by Jenny Colgan
‘You know, when Sven kissed me … it was like he really did wake me up.’
Arthur kept looking at her.
‘Like I’d been asleep since I left you … like I had no idea what was happening …’
He smiled. ‘And yet you still went back to …’
‘I know,’ she said, thinking of all that had happened since.
‘How’s Sandwiches?’ she asked, quickly.
‘Not bad,’ said Arthur. ‘He ate a tablecloth the other day. Gives one cause to hope, you know? That he’s eating at all.’
Fay nodded.
‘How’s Ross?’
‘Not bad,’ said Fay. ‘Much better, in fact. You really put the fear of God into him. He’s a changed man. Six weeks in bed was quite useful, too.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, he’s had to take up yoga and changed into a much more spiritual person. Practically a conversion. He’s discovered a lot of inner calm. In fact, he’s opening a chain of yoga centres called “Yogotit”.’
‘Well, that sounds great,’ said Arthur, trying to sound sincere.
‘Reckons we’ll make a fortune.’
‘Great!’
‘And …’
She coyly rubbed her stomach. It took him a second to realize what she meant.
‘You’re not?’
He was genuinely delighted, if fairly desperate that it would take after its mother.
‘Looks like it.’
‘Oh my God! Congratulations.’
She smiled.
‘If it’s a boy we thought we’d call it Sven. The hygiene issue is a worry of course …’
Arthur smiled and hugged her again.
They left the heart of the maze by one exit, just as Gwyneth entered by another, too late to see them, Rafe by another.
‘It’s okay,’ said Rafe, quietly. And they came together in the summer light, soft on Gwyneth’s golden hair and Rafe’s long eyelashes, soft on the rippling water and the gentle perfume of the roses, where they kissed in secret as long as the summer afternoon, and the white flowers blew in the breeze, and no-one else found the heart of the maze at all.
‘Not this way,’ said Fay, only half-joking.
‘That’ll take us to the exit, won’t it?’ said Arthur.
‘No, definitely not!’
They looked at each other and smiled.
‘Well, why don’t you go this way and I’ll go this way?’ said Fay, smiling.
‘I wish it could have been that simple last time,’ grumbled Arthur, but he too was smiling. And he embraced her one last time, and they separated.
At first, he scarcely noticed it getting colder. It was so pleasant, after the heat of the day, to feel a cool breeze through his shirt.
But it was definitely feeling cooler. Practically chilly. Arthur shivered in his shirt. It was late July – why so chilled? He looked overhead, and the bright blue sky of the morning was rapidly darkening. Even the green on the walls, and the trees of the park he could see up above him looked oddly different – with a start he realized they were turning brown.
This couldn’t be right. But it was properly cold now; there was a frost in the air, and the grass was crackling beneath his feet. He started to move faster, breaking twigs. The cold air froze in his lungs.
It started to snow.
This was ridiculous. It must be one of those freak storm things that blow in from Greenland: El Niño, something like that. In the meantime, he would have to get somewhere warm or put some more clothes on. He worried about the other people trapped in the maze, but he couldn’t see or hear any signs of anyone at all – maybe they’d already left.
He wasn’t sure for how long he tried to struggle through the maze, but the snow came down harder and harder, and he held his thin shirtsleeve over his face to try and make out a way ahead.
Finally – and it was, very quickly, becoming dark – he stumbled through a gap in the hedge and into a part of the park he hadn’t visited before.
‘God, there you are,’ said the familiar voice. ‘That took you bloody well forever. I’ve watched frogspawn evolve into monkeys in the time that just took you.’
Arthur looked up crossly. ‘Yes, well, your concept of time wasn’t the best to begin with.’
‘Nonsense.’ Lynne took out a heavy pocket watch, and tapped it twice. ‘It is absolutely and immutably, two thousand years past four. And we are late!’
‘Late for what?’ said Arthur. ‘And why is it so cold?’
‘Just … um, freak storm,’ said Lynne. ‘El Niño?’
She handed him a large fur.
‘Is that real fur?’ said Arthur.
‘I don’t know, is that real pleurisy?’
Arthur would have worn the still beating hide of a Disney fawn at this point, so didn’t argue, threw it on – it was wonderfully warm – and followed Lynne as she hurried across the fields.
