The Little Barn of Dreams

by Lucy Knott

  Also by Lucy Knott

  One Snowy Week in Springhollow

  The Little Barn of Dreams

  Lucy Knott

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Aria,

  an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd

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  Copyright © Lucy Knott, 2021

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  The moral right of Lucy Knott to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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  E ISBN 9781800243323

  PB ISBN 9781800246232

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  Cover design © The Brewster Project

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  Aria

  c/o Head of Zeus

  First Floor East

  5–8 Hardwick Street

  London EC1R 4RG

  www.ariafiction.com

  Print editions of this book are printed on FSC paper

  For JMK; and to creating the worlds we see in our heads.

  I love you beyond measure.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hello from Aria

  One

  The room looked to be derelict. It was murky and drab with strewn papers carpeting the floor. The air smelt musty, the place dark, with curtains that looked as though they hadn’t been washed in decades. The young woman squinted for signs of life when she suddenly saw them: yellow diamond eyes glowing at her in the distance. She recognised the creature and knew any minute now the werewolf was sure to pounce and attack its prey. The girl would stand no chance. The werewolf would howl, she would scream, and no one would hear them. No one would save her.

  Suddenly, the girl’s breathing began to get heavier. She struggled to get the air to fill her lungs as a racket and whirring reverberated around the room. Yet there were still no signs of life besides the beast with whom she had just made eye contact. Heaven knows the room reeked of abandonment, like no one had stepped foot in it for centuries. Yet, the noise grew louder. The girl squinted her eyes harder in search of another intruder. She held her breath. This time a voice came loud and clear, above the beeping, frustration and a slight anger in its tone. If she just ignored it, she could grab the chest and run. As the thought floated through her mind, the animal growled, a mean growl from somewhere deep in its disturbed belly.

  Could this be the last noise she would ever hear? Was this to be her final excursion? Her nanna had warned her about gallivanting off into the woods on her own, but being on her own didn’t scare her. She was independent, she didn’t need a friend to help her find adventure, she was plenty capable of finding it herself. She was a fearless warrior, she told herself, taking a tentative step towards the small chest. Yet now an odd sensation swam around in her gut, which felt strangely like fear, as her forehead trickled with sweat and a human voice grew louder.

  The girl tried to squint harder in the pitch black, only resulting in her eyes closing, for they could not draw further into a straight line, as narrow as they already were. She could feel a warm breath tickle the tip of her nose. Oh, but she couldn’t leave yet, not after spotting the overturned chest in the corner, not when she was so close to retrieving it and learning what was inside. Trying to brave the formidable lurking creature and block out the distracting noises, she strained an arm to reach out, to lift the chest and make it hers.

  ‘Flo? Flo?’ Wait a second. It knew her name; whoever had come to steal the treasure too knew her name.

  ‘Oh, for the love of God, Florence.’ The voice came again in a terrifying hushed whisper that packed some force and had the desired effect on its recipient, because at the use of her full name, Florence lifted her head off her hand, snapped her elbows off her desk and jolted upright in her seat.

  ‘What? Sorry, I mean, yes, that’s me,’ she replied, blinking away the shadows of the dark room and fighting the strong urge to drift back into it to see what was hiding in the dusty and damp chest. Glancing over her shoulders, to check for any signs of werewolves or beasts, Florence gave in and let her friend Olivia’s face come into view, in addition to the neon lights and matching cubicles that made up her office.

  Olivia’s face was a pretty one. It was round in shape featuring green eyes, a button nose and thin lips – which were currently pressed into a severe line. The green eyes were wide with concern, her chin pointing down, giving Florence a stern glare.

  Florence stared back, widening her blue eyes innocently. She was used to receiving this look from Olivia at least three times a day.

  ‘Your phone has been ringing for five minutes straight,’ Olivia informed her friend from across their shared cubicle in which their computer screens were back to back, their desks mirror images, except for the trinkets and frames displayed on Olivia’s that were not present on Florence’s side. Though Florence had been at Paperchains for five years she wasn’t one for displaying family photos, allowing people to see her precious memories.

  ‘Ooh,’ Florence said as she picked up her phone. She put on her best Irish accent along with her phone voice and began her telephone narrative. This successfully caused her friend to crack a smile, for the phone had since stopped ringing. Florence placed it back on the receiver and when she looked up she was treated to an eye roll from Olivia with a sigh for good measure. But before Olivia could give Florence a lecture on professional conduct or the rules of the office – for the thousandth time – her own phone rang, which she picked up in a timely and efficient manner, meaning Florence was spared any speech for the immediate future.

