Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter Read online

  Reaching across to the bedside table, I gulped down the chocolate drink Mom had left me. Cold and bitter. My parents don’t believe in normal hot chocolate, that is, hot chocolate that tastes like chocolate. It has to be free-trade, recycled, organic, and preferably stripped of flavor before it’s allowed in our house. Still, my mouth was dry, so I drank it down, only wincing a bit.

  As I got dressed, I pushed the nightmare to the back of my mind, shaking off the strange sadness like a tree shaking off dead leaves.

  The house was so quiet I could almost have believed my parents had gone out and left me there on my own. Except I knew them well enough to know that there wasn’t a huge probability of their waking up before lunchtime if they didn’t have to — and it was only ten-thirty.

  I crept past their room, listening for any signs of life. Gentle snores came from the other side of the door. They were so predictable!

  I went down to the kitchen and looked out at the garden. It was pouring rain outside. I guess that’s what happens when you take your summer vacation in October.

  “Morning, darling.” Mom appeared behind me, her nightgown wrapped around her, her hair sticking out at every angle imaginable. “Thought I heard you.”

  “What are you doing up? Isn’t this like the middle of the night for you and Dad?”

  Mom ruffled my hair as she passed me, heading straight for the coffeemaker. “Ha, ha! Couldn’t sleep. I told you — never can, somewhere new. I’m usually all right after the first night. I’ll probably sleep like a log for the rest of the week. At least you got back to sleep after your bad dream. You were passed out when I came back up.”

  She opened the fridge, getting out the milk and reaching into the cupboard for the biggest mug she could find — which wasn’t very big. “What do you want to do today, chicken? Go for a nice walk? We should get out and make the most of the countryside while we’re here.”

  I nudged a thumb toward the French windows. “You have seen the weather, haven’t you?”

  Mom sat down beside me and looked out. “Oh,” she said.

  We sat in silence, listening to the coffeemaker grind into action.

  “Hey, I know,” Mom said, poking me with her elbow. “Let’s go to one of those sessions at the pottery shop.” She looked in disgust at her mug. “We could do with some decent-sized mugs!”

  I’d rather have gone swimming. I was about to say so when Mom said, “Come on — it’ll be fun,” and looked at me with big, pleading eyes that made me wonder — as I often did — which of us was the parent and which was the child.

  It was just as well I wasn’t the parent. The pair of them would be spoiled brats. I could never say no to them. To be honest, I liked making them happy. Was that so wrong?

  “OK,” I said, smiling. “That’s a great idea.”

  We could always go swimming another day.

  “So, you can help yourself to any of these books. Have a look through to get ideas for pots. You can even copy straight from the picture, if there’s one you particularly like.”

  The woman had short red hair tucked under a headband with multicolored flowers on it and bright green eyes that sparkled when she smiled — which she did a lot. She told us her name was Annie, and she showed us around the shop, pointing out little bits and pieces while she talked. Strange things that people had made, different casts we could use, paint trays with every color you could think of.

  Everything was ordered and labeled, even the different types of coffee on a shelf at the back — and there were a lot of those as well! Mom was in heaven — especially when Annie said we could help ourselves whenever we wanted a refill.

  “If you don’t see the color of paint you want, just let me know, and I’ll mix it for you,” Annie went on. “I’m here to help — so don’t sit there wondering what to do. Just be creative and have fun!”

  Something about her manner had already cheered me up. She seemed to radiate a happy feeling. The shop made you feel like you were being wrapped up in a blanket and put in front of a fire with a hot chocolate. Or maybe it was just the fact that the heat was on and it was still pouring outside. Either way, I realized I was glad we’d come.

  Annie showed us to a table. “This is where you can work. Just let me know if you have any questions, OK?” She caught my eye, and a tiny shiver ran through me. Her eyes were so sharp — I had the feeling that they could see all the way inside my mind, that she could read my thoughts. Then she smiled her warm smile again, and I realized I was being silly. My imagination really was working overtime today!