‘Where are we going?’ he said, more than once. Lynne shushed him.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked. ‘As your therapist, I mean.’
‘Not bad,’ said Arthur. ‘Things are – well, you know.’
‘Do you miss Sven?’
‘Yes, but … more … I just can’t believe … how could he be there and then not?’
Lynne’s voice softened. ‘You made the right choice, Arthur.’
‘But still,’ said Arthur, shaking his head. ‘It just … it means it wasn’t worth it.’
Lynne reached the end of the clearing, and they pushed their way through some trees which were covered and frosted with snow.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Where were we?’
In front of them was the river; great, wide and, to Arthur’s stupefaction, completely frozen.
All up and down it, as far as the eye could see, were people, stalls, colour, and light. Braziers from which people were selling chestnuts were actually lit on the ice. Children skated, screeching and laughing, in and out of the crowd.
Lynne stepped out onto the ice. ‘Don’t fall over,’ she said to Arthur, who immediately did so. She hauled him up with remarkable strength as he found his ice legs.
They wandered carefully through the crowds, Arthur marvelling at the different things there were to buy: not only that, but the ferris wheel was up and running. He couldn’t imagine who would dare to go on that, but it was full.
More than that, dancers on ice were circling on a makeshift stage marked out with braziers, as musicians played, and jesters roamed, and one of the jesters tried (badly) to juggle with fire brands.
It was exactly as he had pictured it, and everything he could have wished for.
Down the bank, Arthur saw a group of bright lights heralding the tram station. The colours, noises and smells on all sides overwhelmed him.
‘I don’t … I don’t believe it.’
He waved wildly to the jester, who looked straight through him.
‘Keep moving,’ said Lynne. ‘Don’t try to talk to anyone. For … um, no reason.’
‘This is great … it’s great,’ he said.
‘Well, pat yourself on the back.’
A hectic game of ice tag came between them. Arthur looked at the joyous children and shook his head. ‘But still … was it worth losing Sven, though?’
‘Remember those kids underneath the embankment that day?’ said Lynne
‘Yes.’
‘That’s those kids playing tag.’
She smiled at him. ‘It was worth it. This city could have taken more than losing Sven, I promise.’
Arthur stood stock still, trying to take in all the scene at once.
‘Come on, come on, we can’t stay.’
‘Why? I want to stay.’
‘Well, you can’t.’
Gradually, the lights of the ice carnival had tapered out and the noise was fading behind them. They were approaching the far bank of the river. Looking up, for an instant, Arthur thought he saw something move through the trees.
‘What’s that?’
The fair was well behind them now, and everything was quiet, just the crackle of the ice beneath their feet. Arthur peered, with only the moonlight to guide him, at the white shape moving between the trees.
Eventually it resolved itself.
‘Oh my God,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s the horse! The horse that was in my dream!’
It was. The beautiful mare stood at least seventeen hands high, and was snorting cold air through her nostrils. Lynne stalked towards it.
Arthur turned around and took one, last regretful look behind him at the town; glowing, with light and colour, and even in this sudden, suspicious chill, with warmth and fun and glee. As he watched, fireworks exploded over the river and lit up the sky. Lynne was untethering the horse.
Suddenly, he felt something under his hand. Starting and looking down, he saw that it was Sandwiches, or, more specifically, Sandwiches’s tongue, giving him a friendly lick.
He smiled in pleasure and knelt down in the cold to scratch the little dog.
‘Come on!’ said Lynne sternly. ‘It’s time you learned to ride. There’s a Commonwealth games going begging in Barnsley.’
‘God,’ said Arthur to Sandwiches, as both man and dog looked at Lynne, then straightened and followed her into the trees. ‘You have no idea how glad I am you’re here.’
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Ali ‘the stun’ Gunn, Rachel Hore, Lynne Drew, Nick Marston, Nick Sayers, Deborah Schneider, Jennifer Parr, Fiona McIntosh, Amanda Ridout, John Bond, Jane Harris, Martin Palmer, Venetia Butterfield, Esther Taylor and all at Curtis Brown and HarperCollins.