  With her mind now very much in the present, Florence took a sip of tea and looked down at the few order forms she had to put through and log. She tuned in to the noise of the photocopier and the chatter from the lively office and pulled her focus to the tasks at hand. She wished Olivia knew how hard she tried to dispel her daydreams in public. Florence was aware of the looks she received, not just from her closest friend, whenever her eyes became clear again and she popped back into reality. It was odd and certainly something an adult should not do, but ever since she was a young girl, she had had trouble controlling her daydreams, not least because she didn’t exactly want to. You see, Florence preferred them to reality. They were a much safer place to live, even if they did include the occasional werewolf.

  ‘One of these days you’re going to get caught twiddling your thumbs
and not manning the phones. You’ve already had two warnings, Florence; you get your third strike and you’re out of here,’ Olivia said in her patronising tone as they left the office just after five p.m. It was a warm and sunny July evening, which meant that Piccadilly was packed with office workers clocking out for the day, including the kinds of people who fascinated Florence: those who, after a long hard day, ventured out into town on a work night and chose to sit in a noisy pub rather than curl up in their pyjamas with a good book. They weaved in and out of the crowd with Olivia walking a little faster than Florence, who floated behind with her hands in her pockets, not quite as fierce as Olivia in navigating the real world. Florence tended to drift, her eyes often gazed towards the sky or surveyed passers-by as she came up with stories for them in her head. She liked to smile at people, but it was scarcely returned, for people were glued to the phones in their hands. Just looking at the rectangular objects gave Florence a cold shiver that she quickly and expertly by now shook off. Returning her attention to Olivia, she skipped to catch up with her friend.

  ‘Olivia, it has been five years and I do man the phones. I dutifully sit at my desk like a good little cable girl and I do nothing but answer phones from dusk till dawn,’ Florence said quietly, her shoulders slumping as she looked down at the cobbles, dodging suitcases, and handbags, beginning to feel claustrophobic. Olivia slowed her pace allowing Florence to fall in line with her. Florence knew her friend often worried she’d get trampled on as they neared the busier tram stop. Olivia was only a year older than Florence but sometimes it felt like ten. Olivia knew Florence didn’t care for crowded spaces, especially when no one paid anyone much attention and bumped and shoved, trying to get to their next destination in a rush. Olivia was always keeping an eye on her. She didn’t want to lose her in the bustle or down a rabbit hole or wishing well for that matter. It was in crowded spaces where Florence could become overwhelmed and unable to stop her imagination from taking over and transporting her to a safe place.

  ‘If Charlie were to fire me, I do so hope it would be in dramatic fashion. Maybe he would summon me to his office via messenger with a noble steed and I’d have to jump from stepping stone to stepping stone to avoid the snapping crocodiles that are ready to eat me for my sins. Or maybe, he’d storm out of his office with wizard cape and staff and diminish me to a faraway land, for I am to no use to anyone here.’ Florence had gone from her quiet and regular British accent to a posh and regal one within a matter of seconds as they found a small spot of concrete with a little space around it to wait for their trams. When trying to defend herself, a little sarcasm and humour crept in. Internally she cringed as a man wearing a sharp suit, carrying a briefcase, gave her a disapproving look. If Olivia wasn’t used to Florence’s accents by now, she would most likely deem her crazy or fear for her sanity too, but as it was, they had become fast friends ever since Florence came to work at Paperchains five years ago. Being a confident, take-charge kind of woman, Olivia had been excited to have another woman on the team and Florence’s lack of computer skills, shy demeanour and faraway eyes had intrigued her.

  Olivia immediately offered a friendship, telling her that if she wanted to know all there was to know about Paperchains, then she should do as she did. So, Florence had worked with her, allowing this assertive and no-nonsense woman to teach her the ropes and introduce her to the team and, slowly, Florence had come out of her shell. But it was only Olivia who was privy to the accents. Florence had occasionally let them slip in the early days, but the sniggers and confused looks had put a stop to that. As for when Florence’s eyes glazed over and she disappeared to another universe, Florence had made Olivia aware that her head was simply full of books and sometimes she just liked to dip in and read them.

  At first, Olivia had found it endearing and Florence would notice her smile as she studied her and got to know her, but five years later and Olivia’s frustration was clearly etched in the screwed-up forehead and lowered eyelids. It appeared her friend thought it was her duty to coerce Florence into the real world and help her connect with those around her and fit in.

  ‘You’re coming out with us tomorrow night and I’m not taking no for an answer,’ Olivia stated, grabbing Florence’s forearms and ignoring her whole speech about crocodiles and wizards. Florence shifted uncomfortably on the spot. Her eyes darted around the tram stop in a nervous manner, searching for a friendly face. She had her hands firmly in the pockets of her vintage ankle-length dress, her sandy blonde waves were a little fuzzy in the heat of the breeze, while her mind raced with an excuse as Olivia’s words landed heavy on her chest.

