Tilly and the Bookwanderers

by Anna James

  ‘I hope you’re right, Archie,’ Grandma said and they heard her stand up. At that Oskar and Tilly scrunched down into their beanbags, trying not to be seen, and they heard Grandad head upstairs to his desk and Grandma going back downstairs to the till.

  Oskar looked at Tilly. She felt a little sick.

  ‘Do you know what they’re talking about, Tilly?’ he whispered.

  She shook her head. ‘But there’s definitely something weird going on.’

  Oskar shrugged helplessly at her.

  ‘Speaking of which, things sort of escalated yesterday …’ she went on. ‘To start with it was characters coming out of their books into Pages & Co. and talking to me,’ Tilly explained.

  ‘To start with …?’ Oskar said nervously.

  ‘Yes, because yesterday Alice took me to the Mad Hatter’s tea party,’ Tilly said all in a rush.

  ‘To the Mad Hatter’s tea party …’ Oskar repeated slowly.

  ‘To actual Wonderland,’ Tilly said, in case he didn’t understand yet.

  ‘And how, exactly, did you get there?’ Oskar asked.

  ‘Well, we were here, and then I held Alice’s hand, and everything sort of fell down around us, and behind everything normal was Wonderland,’ she explained.

  The silence that followed was eventually interrupted by a sad sniffle and Tilly looked up to see Anne leaning against a bookshelf, about to burst into tears.

  ‘I can’t believe she did that,’ Anne said mournfully.

  ‘You can’t believe who did what?’ Tilly said.

  ‘Who did what?’ Oskar repeated in confusion.

  ‘Alice!’ Anne said.

  ‘Not you – Anne!’ Tilly said at the same time.

  ‘What?’ Oskar said.

  ‘Oh – he can’t see or hear me,’ Anne said in an offhand manner as if that was the least pressing thing to deal with.

  ‘Oh goodness,’ Tilly said.

  She turned to Oskar, who still looked utterly bemused. ‘So … Anne is here,’ she said, not sure how to prove to him what was going on.

  ‘Anne …?’

  ‘Anne of Green Gables. From the book. Like I said!’

  ‘Tilly, there’s no one here but us,’ Oskar said, gesturing around them.

  ‘Anne, why can’t he see you? Can you do something about it?’ Tilly said desperately. ‘Can you, like, knock something over or something?’

  ‘I’m not some kind of performing monkey, Matilda,’ Anne said woefully. ‘He can’t see me because I’m yours. The only way he could see me would be if you both … Oh, but I shouldn’t.’ Anne looked over at Oskar thoughtfully. ‘Actually I don’t see why not, considering the circumstances …’

  ‘What are you—’ Tilly started, but in one swift movement Anne leaned down and took both Oskar and Tilly by the shoulder and the burnt marshmallow smell filled the air as the walls of the shop seemed to topple down around them, leaving them standing in a startlingly beautiful wood with late-afternoon sun dripping through the leaves above them.

  Anne breathed in the fresh air in delight.

  Oskar fell to his knees and was sick in the bushes.

  ‘First time?’ Anne asked kindly, giving him a pat on the back. ‘It can make your stomach feel a little bit funny. But it’s lovely to meet you properly. I’m Anne. With an “e”,’ she said, sticking her hand out.

  Oskar shook it feebly, still looking rather worse for wear. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘We’re in Avonlea, of course!’ Anne said. ‘Come on, we’re going to be late for school.’

  ‘We’ve travelled magically inside a book and now we’re going to school?’ Oskar said to Tilly, looking horrified, but they didn’t have time to argue as Anne had already set off briskly through the trees and they were left with no choice but to follow her.

  illy and Oskar followed Anne’s bobbing red plaits up a thin, twisting path with tightly packed, silvery trees on either side. Around the feet of the trees were flowers and plants of all different kinds, and Tilly could hear birds above them and the wind whispering. She was not sure she had ever been in such a lovely place before.

  ‘This is the Birch Path,’ Anne called back to them as they jogged to catch up with her. ‘Diana named it. Diana is my best friend in the whole world,’ Anne explained to Oskar. ‘I know the name is a little unimaginative, but I try very hard to let people with less imagination than me join in too.’ She pointed up the hill. ‘If you go further that way, you get to Mr Bell’s woods, and down in the valley is Avonlea school, where we’re headed. And then, if you go even further that way, you’ll see Green Gables.’