  “I just need to make a quick phone call,” Annie said. She headed for the back of the shop and picked up the phone.

  A moment later, I could hear snatches of her conversation.

  “. . . So glad it was you who picked up the phone . . . could do with some help . . . will he let you, d’you think? . . . OK, great. See you soon. . . .”

  I wandered over to the books of pictures, trying not to eavesdrop. Annie had finished her conversation now anyway, and was busy tidying the paint pots into neat rows.

  I glanced at the other tables on my way past. There was a young couple at one of them, sitting opposite each other and painting a huge plate together. They hadn’t looked up since we’d been in here. Too busy giggling and squealing and reaching across the table to hold hands. A family of four was working quietly at another table: the parents hunched over their bowls, a young boy frowning seriously, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he drew around his hand onto a mug, and a toddler splattering paint onto a plate.

  Mom and Dad had decided to launch in without looking at any of the books. No doubt they’d come up with the most flamboyant paintings for their mugs. Mine would look really boring compared with whatever they did. Not that I minded. I was used to it. Mom and Dad rarely did anything you couldn’t notice from a mile away.

  I’d just settled down to flip through a book of pictures when the doorbell tinkled and a girl came in. She had deep brown eyes and long blond hair that fell over one shoulder. She was wearing denim shorts and woolly tights and a fluffy sweater with a couple of silver dog tags around her neck. She looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t notice me in a million years. Far too cool and pretty and trendy for the likes of me.

  She stood in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her shorts as she looked around the shop.

  “Robyn!” Annie went running over to the door and threw her arms around the girl.

  “Annie.” Robyn relaxed into the hug.

  I watched them out of the corner of my eye, my head still in the book I was holding. I didn’t want to look nosy.

  Robyn pulled away. “I thought you said you were busy,” she said. “There’s hardly anyone here!”

  Annie stroked Robyn’s hair. “I know. I just wanted to see you,” she said with a quick smile. “Was your father OK about you coming over?”

  Robyn shrugged as she fiddled with the dog tags around her neck. “I said I was going for a walk.”

  Annie lowered her voice. I could still hear her, though. Everyone else had gone quiet except the toddler, who was happily chatting away to himself. “He doesn’t know you’re here? Robyn —”

  “He’s fine.” Robyn waved Annie’s concern away with a flick of her hand. “Probably glad to get rid of me,” she added with what sounded to me like a false laugh. “I think he’s already sick of me being around so much — and fall break has only just begun.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I was trying to help him get a new system going in the shop. You know what it’s like in there nowadays.”

  “No, not really. I haven’t been in there for the last year,” Annie said tightly. “You know that.”

  “Well, anyway, I only wanted to help, but he said I was getting in the way. He told me to get out from under his feet. So I’m sure he won’t even miss me.”

  Annie’s face turned even more serious. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  “Honestly, it’s
fine. He doesn’t know I’m here, and there’s no reason why he’ll find out.”

  Annie thought for a moment. “Just this once, then,” she said. “You know I prefer him to know when you meet up with me, even if he doesn’t like it.” Then the warmth crept back into her eyes as she took Robyn’s hand and led her to the counter at the back of the shop. “Come on, then. Let’s fetch you an apron, and you can get started.” She pointed to the table where Mom and Dad were sitting. “We’ve got a new family in today. Maybe you could help them. This is Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, and this is their daughter, Philippa.”

  I looked up from the book. “Hi,” I said with an awkward wave.

  “Oh, hi,” Robyn said back, glancing briefly across, as though she hadn’t even realized I was there till now.

  “Why don’t you help Philippa choose some good colors?” Annie suggested, pushing Robyn in my direction.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I said. She’d come here to see Annie, not to get stuck with some girl she’d only just met!

  “It’s fine,” Robyn said. She grabbed a couple more books and pointed at a table in the opposite corner from Mom and Dad. “Come on. Let’s sit here.”

