Evie and the Animals

by Matt Haig

  ‘But why?’

  ‘The more you act on it, the stronger it becomes. You are eleven now. That’s when it really kicked in for me. Eleven, twelve, thirteen. Every year it grew stronger because I kept concentrating on all the animals. I’d lie on the grass and hear the stressed-out thoughts of marching ants. I’d re-live the nightmares of mice underneath the floorboards. I’d see a flock of birds and their thoughts would be so sudden that all at once I’d faint on the spot. It drove me mad for a while because I kept talking back. You know, silently, in my head. I kept having those conversations. I wanted to understand every animal that ever lived. And eventually, trust me, trouble will look for you. Like it did for me . . . Which is why I ended up in prison.’

  Evie gasped. ‘Prison?’

  Granny Flora frowned. ‘Oh yes. When I was twenty-one years old I went to prison. I have never told anyone this story until now. Are you ready to listen?’

  Evie nodded. And secretly hoped Granny Flora hadn’t gone to prison because of a rabbit.

  Why Granny Flora Went to Prison

  lot of people who go to prison are there because they have burgled a house or shot somebody or stolen an expensive diamond. But Granny Flora had done nothing like that.

  Granny Flora had been a good person.

  Evie knew this because Granny Flora told her.

  ‘I was a good person,’ she said.

  But she had got into big trouble for releasing all the animals at Mr Bullwhip’s Travelling Circus back in the olden days.

  ‘They kept elephants in chains, and elephants don’t like being in chains. Nor do tigers or zebras. In fact, no one does,’ Granny Flora explained.

  ‘Tigers?’ asked Evie.

  Granny Flora looked a bit sheepish. ‘Yes. That’s why I went to prison. Because I released the tigers. They weren’t bothered about the zebras, though they were private property. And they weren’t too bothered about the elephants – though they should have been, because elephants can be very grumpy indeed. No. They were mainly bothered about the tigers. And, to be fair, they prowled around Lofting town centre and everyone was scared. Two of them even went into the supermarket.’

  Evie thought about this for a while. ‘Well, I suppose they were tigers. So they could have eaten people.’

  Granny Flora shook her head a little crossly. ‘Not these tigers. They had promised.’

  Evie was confused. ‘Promised?’

  ‘Yes. Promised. And tigers are many, many things. But one thing they are not are breakers of a promise. A tiger always keeps a promise.’

  ‘How did you make them promise?’

  ‘Well, buttercup, I asked them. Very politely. You have to be polite with tigers. That’s what people don’t understand. In fact, “I told them it was a condition. I said: “I will only release you from your chains if you absolutely promise not to eat anybody.”’

  ‘And what did they say?’

  ‘They considered it very carefully and then said, “What, not even Mr Bullwhip, the circus owner who is nasty to us every day and who looks extremely tasty?” and I said, “No. Not even nasty Mr Bullwhip. I am sure he is tasty, but no. It’s a matter of principle.” And they growled and grumbled a little but eventually they agreed. And you know what?’

  Evie didn’t know what, so she said: ‘What?’

  ‘They kept their promise.’ She smiled sadly. ‘But the police and the judge and everyone else laughed at me when I told them this. They thought I was joking. And then they locked me away for years. And . . . and . . . and . . .’

  Granny Flora pulled a crumpled handkerchief from the inside sleeve of her cardigan and wiped her eyes with it. ‘And . . . I was at rock bottom. But, well, the important thing about rock bottom is the rock part. You know you have something solid inside you. Something that can’t be smashed any further. The unbreakable part. And you are tough, Evie. I can tell. And you are clever. But sometimes in life it’s best not to be too clever. Being too clever gets you into all kinds of trouble. There are some things you are better off not knowing. And some voices you are better off not hearing. So please, no more. Please, don’t end up like I did. Don’t end up like your mother. You can have a normal life.’

  A normal life.

  Evie nodded and tried to agree. But she realised, right then, that being special was who she was. She doubted, really, that she would ever have a normal life.

  And, of course, she was absolutely right.

