by Janis Mackay
“They won’t exist,” Will and me said at the same time.
We were all silent then. A few snowflakes swirled around like tiny ghosts in the streetlight. The Santa stop here sign was dusted white. Agnes, I thought, was the kind of person who might just disappear and people would say, “Agnes? Who was she?” I shivered.
“I was wondering,” Will said, stamping his feet on the snow, “if Agnes could join our gang?”
“Thought we said three…” Robbie began.
“Yeah,” I cut in, “that was then. Things change.”
“My gran says that’s just what she needs.”
“What?” Robbie said, “a gang?”
Will shook his head. “Friends.”
They both looked at me while I frowned like I was considering it. “Ok,” I said eventually, “I say she can.” And just at that moment the woman in the house must have flicked on her Christmas lights because suddenly the whole place lit up.
28
The next day was the last day of school! Yeeesssss!
It was also the winter solstice. I knew because Mrs Veitch had gone on about it so much. When I woke up I heard the snow shift on the roof. My first thought was that if the snow melted, Agatha’s snow angel would vanish. My second thought was the history essay – today was the prize ceremony.
But I didn’t have much time to get myself worked up about that because next thing Mum burst into my room, bounced Ellie down on my bed and sighed. “Look after your sister, will you. Make sure she doesn’t roll off the bed. Esme’s been sick all over her cot, and your dad is out and I didn’t sleep a wink. They were crying all night.”
She hurried out, sighing some more. Ellie wasn’t crying now. She was gurgling and chuckling and punching at my head. I bounced her up and down on the bed and she chuckled and made ga-ga noises. “Any idea where I might get my hands on some gold?” I said, rubbing my nose against her tiny smooth nose. She punched me again. I got out of bed, picked her up and showed her the snowman out the window, in the dark pink dawn light. Except the snowman had definitely got smaller. “It’s turning into a snow baby,” I said. She stopped chuckling and gazed out. We stayed like that, me and my wee sister, silent, watching the snow baby in the garden.
“Ahhhh.” She smiled and reached towards the window pane.
“I know,” I said, “Ahhhh. Snow’s beautiful, Ellie.”
When Mum came into my room ten minutes later to get her, she didn’t mention the history competition. Probably she forgot. Or maybe she’d thought I’d just been joking about doing it. Parents were allowed to come to the Christmas assembly, but I didn’t invite them.
Later, as I slithered along the street on my way to school I smiled to myself, which helped with the butterflies in my chest. “Ahhhh!” I shouted, thinking of Ellie and crunching my feet down into the white packed snow. I took a deep breath. “Right! Last day of school – Ahhhh!”
***
Once inside I wasn’t so cheerful. I hung about near the back of the school hall. There were a lot of Christmas carols to get through, and the minister came in and spoke about there being no room in the inn. I kept glancing about, looking for Agatha and Agnes but there was no sign of them.
“They’re probably up a tree,” Robbie whispered, nudging me.
Mrs Veitch gave a little talk about the three wise men and how Christmas is a time of giving. I only started to listen when she said one of the three wise men from the east brought the baby Jesus gold. Robbie heard that too and dug me in the ribs. “You, me and Will,” he whispered. “We’re the three wise men. Pisa’s the stable.”
I tried not to laugh. Especially because just then the head teacher, Mr Wilson with the bushy eyebrows, stood up and scanned the packed hall. My heart thumped. “And now… it is… time,” he said, incredibly slowly, “… to turn our thoughts to this year’s Scottish Borders Young Historian of the Year award.” I looked down at a chewing gum stain on the floor. “I am pleased to say eight pupils from Kingsland entered this year and, I may add, did rather well, too.” Robbie nudged me again. I glanced over my shoulder. The high school had finished up the day before and a few big brothers and sisters had come in and were hanging about at the back of the hall. A few parents had also come in. I recognised Agnes’s grandmother. She waved at me. Maybe she thought Agnes had gone in for the competition.
