Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter Page 5

  The window! The dream! Had Daisy had something to do with —

  “Look, I have to go,” she said.

  “I’m so glad you came!” I said. She gave me a quick hug and headed for the window. “Go back to sleep,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me.”

  “Of course I won’t!”

  And with that, she lifted the latch, jumped up onto the windowsill, climbed out into the darkness, and disappeared into the black night.

  I woke early. It was just beginning to get light. A grainy gray light filtered in through the window and across the room.

  I felt as though I’d been dredged up from the bottom of the ocean, or from the center of the earth. My whole body sagged with heaviness. I wasn’t ready to be awake yet.

  And then I remembered what had happened last night!

  Daisy had really been here, in this room. I’d seen her with my own eyes, even talked to her. Would she come back? Or would that be all I’d see of her for another six months?

  I was wide awake now, my mind spinning with thoughts and questions.

  I glanced at the clock on my bedside table. It wasn’t even six o’clock. Mom and Dad would sleep for hours.

  But I couldn’t stay in my room any longer, couldn’t even stay inside. I had to get out of here. I got out of bed and bent down to look out my window. The sky was just waking up, growing from black to smudgy deep blue, with a couple of wispy pink clouds hovering in the distance.

  I pulled on my clothes from yesterday and crept backward down the wooden steps. Stopping to listen outside Mom and Dad’s room, I heard their matching soft snores. That decided it. They were fast asleep. I was getting out of here.

  Gently closing the gate behind me, I set off into the woods and along a path that led directly from the garden into the forest.

  My feet squished into the soft ground as I dodged puddles that yesterday’s rain had left behind. The slurp of my feet was the only sound — apart from the birds, who seemed to be just waking up, too. At first, there was just a tweet or two, as though one of the birds was on lookout duty, telling the others, “Come on, time to get up. Someone’s coming!”

  As I got deeper into the forest, the birdsong magnified. Soon, there were birds singing everywhere. Long, tuneful riffs repeated over and over; sharp bursts of tinny trills; beep-beeps like car alarms. The forest was a feathered orchestra!

  The songs, the thin scrapings of pink clouds high above the trees growing into a promise of sunshine, the trees stretching high into the sky all around me, the damp dewy smell of bark — all of it soaked into me and lifted my spirits till I wanted to laugh with pleasure. And I’d gotten Daisy back, too! Life was great!

  I took deep breaths and swung my arms as I walked deeper and deeper into the forest. Mom had told me about doing this after she’d been on a yoga retreat once. It was something about getting oxygen into your body. All the trees would be giving off oxygen, and the more I swung my arms around, the more I’d help it to circulate through my body and release any trapped feelings of anxiety or tension. Something like that, anyway.

  It was hard to remember all my mom’s words of wisdom, since she had been on about a hundred strange hippie retreats and always came back with some new guide to life. “Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness” was her latest motto. She’d gotten it from someone on an anti-fur protest and had written it on Post-it Notes and stuck them all over the house. I didn’t have a clue what it meant, but it seemed to make her happy, so I didn’t complain.

  I swung my arms wider, shaking off the night’s horrible dream and shaking away my questions about whether I’d see Daisy again. Of course I would. I had to!

  As I quickened my step, I felt my mood lift even more. The pink streaks in the sky had deepened and lengthened, stretching all around the forest. Red scars joined them, weaving wiggly lines in between the pink. I watched the sky as I walked, twigs cracking beneath my feet. Until . . .

  The path — it had gone!

  I spun around. Where was it? I must have wandered off it a while ago.

  A cold feeling snatched at me, like a freezing hand grabbing my chest from the inside.

  It couldn’t be far away. I’d only been out here for — how long? I had no idea. I’d left my watch in my room.

  I started to walk back in the direction I’d come from. At least, I thought it was the direction I’d come from — but then it looked pretty much the same everywhere.

  Stay calm. Don’t worry. The path can’t be far away. I took a few deep breaths and tried to look at the situation rationally. Tried to imagine how Charlotte might look at it. Be sensible. Be logical. Make a plan.