  The Snake and the Frog

  hat night Evie had a dream.

  The dream wasn’t about a rabbit. It wasn’t even about Granny Flora or a circus or a prison. It was about a snake.

  A tree snake.

  A tree snake on one of those low, twisty trees that you find deep in the jungle.

  It wasn’t an anaconda, because it wasn’t in or around a river. But it was green. Bright green. It was a bright green emerald tree boa. Evie knew that. She knew that it could kill, not with venom but by crushing or, if its prey was small enough, biting.

  And it had spotted something on the ground.

  A frog. This frog was also brightly coloured. It was bright blue and black. It was the prettiest frog ever. It was a poison dart frog. Evie had read that they contained more poison than the Brazilian wandering spider, so were arguably the deadliest creature in the whole Amazon. She knew that they wouldn’t hurt you if you left them alone, but that their skin was coated in enough poison to kill ten grown men.

  She felt scared about the snake. Not scared of it, but for it. If it touched the frog it would die. And the frog might die too.

  Without thinking, she urged the snake not to touch it.

  ‘It will kill you.’

  And just then the snake stopped looking at the frog and looked at little Evie instead. But in this dream Evie wasn’t at all scared.

  ‘If you even touch that frog, you will be dead,’ Evie said, with her mind.

  She felt the snake inside her head. She could hear the snake’s thoughts. ‘It looks plump. It looks tasty.’

  ‘No,’ Evie told the snake. ‘It is deadly. It is a poison dart frog. You are still a very young snake. You don’t understand these things.’

  The snake was confused. ‘Why do you want to save me?’

  Even in a dream Evie found this an easy question to answer. ‘Because I can.’

  She knew that both the snake and the frog could kill her, but that didn’t mean she wanted them dead.

  ‘Thank you,’ thought the snake. ‘You are a good human. Not like Mortimer.’

  ‘Mortimer?’

  ‘He is after me. He is trying to control me. He is not like you. Or your parents.’

  Evie watched the poison dart frog hop away underneath a log. Then she turned her attention back to the snake. ‘You know my parents?’

  ‘Yes, they are right there.’

  And the tree snake slid back up the tree and out of her thoughts and, in the dream, Evie turned around and saw her parents. She was the height of a toddler in this dream, so they towered above her. Her dad looked younger and happier and he had no beard. And her mum looked as kind and warm as she did in the photo.

  ‘Mum!’ she said. And she tried to hug her. But that was where the dream ended.

  When she woke up, she had a very weird feeling.

  As though the dream hadn’t really been a dream at all.

  It had felt, in fact, like a memory.

  A Meeting with Mrs Baxter

  rs Baxter sat behind her desk. On her wall there was a poster that said, ‘The soul is healed by being with children’, which was, according to the poster, a quote by someone called Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

  Mrs Baxter didn’t look very healed right now. She looked cross. And shocked. As if she had never in her whole life been confronted with a naughtier child.

  She was dipping a teabag into her tea. She kept bobbing it up and down.

  ‘It’s chamomile,’ she explained, in a reassuringly calm voice. ‘Chamomile tea. It says it calms people down. I need calm
ing down. This is my seventeenth of the day.’

  Evie smiled. And felt nervous. And didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Evie Trench, Evie Trench, Evie Trench . . .’

  Evie had been called into Mrs Baxter’s office in the middle of a lesson (on Vikings), so she knew it was serious. Of course it was serious. She knew what this was about.

  ‘So, you have something to tell me . . .’

  ‘Um, do I?’ asked Evie, nervously.

  ‘We have cameras everywhere in this school. We know you stole Kahlo.’

  ‘I . . . I didn’t steal her.’

  ‘Well, what would you call it then?’

  Evie fished for the word. ‘Rescued. I rescued her. The hutch was too small. She wanted to escape.’

  Mrs Baxter’s face grew redder and redder. She was a giant tomato of anger.

  ‘Do not try to correct me in my own office.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Now, there is no excuse for endangering the health and welfare of an animal.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Baxter, but I was actually doing the opposite. Kahlo hated being in that hutch. She wanted to be free. She wanted to escape back to where she was from.’