I couldn’t see any sign of Agnes though, or Agatha. Up at the front, Mr Wilson was droning on about old buildings in Peebles and the Beltane celebrations and the ancient customs still alive today, such as crowning the Beltane queen. I felt my hopes sink. I hadn’t written anything about that. Then he spoke about the noble stories of Sir Walter Scott and then about the ancient history of Neidpath Castle. I’d forgotten all that too.
“Saul!”
I glanced over my shoulder. Agatha was standing at the back waving at me. She was next to Agnes and Agnes’s grandmother. Agnes waved too. I nodded at them. Then I heard the door of the assembly hall open and my dad slipped in to stand at the back. He caught my eye and winked. My heart thumped again, hard.
“Your fan club’s arrived,” Robbie whispered in my ear.
Mr Wilson had finally stopped going on about old castles. “Of course, many schools in the Borders took part. I would like to congratulate everyone who made the effort. Well done.” He smiled down on us all. Then he clapped, followed by a ripple of applause. Then he coughed and the applause died away. “Now, I would particularly like to mention the three placed entrants that come from this school. So, without further ado, in tenth place, describing the wonderful history of the mills along the river: Darcy Jenkins, Primary 6.” There was a great round of applause as Darcy was ushered to the platform to receive a prize. It looked like a book.
“In fourth place, describing the history of sport in the Borders, especially rugby, we have, from Primary 5, Eirinn Grant.” Another huge round of applause as a boy, led by his beaming parents, collected his prize. Another book.
“And now, I am very pleased indeed to announce some exciting and gratifying news. The choice, I am told by the judges, was indeed a hard one, because they received so many fascinating essays. But they have awarded first prize to an entry from our very own Kingsland Primary School!”
Robbie poked me in the ribs. I shuffled away from him and stared at the floor. My heart was thumping like mad. I didn’t want to hope, but I couldn’t help hoping. Will was punching me on the arm and smiling.
“One of our students wrote of life in this very town in times gone by. The essay was written with such freshness that, I quote the judges… ‘We who read it felt ourselves transported back to a time before cars roared through our streets, before electric lights glared day and night, before supermarkets and computer games and even schools and hospitals were taken for granted.’ Ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys, the first prize of £200 goes to a Primary 7 student…”
Robbie nudged me.
So did Will.
I stared at my shoes.
“Saul Martin!”
“It’s you!” Robbie gasped. “Oh my God, it’s you. I can’t believe it! Go and get it!” I didn’t move. Robbie clapped me on the back then he pushed me forward. So did Will. Other people starting clapping and cheering.
It was Dad who steered me up to the platform. My legs felt wobbly. I don’t know how I managed to walk. Mr Wilson was stretching his big hand towards me and in a total daze I clambered up onto the platform and shook it. Then he handed me the envelope with two hundred pounds cash in it. “Thank you,” I mumbled. I said it again, “thank you.” My hands trembled. I couldn’t believe it. I had won!
Mr Wilson wouldn’t let me jump down off the platform. He handed me a sheet of paper. He patted me on the shoulder. Would I, he said, do them the great honour of reading out my prize-winning essay?
I gazed down. Robbie and Will and Agatha and Agnes had all come to the front. Dad stood next to them giving me the thumbs up. The paper shook in my hands. Everyone was gazing up at me like I was a
superstar. I coughed.
“Go on, darling.” That was Mum. Where had she come from?
I stuffed the prize money in my pocket. I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice wasn’t going to wobble. I said…
This essay is by Saul Martin and it is an essay about how life really was for people in Peebles, which is a town in the Scottish borders in the year of 1812.
I paused and looked over the top of the paper. Agatha was gazing up at me. I saw a small tear run down her face. I kept going.
A very important thing to mention is that there were no cars and there were horses and carriages but you had to be rich to have a carriage of your own so basically it meant that in 1812 people walked a lot. They ran too. They could walk and run very fast and keep going for a long time.
I kept reading. I wasn’t nervous anymore. At the end of each sentence I glanced at Agatha. She was gazing up at me, her blue eyes like huge pools. Agnes stood by her side.
