max that if he didn’t pay attention to them when they first arrived, they would be shouted to him in public half an hour later, so he was replying back as best he could, which wasn’t very well. He was so sleepy he could hardly think, and everything was extra complicated because Abi was messaging him too.
Abi had not been able to contact Esmé all morning. At lunchtime she sent a frantic plea to Max: She isn’t answering me. You’ll have to go into the art college and find her.
The art college was close to school, but that didn’t help much. You couldn’t just walk in. You had to go through reception and get a visitor’s pass. Max knew this from Danny, who always had to ask for one if he wanted a lift home with his mum.
I’m not sure I can do that, Max texted back.
MAX, replied Abi, seconds later, in panicking capitals. YOU SAW IFFEN LAST NIGHT WITH LOUIS. THINK OF SOMETHING!
Wait, wrote Max. Give me a minute.
A moment later his phone pinged again and this time it was Danny. A long one. I can’t read it now. I’ll answer Abi first, thought Max.
Sorry, sorry, he wrote hurriedly to Abi. I have been thinking. Talk soon. OK?
Then he turned to Danny’s latest.
On the third day of Christmas Santa sent to me
Three French snogs
From my babysitter
Cos I am her Santa babeeeeeee
It wasn’t really up to his friend’s usual standard of rudeness, but Max supposed it was hard to think of something fresh every day. Poor old Danny, he thought.
And, I hope he doesn’t start singing that.
And, If I hadn’t picked him up . . .
More than anything, almost, Max wished he hadn’t picked Danny up.
But he had. He’d done it. He’d made a joke about Danny’s worst thing; Danny, who when he was ten years old had wanted to grow so much he hung from the top of his bedroom door and begged Max, ‘Pull really hard on my feet!’
They’d kept it up for weeks, the hanging, and pulling, and the scribble of marks on the door where Max had measured him afterwards. The marks had crawled up, millimetre by millimetre, and then, devastatingly, down again. Danny had been so frightened at this measurable shrinking that on Max’s advice (‘They’ll give you hormones or something’) he’d told his mum and she’d taken him to the doctor’s. Danny had told the doctor about the hanging and the measurements and then asked bravely, ‘Can’t you give me hormones or something?’
The doctor had stood up and looked out of the window. His shoulders shook.
He’d said, ‘Your dad’s normal heig
ht, your mum is too. Your brothers are all fine. You’re taller than the last time I saw you. I can’t give you hormones for a wrecked bedroom door.’
‘What?’
‘You’re not shrinking. Your door’s sagging. You’ve pulled it off its hinges.’
At this wonderful sanity Danny had bolted from the doctor’s and run all the way home, and it was true. The screws on the hinges were hardly holding the door to the frame. He had hugged Max, jubilant.
Not long afterwards they had started their bike-repair and car-cleaning business.
They had been such friends.
Max looked at Danny’s latest message. He was so tired he couldn’t think of a single rude remark to send back. He didn’t want to anyway. He was weary with it all.
MAX?? texted Abi, and Max’s thoughts turned back to her, and the unbelievable problem of the Stone Age spotted cat conjured by Louis from Esmé’s soon-to-vanish art portfolio.
Simultaneously, Danny came running towards him.
Danny was waving his battered mobile phone high in the air and his face was shining with happiness. ‘I got your text!’ he called, skidding to a halt in front of Max. ‘Thanks for saying sorry! Thanks for saying you’d talk! How’s it going, Maxi-babe?’
‘I . . .’ began Max, glancing down at his list of sent messages, and realizing what had happened. He’d got muddled. He’d said sorry to Danny by mistake.
Suddenly he was very glad.
‘I’ve been sorry for ages,’ he said truthfully. ‘And it’s not going perfectly, actually.’
Danny’s mouth fell open with surprise.
‘Not perfect with Esmé?’
‘Not anything with Esmé,’ said Max. ‘I wish! She hardly knows I exist.’
‘Mate,’ said Danny, completely stunned by this honesty. ‘That’s rubbish.’
‘Yes, well,’ said Max. ‘A lot of things have been rubbish lately.’
‘A lot of things?’
‘Yep.’
‘Did something else happen besides me?’
The thought of explaining to Danny what else had happened besides him, complete with mythical beasts, ripped rugs, Stone Age cave art, ivy and sitting on the stairs all night, was so impossible that Max could only nod his head.