  We thumbed through the books in silence for a bit. After a while, I started to feel stupid. I didn’t know what to paint, I couldn’t decide which colors to use, and now I couldn’t think of anything to say, either.

  I sneaked a look at Robyn over the top of the books. I could feel myself getting worked up. Why did we have to get saddled with each other? She was the kind of girl I had nothing in common with. I could tell just by looking at her. She probably liked to talk about clothes and makeup and jewelry. Things I had no interest in. I knew the type. They wore the right outfits and had the right friends. I’d learned before not to try to get in with them. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

  I wished we didn’t have to work together. Why couldn’t I just sit with my parents?

  I tried to look at the books and not to feel awkward about the silence that was sitting between us like a wall.

  A moment later, Annie was by our table, and the wall crumbled down.

  “Come on, you two — why don’t you just grab a couple of mugs and go for it?”

  I looked at Robyn. “OK,” she said. I followed her silently to the mug shelf.

  Robyn picked a china cup with a long, thin handle that tapered daintily down the side. I chose a stocky round one with a big fat chunky handle. It was satisfying and solid to hold. Perfect for hot chocolate. Shame we didn’t have perfect hot chocolate to go in it.

  Annie was still hovering. “So. What are you going to paint?”

  I stared at my mug and didn’t reply. What was the matter with me? Just because I had to work with someone who probably had a million things she’d rather do than hang out with me didn’t mean I had to turn into a mute. But Robyn seemed to have done the same thing.

  “Why don’t you just say the first things you can think of?” Annie suggested.

  I looked at my chunky mug. “An elephant!” I said after a while.

  “Good! Robyn?”

  Robyn shrugged. “A giraffe?”

  Annie turned back to me.

  “A gingerbread house,” I said.

  “A skyscraper!” Robyn countered.

  I examined my mug again. “I know. A forest.” I could see it now. Big, thick trees all around it, the sun peeking through. Just like the view out of the French windows back at the cottage — when you could see it through the rain.

  Robyn caught my eye. “OK, and I’ll do a jungle.”

  “Perfect,” Annie said, and floated off to join my parents.

  We started picking out various shades of green and brown from the paint box. I picked red and orange, too, for the autumn leaves.

  “Don’t forget blue for the sky,” Robyn said.

  “You mean gray and white for all the clouds, don’t you?”

  Robyn laughed. She had a nice laugh — kind of squeaky and shy. I felt myself relax a tiny bit. I realized I’d been too quick to judge her. Maybe I was wrong about her.

  “I’m going to make the handle into a rainbow,” I said.

  “Good idea.”

  We settled down to paint, working silently, but some of the awkwardness had gone, so it didn’t matter quite so much that I still couldn’t think of anything to say.

  My parents were engrossed in their own mugs. Annie had joined them and chatted easily with them while they worked. There was soft music playing from a stereo behind the counter at the back of the shop. Panpipes or something. Just Mom’s kind of thing. I prayed she and Dad wouldn’t get up and do a jig. I wouldn’t put it past them.

  “So, are you here on vacation?” Robyn asked after a while.

  I nodded. “Yeah, just for the week.” I dipped my paintbrush into the red, then dotted it around the bottom of the mug to make tiny leaves that looked as though they’d fallen on the ground around the trees. “We arrived yesterday.”

  “Got some good things to do while you’re here?” Robyn concentrated on her mug while she talked. She was painting her handle yellow.

  “Mom and Dad want to go on a few walks, if the weather improves. They’d like to visit a stone circle near here,” I said with a grimace to emphasize it was my parents who liked doing things like that, not me. I didn’t want her to think I was even more of a boring wimp than she probably already thought I was. Normal kids of my age aren’t usually interested in ancient monuments. They’re more into computer games and cell phones.