  Oskar was still very quiet, stumbling over his feet as he stared around as they walked.

  ‘Tilly, are we really inside a book? I don’t … How is that even possible?’

  ‘I don’t know any of the answers either,’ Tilly said. ‘This is only the second time it’s happened to me.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Oskar said, tapping Anne on the shoulder. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude but are you real? Is this real?’

  ‘Depends on what you mean by real,’ Anne said. ‘Does this feel real?’ She picked up a twig from the ground and poked Oskar in the side with it.

  ‘Yes! Ow!’ he said. ‘So you know you’re a character from a book?’

  ‘Yes, of course, although the story is the thing, not where it’s written down. You’re thinking about it too hard.’

  ‘I hate it when books don’t explain how everything works,’ Tilly muttered. ‘It’s all very well saying that it’s magical and wonderful, but what happens if I’m sucked into something like Animal Farm and get stuck there?’

  ‘Animal Farm sounds lovely!’ Anne said.

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d read it,’ Tilly said, feeling slightly mutinous.

  ‘Have either of you ever been to Canada before?’ Anne asked as the three of them ambled along.

  ‘Wait, we’re in Canada?’ Oskar stopped walking abruptly, but Tilly and Anne ignored him.

  ‘No, never,’ Tilly said. ‘I’ve never been abroad at all. Oskar lives in France sometimes, though.’

  ‘Sorry, can we go back to us being in Canada?’ Oskar said, catching up.

  ‘Well, Avonlea, where we are now, is in Canada, therefore we are all in Canada, you see?’ Anne said in a kindly tone as if she was speaking to a small child.

  ‘But how did we get to Canada?’

  ‘Because I live in Canada.’

  ‘Right, but how did we get here from London?’

  ‘You came with me!’ Anne said, her patience fraying.

  ‘Okay, guys, stop, please,’ Tilly said. ‘Can this wait? Oskar, we are in Avonlea, where Anne is from – that’s what matters. We are in her life, in her story, like I told you about Alice.’

  ‘I still can’t believe Alice took you to hers first,’ Anne said, obviously still smarting. ‘But I got Oskar!’

  ‘Yay,’ Oskar said weakly.

  ‘Do you truly live in France sometimes?’ Anne asked. ‘How awfully romantic. That must be a very long journey. Some of the folks around here can speak a bit of French, but I can’t at all.’

  ‘Yes, I really do. My dad lives there,’ Oskar explained.

  ‘By himself?’ Anne said.

  ‘With my sister. My parents got divorced a while ago.’

  Anne looked scandalised.

  ‘It’s pretty normal where we’re from,’ he said.

  ‘You are very fortunate to have both of your parents,’ Anne said solemnly, linking arms with Tilly. ‘For we are both orphans. I haven’t met many other orphans since I came to Avonlea,’ she said, turning to Tilly. ‘I rather thought it might mean we were kindred spirits. You see, Diana is my absolute best friend in the whole world, but she has two parents who care for her so much that I sometimes think that she doesn’t quite understand the plight of an orphan, even if I have found somewhere I might belong at Green Gables. Do you remember them at all, your parents?’

  ‘No,’ said Tilly shortly. ‘My d
ad died before I was born and we don’t know what happened to my mum. She disappeared when I was still a baby.’

  ‘How simply awful,’ Anne said. ‘It is such a cross to bear not truly knowing one’s own mother and father. I like to imagine details about mine sometimes to try to make up a little of the loss. The facts of the matter are that my parents were called Walter and Bertha, and they were schoolteachers who died of a fever when I was only three months old. But I imagine so much more about them. I imagine that my father used to love reading poetry aloud to my mother by a roaring fire, and that my mother made excellent currant cake, and that for a treat at Christmastime they would go for a sleigh ride across the snow. Do you ever imagine things about your own parents?’

  ‘Well, the other day …’ Tilly stopped, feeling self-conscious, but Anne squeezed her arm and nodded encouragingly. ‘The other day I was sitting in my room and I imagined that my mum was downstairs in the kitchen, helping make dinner with my grandma. Is that silly?’