They didn’t have oranges unless they were rich, so many children died from the meesles. They didn’t have a cure for it.
Then I paused and looked at Agatha. I was nearly at the end of the essay. Because I knew the last bit by heart I looked over the top of the paper and spoke the words straight to her.
I hope the people in Peebles had a happy time in the past. They had problems like we do too but basically they loved their home.
“The end,” I added, and I couldn’t stop myself smiling. I had done it, and I could feel that fat envelope heavy in my pocket.
“Bravo!” shouted Agatha and everybody started clapping and cheering again. Agatha was smiling with a tear in her eye. In that moment I knew exactly what I was going to do with the money.
29
The prize ceremony was over and I stepped down from the platform.
“Son! That was fabulous,” Dad hugged me, crushing the fat envelope between us. “Brilliant. I loved the bit about the flapping fish and the squealing pigs.” Then Mum hugged me. “Christmas came after all!” she said. “Well done, Saul, I’m so proud of you.”
Then Agnes came dashing up to me. Only now I noticed she looked totally different. It looked like Agatha had given her a haircut. “That was fantastic,” she said.
“Yours was probably loads better,” I said.
Agnes shook her head. “Not a bit. Yours was real.”
Up at the front of the hall the choir had started singing – “We wish you a merry Christmas” – and a few red balloons floated up to the ceiling. I could smell hot mince pies. School was out and everyone was cheering. In all this buzz, Agnes stood quietly in front of me, with Agatha by her side.
“Hey, Agnes?” I said, “want to join our gang?”
Her jaw fell open and her pale blue eyes widened. “She certainly does,” Agatha said putting an arm around her shoulder. Agnes looked so stunned she could only nod her head.
Next thing my gang appeared, right next to me. Robbie and Will slapped me a high-five, then Agnes. “Hey,” I said, turning to Robbie and Will, “why don’t you two go with Agatha and Agnes to the den? They can show you how to make fire without matches.”
“Sure thing,” they immediately replied.
“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I said. “There’s something I need to do first.”
“Sure,” they chorused again as I turned and threaded my way out of the packed hall. Before I reached the door, about a hundred people had shouted, “Well done, Saul!”
I waved to Mum and Dad and ran out of the school and through the streets, the fat envelope with a whole £200 clenched in my hand. The sun had come out. The sky was blue and the white world sparkled.
I dashed over the road, up the Northgate, looking for number 79. My heart was thudding. I ran all the way to the quiet end of the street. Then I saw it: a tiny shop with three gold balls over the door.
TILLY’S PAWN SHOP
I slowed down. I was panting hard. Looking in the window I felt this thud of disappointment. I thought a gold shop would be special but this place looked like a junk shop. There were loads of china teapots and necklaces and milk jugs and stuff. But then, beside a guitar, I saw it, lying on a tiny scrap of purple velvet – a small gold ring. Next to it there was a piece of paper with the words Pure gold written on it. This was it! This had to be the gold that would help Agatha get home.
I burst into the shop. A bell tinkled and the man seated behind the counter looked up. He had a white pointy beard and white hair down to his shoulders. “Ah! Good morning young man,” he said, “and what can I do for you?”
“The gold ring,” I blurted out, pointing to the window, “I want it.”
“Ah,” said the man again, lifting his glasses up to peer at me, “that one?” Then he shook his head. “I have other pretty rings.” He came out from behind the counter. With his little round glasses and pointy beard it was like he had stepped out of a wizard film.
“How much is it?” I asked. “The pure gold one? The one on the purple velvet?”
“Too much,” he replied, shaking his white head. “You might be interested in these?” He whisked a couple of rings out of a glass cabinet but I shook my head.
“No. It’s that one I want.” I pointed again. “It says it’s pure gold, and it looks like the perfect size.” I lifted my envelope up. “I’ve got money. I just won the history prize. I wrote an essay about Peebles in 1812.”