  Mrs Baxter was staring at Evie with wide, disbelieving eyes. ‘Oh, and how do you know this? Are you a rabbit mind-reader or something?’

  Evie panicked. ‘No. Of course not. No. That would be . . . impossible. It’s just I imagined that she must be feeling squished up.’

  Mrs Baxter started rubbing her temples. Then she rummaged in her desk drawer. ‘Headache pills . . . headache pills . . .’ She found the headache pills and swallowed two at once. She drank the remains of her tea in a big gulp.

  ‘I was so nearly an actor, you know?’ she said. ‘I came this close. I could be playing Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the Royal Shakespeare Company right now. But no, here I am, in Lofting, dealing with an eleven-year-old rabbit thief.’

  ‘I don’t have the rabbit.’

  There was a knock at the door. ‘Well, maybe your father will be able to help.’

  ‘No. Please. Don’t call my dad. I beg you.’

  Mrs Baxter smiled an evil grin. ‘Too late.’

  The door opened and Evie saw her dad, looking pale and serious, and Evie wished she could disappear into the ground. Like a rabbit.

  ‘I am so sorry about Evie’s behaviour, Mrs Baxter,’ her dad said, taking a chair beside Evie. ‘This has never happened before. And this will never happen again. I assure you. I can see, Mrs Baxter, this is not the way of things here, nor should it be. You are an exceptional head teacher.’

  ‘You are right, Mr Trench. In the entire history of Lofting Primary School, no one has ever stolen a rabbit. And it won’t happen again because we can’t afford to keep buying rabbits for them to be stolen.’

  Evie really knew she should stay quiet, but she couldn’t help it. ‘I didn’t steal it, Dad. I released it.’

  Her dad stared at her. And said, in a quiet but incredibly stern voice, ‘Evie, it doesn’t matter whether it was stealing or releasing. You took it. It was an incredibly stupid thing to do.’

  And then he turned to Mrs Baxter. ‘I am so sorry for my daughter’s behaviour. I will obviously pay however much you paid for the rabbit and I assure you Evie will be suitably punished. I will make her write “I MUST NEVER TAKE A RABBIT OUT OF ITS HUTCH EVER EVER AGAIN” a thousand times on a piece of paper. And no pocket money. For . . . a year.’

  Evie’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. She wondered what was going through her dad’s mind. She knew she would be in a bit of trouble, but she had never seen her dad act like this.

  Mrs Baxter was quite impressed by this display of parental crossness.

  ‘Well, I can see, Mr Trench, that you understand the seriousness of this matter.’

  ‘I do. I absolutely do. You don’t have to worry at all, Mrs Baxter.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s as simple as that . . . You see, there is a school inspection next week and the subject of the rabbit is bound to come up. And we need to look tough. And so I really think Evie will have to find somewhere else to get her schooling.’

  Evie’s dad looked like he could cry. ‘You’re expelling her?’

  ‘I see no other option.’

  A memory popped into Evie’s mind. ‘Erm,’ she said, ‘do you think the school inspectors would be interested to know where you got the rabbit from?’

  Now it was Mrs Baxter’s turn to look worried. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Evie’s heart raced. She knew it would make her dad sad and cross if she got expelled, so she had to do something. She tried to keep her voice calm. ‘There were witnesses who saw you take the rabbit from the forest. A head teacher should not be stealing wild rabbits.’ Evie didn’t add that the witnesses were all rabbits because that might have spoiled the story.

  Mrs Baxter looked furious but was totally lost for words. ‘I . . . I . . . do you have any idea how hard it is to balance the school budget? I have to make cuts somewhere!’

  ‘Well,’ Evie said. ‘Maybe you’ll explain that to the inspectors.’

  ‘Or . . .’ interrupted her dad. ‘We could just all forget this ever happened.’

  There was a long silence. Mrs Baxter stared at Evie. Evie’s dad stared at Evie. And Evie stared at her shoes.

  Eventually Mrs Baxter spoke.