  ‘Why, not at all!’ Anne said. ‘It is a lovely thing to imagine. And what about your father?’

  ‘I don’t imagine things about him so much,’ Tilly said. ‘My grandparents didn’t know him very well so they don’t have any of the little details about him that they have about my mum. My parents weren’t married, you see; they hadn’t known each other very long.’

  Anne let out a gasp before clapping her hand over her mouth as if she could put it back in. Her cheeks reddened.

  ‘Honestly, all this is a lot more common where we’re from; lots of people’s parents aren’t married. It’s just the way things are sometimes. There are all kinds of different-shaped families.’ Tilly watched Anne trying to process all of this. ‘I do have this of my mum’s,’ she said, pulling out the delicate bee necklace and showing it to Anne. ‘Her name was Bea, short for Beatrice. She had a matching necklace to this one – my father gave it to her and she got one for me.’

  ‘How awfully romantic,’ Anne said wistfully.

  At that moment they stepped out of the woods on to a wide red-sand road lined with spruce trees, and Anne immediately jolted out of her reverie and started fizzing with excitement as she gestured to the top of the hill, where Tilly could see Avonlea school, a whitewashed wooden building with big windows.

  ‘Now,’ said Anne, ‘let me just set you straight about a few things. You need to watch out for the Pye girls, who are not to be trusted, and Prissy Andrews is ever so elegant but not quite so smart, although it isn’t very generous of me to say so, and Marilla scolds me if I do. Prissy is the one with the beautiful curly brown hair. And, of course, there is Diana, who you will adore as much as I do. But I am fond of Ruby and Sophia and Jane too – and oh, of course, there’s another girl called Tillie, and she let me wear her ring all afternoon the other week because I admired it so much. And there’s Mr Phillips, our teacher. And look! Here comes Diana!’ Her face lit up as a girl with glossy black hair raced down the hill towards them.

  ‘Diana, these are my friends Tilly and Oskar, who are visiting and are going to come to school with us!’

  Diana didn’t even pause to question this but launched herself into a hug with Tilly before giving Oskar a polite little curtsy.

  ‘How wonderful! And what a good day to visit as you’ll be able to meet Gilbert too!’ she added conspiratorially. ‘He is such a tease, but he’s awfully handsome. He’s nearly fourteen, you know. He’s always top of the class.’

  ‘Well, I would hope so if he’s three years older than you,’ Oskar said.

  ‘Oh, but he’s only in our class because his father was awfully sick and went to recuperate in Alberta and Gilbert went with him. You mustn’t say anything like that to him because it was terribly noble of Gilbert to go with his father and tend to him, and he didn’t have the opportunity to go to school much in Alberta, you see,’ Diana said sternly as they walked into the schoolroom.

  The classroom was remarkably familiar, despite the old-fashioned clothes and desks; children were hugging and shouting and arguing and laughing, hanging up coats and hats, but pulling out slates and chalk instead of paper and pens. The children acted in much the same way as the children in Tilly and Oskar’s school too; Tilly could see one group of girls obviously laughing at another girl, and a boy tipping what looked suspiciously like ink into another boy’s satchel.

  Tilly felt a familiar discomfort settle on her that seemed inextricably linked to classrooms. She tried to take it all in and reassure herself that this was a different classroom, in a different time, full of different – not to mention fictional – people.

  Anne manoeuvred Tilly towards a double desk with a space next to a girl with a long blonde plait, and pointed Oskar towards a free desk near the back of the classroom.

  Oskar stumbled towards it and stared wide-eyed at the children piling in, sitting down gingerly as if he expected to go right through a chair that couldn’t possibly really be there.

  As everyone started to settle Tilly’s eye was caught by a movement behind her and she saw a tanned arm slowly reach for the blonde girl’s plait. Before she knew it, the end of the plait had been pinned to the back of the seat with a tack.

  Tilly turned to see a boy with curly hair and brown eyes put a finger to his lips as Mr Phillips asked for volunteers to help hand out the slates. Before Tilly could do anything, the girl had stood up and was yanked backwards as her hair caught and she let out a piercing shriek, causing everyone to turn and stare at their desk. The girl sat back down and began to cry. Tilly quickly pulled the pin out of the desk and tentatively rubbed the girl’s arm in what she hoped was a comforting sort of way. She turned to Anne for guidance, but Anne was glaring fiercely at the boy in utter disgust. He merely winked at her, causing Anne’s cheeks to blush raspberry.