The man’s face creased into a smile. “Isn’t that marvellous?” He went over to the window, fumbled about, pushed aside the guitar and eventually brought out the pure gold ring. He breathed hard on it and rubbed it on his sleeve. “Pawn shops are sad places,” he said, more to the ring than to me. “People sell their dreams.” Then to my amazement he put the ring back in the window. “Save your prize money. I’m hoping the old woman raises enough money to buy her granddaughter’s ring back. It’s a bonny one. Old too, very old.”
“But I need it. How… how much is it?” I stammered.
He stared at me, made little clucking sounds, then said, “I’d let it go for £180, I suppose.”
“I’ll take it,” I said, tearing open my envelope.
The man looked unsure, but he nodded then wrapped the ring in the purple scrap of velvet. “Dreams for sale,” he said, handing it towards me. At the same time he opened his other hand, waiting for the money. I put £180 into his hand and quickly he wrapped his fingers over the notes. Then he let me have the ring.
He stuffed the money into his till, muttering how a pawn shop was the saddest place on earth. “History, eh?” he said, as I made for the door, clutching the precious ring in both my hands. “There’s a lot of history and broken dreams here.” He swept his arm round the shop – at the guitars, clarinets, golf clubs, necklaces, bracelets, china plates and rings.
I opened the door. The bell tinkled. “Merry Christmas,” I shouted then dashed out into the street and headed for the sweet shop.
30
I was sure I’d been away longer than half an hour. I hurried over the snow-covered wasteland but kept stopping every two minutes to check the purple velvet was still in my pocket, and the gold ring was still in the velvet. As I got closer to the den I sniffed wood smoke in the wind. The wind on my cheek, I noticed, wasn’t biting cold like it had been.
By the time I reached the secret gap in the hedge I could hear Robbie, Will, Agatha and Agnes laughing in the garden. I wriggled into the gap but didn’t step through. Feeling like a spy, I looked and listened. The fire was burning bright. The four of them were standing with their backs to me and Robbie was flinging twigs into the fire. “Our gang is the best,” Will was saying, “and we do ace games.”
“Yeah,” Robbie piped up, “it’s totally amazing. We’re always having adventures and playing pirates and robbers and spies and soldiers. It’s the best fun.”
Good old Robbie. I smiled at that, glad I had bought his favourite sweets. Meanwhile my time-traveller’s mind was racing. We had the fire blazing. We had earth and air. I had a bottle of water.
The crystal still hung from the tree, and now that the sun was shining we’d get rainbows galore. The fire smoke made vapours. We had the yew tree. I remembered Michael’s song. And for the umpteenth time I patted my pocket. I had the gold!
Agnes was laughing. “I’m going to love this gang so much,” she said. “Oh, and we could trap rabbits and skin them and roast them and have picnics and midnight feasts.”
I heard Robbie make a loud, “Yuk,” noise. Agatha laughed.
I saw Will turn to Agatha and say, “You were already kind of in the gang as Randolph. So, I mean, if you’re hanging around, you can join again as Agatha.”
I stepped out and strode down the garden. “Agatha’s going home,” I announced, and they all swung round to look at me.
“Really?” said Agatha, wide-eyed. She dropped the twig that she’d had in her hand.
“Really,” I said, hoping this time it was. Then I tossed packets of jelly babies and midget gems to Robbie. I handed Agatha a tangerine. I gave Agnes a box of Maltesers and I gave Will a huge bag of smoky bacon crisps.
“Hey!” shouted Robbie, “The rich brainy kid is here to feed the poor,” and he crammed half the packet of jelly babies into his mouth.
We all sat down on the log to tuck into our feast. I bit into a Milky Way and watched Agatha unpeel the tangerine then eat it, segment by segment, as if it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. “Yummy, scrummy,” she said, licking her lips.
Will munched on a few crisps, looking very thoughtful. “Is Agatha really going home?” he asked.
“Back to 1812,” I said, drawing the purple box from my pocket.
“Back to the body snatchers and the monkeys?” asked Robbie, his mouth full of jelly babies, “And the market days and the pigeon pie?”
“And the flapping fish?” asked Will, “And the games of cards and pipe smoke?”