  “Tidehill Rocks?” Robyn said.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “There’s something so magical about a stone circle,” Robyn said softly, taking me by surprise. I stared at her.

  “What?” she asked, looking up.

  “Nothing. It’s just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Just I wouldn’t have expected you to say that.” I laughed. “I’m not used to people liking the same kinds of things as me.”

  Then I thought about Charlotte, and felt bad. She and I had had lots in common. Her parents were just as wacky as mine — more so, probably. They’d proved it by going off to live their “back to nature” life hundreds of miles away.

  But there were differences too — and they were bigger than the similarities. Like when the most incredible thing happened to me and I tried to tell Charlotte about it, and all she could do was laugh and thank me for telling such good jokes.

  Robyn would probably laugh at something like that, too. I stiffened and got on with my painting.

  “We’re going to go swimming, too,” I said after a while, just to show her we did normal things as well. “Mom and Dad promised to take me to the pool inside the fancy hotel up the road.”

  Robyn nodded and got back to her mug. “Good idea, if this rain keeps up,” she said, glancing up at the window. The rain still spattered against it.

  “Anything else we should do while we’re here?” I asked.

  “There are some great forest walks. The woods have got sculpture trails — there’s some amazing stuff. You should definitely check them out if you like walking.”

  “Great — thanks. A sculpture trail sounds just like my parents’ sort of thing,” I said, dipping my paintbrush in water. I didn’t want to admit I liked the sound of a sculpture walk, too. After all, she was only telling me the local tourist attractions, not what she liked to do. I imagined she liked going to the nearest big town and spending the day shopping with her friends. She probably had hundreds of best friends.

  “Yeah, it’s my sort of thing, too,” Robyn said, and I wanted to kick myself for being a coward. What was the matter with me? Hadn’t I learned the hard way that it was best to be myself? If people didn’t like me for who I was, that was their problem. I shouldn’t pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

  It was looking more and more as though my initial impression of Robyn was completely wrong! I tried to think of something else I could say
, to show Robyn that I liked the same things that she did. My mind went blank, so I continued painting my mug in silence.

  After a while, Robyn held up her mug. “Hey, Annie!” she called. “What do you think?” She’d painted a snake on the handle, twisting around and around, its forked tongue sticking out over the top of the cup.

  “I think it’s great!” I said shyly.

  Annie got up from my parents’ table and came over to join us. “Good work there, kid,” she said with a smile. Then she turned to look at mine. “Beautiful trees, Philippa. And a rainbow on your handle — what a lovely idea! You’re quite gifted.”

  I blushed instantly. Me? Gifted? I don’t think so! “Mom and Dad are the talented ones in our family,” I said.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard,” Annie said with a wink. “I believe it was your talent that got you here in the first place.”

  I glanced across at Mom and Dad. Did they have to tell our life story to everyone they met?

  “Oh. Yes, well, I guess so,” I said, my face heating up as Annie left us again.

  “Your talent got you here — what does that mean?” Robyn asked.

  “Oh, it was just a competition at school,” I mumbled, embarrassed and shy. “Nothing major — don’t worry.” I got back to my forest mug and continued working in silence, making a point of concentrating hard so she wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  I was just putting the finishing touches to the handle when I looked up and saw a man at the window. He was thin and tall, his face pale and taut, dark hair plastered to his head with rain. He didn’t have a coat on, just jeans and a black sweater that was drenched and hanging off him. Rain ran down his cheeks as he looked into the shop. Then his eyes fell on Robyn. A moment later, the door was open.

  “Robyn! Home — now!” he thundered from the doorstep.

  Robyn’s face jerked away from her mug. “Dad! What are you —”

  “Now, I said!”

  Annie was out of her seat in a moment. “Martin, there’s no need to stand in the doorway. Come in while you —”

  Robyn’s dad didn’t budge from the step, and he didn’t look at Annie. It was as though she weren’t there. “Robyn, I’m not going to tell you again. You’re coming home now!”