  ‘Gilbert,’ Tilly said under her breath.

  illy found it hard not to stare at Anne as, despite the hard wooden seats and smell of chalk in the air, there was still a dreamy quality to the whole affair. Anne was just like Tilly had always imagined her: she spent the morning mostly staring out of the classroom window, lost in her own daydreams. Tilly saw Gilbert trying to get Anne’s attention several times, making silly faces and scratching his chalk so it made horrible screeches that annoyed everyone apart from his intended target. After failing to get her to notice him, Gilbert leaned across and pulled one of Anne’s red plaits hard.

  ‘Carrots! Carrots!’ Gilbert whispered, quiet enough to avoid the attention of the teacher but loud enough for most of the students to hear him.

  Anne leaped up, fighting back angry tears, and grabbed the slate from her desk.

  ‘You mean, hateful boy!’ she shouted. ‘How dare you!’ And with that she cracked it over Gilbert’s head. Tilly heard Oskar yelp at the back of the room.

  The classroom erupted in shouts, gasps and more tears from Tilly’s desk-mate, and the tumult finally distracted Mr Phillips from the sums he was writing on the board.

  ‘Anne Shirley, what is the meaning of this?’ he shouted.

  Anne was still standing, staring at Gilbert, with one half of her cracked slate in each hand.

  Gilbert spoke first. ‘It was my fault, Mr Phillips. I teased her.’

  But Mr Phillips was having none of it. ‘I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and vindictive spirit,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, she hardly has a vindictive spirit! Gilbert was teasing her,’ Tilly said, not able to help herself.

  Mr Phillips turned to look at her, noticing her for the first time.

  Tilly felt herself shrink under his gaze. ‘I just mean … Gilbert was being rude and … I didn’t mean to …’ she faltered.

  ‘Who, exactly, are you?’ he said imperiously. ‘Are you a new student? Why wasn’t I informed that you were to be starting?’

  Mr Phillips’s scolding drew Anne’s attention from Gilbert finally.

  ‘That is Tilly Pages and she is my friend who is visiting. Sir,’ Anne added begrudgingly.

  ‘
Well, both of you will go and stand at the front and write lines for the entirety of the afternoon. I will not tolerate this sort of behaviour in my classroom. And you,’ he said, looking down his nose at Tilly, ‘have made a very weak first impression.’

  Tilly exchanged a horrified look with Oskar. Whatever difficulties their school threw up, neither of them had ever been asked to write lines at the front of the class for a whole afternoon. Mr Phillips walked in front of them to the blackboard and on one side wrote:

  Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to control her temper.

  And on the other side:

  Tillie Pages has a quick tongue. Tillie Pages must learn to control her tongue.

  Anne looked across at her mournfully. ‘I am so sorry for dragging you down into my shame; I just can’t believe Gilbert would call me “carrots”, and in front of everyone. Oh, and Mr Phillips has spelled your name wrong as well, to add insult to injury.’

  ‘You’ll have to use my extra “e”s,’ Tilly whispered.

  Oskar, meanwhile, slumped down in his chair and tried to avoid drawing any attention to himself at all.

  The endless lines made the afternoon a lot less enjoyable than the morning, and Tilly almost wished for the monotony of her usual classroom. When it was finally over and Tilly, Oskar, Diana and Anne left the schoolroom they found Gilbert waiting for them, running his hand through his messy curls awkwardly.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne,’ he said, looking genuinely worried. ‘Honest I am. Don’t be mad for keeps now.’

  But Anne simply tossed her head and pulled Diana and Tilly along with her, with Oskar awkwardly following.

  ‘Oh, how could you, Anne?’ Diana said, scandalised, and tried to turn back to look at Gilbert, before Anne tugged her onwards.

  ‘I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe,’ said Anne, striding onwards. ‘Never.’

  After the group had waved Diana off up the hill towards her house, Anne threw herself down on to a grassy verge by the path. ‘I am thoroughly embarrassed that you had to witness such a display,’ she said. ‘I work so hard to maintain my poise in trying situations, but it does not come very naturally to me.’