  ‘Good, good. Well, in that case, no further action is required by myself or the school.’

  Evie’s dad smiled, gratefully. ‘Thank you, Mrs Baxter. Say “thank you”, Evie. And that you are grateful to Mrs Baxter for her kindness.’

  Evie squeezed out a ‘thank you’. The most difficult thank you of her life.

  Then Mr Trench looked directly into the head teacher’s stern-but-softening eyes and said what he was planning to say all along.

  ‘May I ask you something, Mrs Baxter?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, I was just wondering if we could make sure no one else knows about this? I am just thinking of your school. I mean, you have such a great reputation. And I’d hate for that to change.’

  Mrs Baxter took a deep breath, as if inhaling what had just been said. ‘You are right. We mustn’t say another word about this. It would lead to the wrong kind of questions. But any more trouble like this and you will have to take your problematic offspring elsewhere. You understand?’

  Evie watched her father smile and stand up and – almost – bow in front of Mrs Baxter. ‘One hundred per cent,’ he said, just as the bell went. Then he put on his cross voice. ‘Now, come on, Evie, let’s take you home.’

  The Name from the Dream

  n the car, Evie tried to work out her dad’s level of crossness. He was definitely a bit cross. But maybe not as cross as he had been showing Mrs Baxter.

  ‘I am not cross, Evie. I am sad that you can’t keep the one secret I asked you to keep.’

  Evie stared out at moving trees. ‘I was helping a rabbit. Rabbits are people, too. Not humans, but still people. They have feelings. They are intelligent. They—’

  ‘You promised you weren’t going to do this.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. I know.’

  They passed a messy-looking dog sniffing a lamp-post. It was Scruff. But the car was going too fast for any of his thoughts to enter Evie’s mind.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ her dad was saying. ‘You mustn’t do this. If you start listening to animals, it will lead to big trouble . . .’

  Evie nodded. She assumed he was talking about what Granny Flora had been talking about. About how the voices of all the animal thoughts end up driving you mad. But then he said something under his breath. A word – or a name – that froze her with terror.

  ‘Mortimer.’

  Mortimer. Evie had heard that name somewhere. And then she remembered, as her heart began to race.

  The dream!

  The dream of the tree snake and the poison dart frog.

  The tree snak
e had mentioned him.

  Evie was troubled. She was scared of asking the question she knew she had to ask. ‘Who is Mortimer, Dad?’

  As the car chugged onto Lofting Road, Evie’s dad started to mumble to himself. She stared at her dad’s face. He looked tired. His eyes had bags under them and the bags themselves had more bags under them. Dads were mysteries.

  Evie couldn’t hear the words he was mumbling, or not all of them. But he did seem to be asking himself something. And the words ‘now is the time’ came out of his mouth.

  He turned to his daughter and said, ‘Evie, I was going to wait until you were sixteen, but there is something you need to know. First, I need to show you something.’

  Evie gulped. ‘Is this about Mum?’

  ‘Yes. It’s about Mum. It’s about us. It’s about everything.’ He parked the car and shakily ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

  Evie saw a squirrel on a branch on the tree near the house. Evie knew this squirrel. She had often talked with it.

  ‘Why are you sad?’ the squirrel asked. ‘Have you run out of nuts?’

  Evie just walked on, ignoring her, as she followed her dad.

  The Girl from the Jungle

  hey were in the garage. It smelled of damp and seemed, suddenly, full of secrets. They were standing there surrounded by broken chairs and sofas that Evie’s dad was in the middle of repairing, all with the stuffing leaking out of them.

  Evie held the piece of paper her dad had just given her. At the top of the document were the words ‘Acta de Nacimiento’.

  It was a birth certificate.

  Evie’s hands were shaking.

  The name on it was ‘Isabella Eva Navarro’.

  ‘Who is this?’ Evie asked.

  And then she saw that the birth date was her own birthday.

  But the place of birth was not London, as she’d always been told. It said ‘Tena, Ecuador’.

  ‘What is this?’ she asked, her mouth dry with worry. ‘Who is this?’