  ‘Arrgh, but I cannot, for I am very busy,’ Florence noted, taking a finger to the air, her posh lilt back again. After being stuck in the office all day, it was difficult to control her accents. They also had a habit of coming out when she was in a sticky situation. Though Florence was increasingly aware of how much Olivia disliked when she was “being silly”, she couldn’t help herself, her defences were up.

  ‘You’re not busy, Flo. Come on,’ Olivia pleaded, tugging at Florence’s elbow.

  ‘Oh, but I am you see. There is this boy and he has been left on a doorstep. He has this terrible scar on his head, and I cannot possibly go a single night without knowing what is to become of him and…’ Florence told Olivia, her voice dipping in and out of gasps and pauses for effect.

  Olivia shifted, turning her head. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me, Florence,’ she demanded cutting her off and tipping her head back.

  ‘I’m not kidding,’ Florence said with a shrug. A wave of insecurity washed over her, but she had started her excuse now; she had to go with it. She raised her eyebrows innocently and joined her hands together in a mix of faux excitement for the little boy of whom she spoke, but also in a silent prayer for Olivia to leave her alone and not challenge her weak excuse.

  ‘There’s not a person on the face of this earth who doesn’t know what happens to that little boy, least of all you. You’ve read Harry Potter, one through seven, three times over in the space of me knowing you,’ Olivia said. Florence didn’t miss her maddened tone. It was Florence’s third excuse this week and Olivia didn’t beat around the bush when it came to telling Florence that she was always scuppering plans to go out and have what Olivia deemed fun.

  Florence’s shoulders sunk and her voice returned to normal. ‘I really don’t want to go out, Olivia. Please,’ she protested, less confident in the real world than she was bringing her books to life with her accents and mini theatre-like performances.

  ‘It will do you good to get out there again and…’ Olivia started.

  ‘Do not say it Liv, I mean it, don’t,’ Florence implored, her voice wobbling. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets once more, looking away from her friend. These conversations were getting tiresome and Florence felt deflated that once again she was trying to defend herself to her friend.

  ‘…and meet real people. You can’t hide away because of a few bad ones,’ Olivia finished, taking no notice of Florence’s plea. Florence knew Olivia believed herself to be right and it wasn’t that she thought her friend entirely wrong; she simply did not have what it took to be bold and confident like Olivia. Though Olivia’s heart was in the right place, her bluntness occasionally only made matters worse and put the fear of God into Florence, like that time she had raised her voice and noted: ‘Florence, everyone has romance troubles, but they get up and dust themselves off and try again. I don’t want you dying alone under an avalanche of books.’

  ‘I can’t, Liv. I’ve got to be home. My nanna needs me, OK? You have fun,’ Florence said, trying a different tack. The look on Olivia’s face told Florence that she knew even her nanna would guffaw at that one. The old lady was a force to be reckoned with, even after her fall. ‘And people are much kinder in books,’ Florence muttered, more to herself, as her tram pulled up and its doors hissed open. She jumped inside, wanting to get away from the conversation as quickly as possible.

  �
�Just please come. We’ll change at work and we’ll go out and have some fun. It’s been ages. I want to spend time with my friend when there’s not a computer screen blocking her gorgeous face,’ Olivia said, walking to the window after Florence. ‘Please, for me.’ She added as the tram started up and moved away. Florence waved unenthusiastically with a small smile on her face.

  Guilt crept over Florence as she kept her balance, holding on to the nearest handrail as the tram stopped and started at each station. It was cruel to deem all people unkind. Her nanna would admonish her for such thoughts but whenever Olivia suggested they go out, it always ended up being a surprise double date. Drew, Olivia’s boyfriend, always had a friend or a friend of a friend who just happened to swing by and somehow Florence was then left on her own with said friend and it never went well, ever.

  As nice as Drew was, he worked in accounting. He couldn’t understand Florence’s love of books and fantasy, and as for accounting, numbers gave her a headache. She simply didn’t get them and after spending eight hours logging in orders, pricing up stationery and doing calculations at Paperchains, all Florence wanted to do was sniff the heavenly pages of her books and soak up all the words. Needless to say, Olivia and Drew’s idea of fun was not the same as Florence’s. The problem was that many of Drew’s friends or friends of friends were accountants too and for some reason Olivia and Drew thought they would be a good match for Florence, like yin and yang or opposites attract. Time and time again Olivia told Florence that she needed someone who would bring logistics and realism to her otherwise imaginary world. However, just the words logistics and realism made Florence’s skull throb.