Also: Museum of London, Adrian Fisher at www.mazemaker.com, Sam Kennedy for not getting your name in – I just couldn’t write a character as fantastic as you deserve, I’m sorry. Andrew Mueller – yes, he’s half-bred, ho ho; Ronita Dutta (WLX!!!), Martin Quinn and James Crawford for their support and encouragement at particularly crucial moments.
Another book written listening to a fantastic Chris Hoban album: www.chrishoban.com
And: Katrina McCormack, Karen Murphy, Salty Sandra, Shappi & Susan, Dan Rhodes, Ben Hatch, Mum and Dad, and the Writer’s Blockettes.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to apologize for any suspect geography in this book. Sorry, Mrs Barr (who is in fact a very good geography teacher).
SAVE THE BEDLAM!
About the Author
WORKING WONDERS
Jenny Colgan was born in 1972 in Ayrshire. After Edinburgh University, she worked for six years in the health service, moonlighting as a cartoonist and stand-up comic. She is the author of three previous bestselling novels: Amanda’s Wedding, Talking to Addison and Looking for Andrew McCarthy, all of which are in development for film and TV. Jenny Colgan lives in London and is working on her fifth novel, Sixteen Again, to be published in 2004, and a TV series. For more information about Jenny Colgan, visit her website at www.jennycolgan.co.uk.
Praise
Acclaim for Working Wonders
‘In this witty and clever story, Colgan combines the mundane with the magical to create a memorable tale. The characters grow more loveable as the adventure progresses, and it’s impossible not to root for them. Funny, magical and moving, this is a rewarding read.’
Time Out
‘We laughed a lot’
Heat
‘A delicious comedy. Will melt even the hardest of hearts.’
Red
‘Colgan’s witty book perfectly captures the frustrations and petty vexations of office life.’
She
‘Hugely entertaining and very funny.’
Cosmopolitan
‘A funny, clever page-turner.’
Closer
‘Fans of The Office will love this witty tale.’
Woman’s Own
‘A quirky tale of love, work and the meaning of life.’
Company
‘If you think David Brent causes mayhem in The Office wait till you see what town-planner Arthur and his team get up to in Jenny Colgan’s comic romp.’
In Style
Looking for Andrew McCarthy:
‘Colgan is on top form with this, her latest outrageous romp.’
Cosmopolitan
‘Jenny Colgan is one of the leaders of the pack and this, her third novel, will delight her legion of admirers. Fast-paced, funny, poignant and well-observed it reads as a pastiche of the movies she loved … If a time capsule were buried to capture the world at the turn of the 21st century, this would be a candidate for inclusion: her sense of time and place are that authentic.’
Daily Mail
‘Looking for Andrew McCarthy will strike a chord with anyone who did their growing up in the 80s. Wonderful, warm and resonant for anyone who ever wondered what happened to teenage dreams.’
Hello
‘That’s Life meets This Life, with Once in a Lifetime thrown in, all talking heads, witty one-liners and angst-ridden relationships … Did I like this book? Well, d’uh! Do hedgehogs have quills? A pure belter of a novel.’
Glasgow Herald
‘Colgan’s enjoyable new bestseller investigates the notion that having it all can sometimes mean having precisely nothing at all.’
Marie Claire
‘Colgan’s Looking for Andrew McCarthy is sharp, well-observed and hilarious.’
New Statesman
‘Colgan’s got an ear for sarky dialogue and a humour that gives her more options … retroirony, perfect for a conscientious objector’s beach holiday.’
ID
Talking to Addison:
‘Jenny Colgan delivers the goods with her new novel … absolutely brilliant! What really sets Jenny apart from most of her contemporaries is this: she is very, very funny, so much so that this book had me laughing out loud and it takes quite something to make me do that.’
Express
‘There’s razor-sharp wit to this tale of romantic confusion.’
Cosmopolitan
Amanda’s Wedding:
‘Jenny Colgan’s Amanda’s Wedding is a scream.’
Elle
‘Four Weddings and a Funeral meets Friends.’
Tatler
‘Compulsively comical.’
Cosmopolitan
‘Funny and insightful.’
Mail on Sunday
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, organizations, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublisbers 2003
Copyright © Jenny Colgan 2003
Jenny Colgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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EBook Edition © APRIL 2013 ISBN 9780007379989
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