  OK, I had a plan. I’d take fifty steps in one direction. If that led me back to the path, then I’d keep going; if it didn’t, I’d simply turn around, take fifty steps back, and try again in another direction. I’d keep doing this till I was back on the path. Nothing to worry about.

  Fifty steps later, I still hadn’t found the path. Fifty steps in another direction, and it was the same. And again and again and again. By now, the cold hand inside me had turned into a claw, scratching at my chest and throat.

  Think, think. Come on.

  I needed a new plan.

  Right. A hundred steps in each direction this time. By now, my heart was racing so fast it was louder than all the birdsong put together — the birdsong that only moments ago had been a gentle, comforting tune, raising my spirits and giving me hope. Now all I could hear was a sky full of squawks and screams. It was as if the birds were laughing at me. Telling one another how stupid I was to have gotten lost in their forest.

  Why had I done it? Why had I come out here? The birds were right. I was stupid.

  I could feel the sobs building up inside me in big lumps of despair and panic. My eyes stung with tears that I was determined to hold back. I wasn’t going to give the mocking forest the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  As I walked on, trying new directions and turning back again and again, the trees started to look thicker. They were crowded more closely together, as if holding their secret more firmly to themselves. They stood utterly still and silent — but I couldn’t shake the feeling that they moved whenever I looked away.

  OK, now I really was being ridiculous! My mind was playing tricks on me. I had to just focus on finding a way out of here.

  Leaves littered the ground, crinkling loudly as I walked. It seemed to be the only sound. Nothing else was moving in the whole forest. Even the birds had fallen silent. The forest was watching me, every eye on me, waiting to see what mistake I’d make next. Why did everything suddenly look so different? How could I have thought this was a comforting, beautiful morning?

  I kept going. The trees were starting to thin out a bit. The ground was lined with fallen branches: long and thin, rows of them scattered everywhere, as though they’d been tossed aside by someone scrambling through them in a hurry.

  I clambered over the fallen branches, searching the ground for anything that looked as if it could be a path, trying to convince myself that I was heading in the right direction. Twigs snapped beneath my feet.

  And then I saw it. Right in the middle of the trees, as though it belonged in the forest as much as they did. A house.

  I stood still, watching it from behind a tree. What did I think it was going to do, jump up and shout “Surprise!”?

  It looked so odd, so different from everything else around it. All around me, there was nothing except forest — trees, birds, leaves, mud. And then this, a quaint little house, right in the middle of it. It was the kind of house you might draw as a little kid. White and square, with two small windows and an oblong door in between and a thatched roof with a chimney sticking out the top.

  I looked to see if there was any smoke coming out of the chimney, any sign of life. Nothing. From here, the windows looked completely dark, so I couldn’t see inside, either.

  There was a wiggly little path leading up to the house. Again, the kind of
path you’d draw if you were five. It was lined with a railing on each side, and netting supporting hundreds of flowers. The trees around the house were full of birds and butterflies flying between the branches. The whole thing was unreal; it was like something out of a fairy tale.

  I took a couple of steps toward it — and stopped dead. The pretty netting on either side of the path — it wasn’t netting at all. It was huge spiderwebs, spreading and stretching all the way up the path!

  Dotted about in between the webs, hundreds of black shells hung on wires. Some of them were open, with enormous moths and butterflies hanging from them. Others were closed, like tombs hanging in rows. What were they? What was this?

  My feet felt like blocks of concrete, fastening me to the ground.

  And then I noticed something else. Inside the house, a shadow moved across the window. There was someone inside!

  That was when it really hit me. I was lost in the middle of a scary forest — and I wasn’t alone!

  This time there was no logic, no being rational, no counting steps — none of that. This time I let instinct take over. I turned away from the cottage. And then I ran and ran.

  Eventually, breathless and exhausted, I saw it — the path! I prayed it was the right one. It could be any path! It might even lead me back to the weird house. But it was the only path I’d seen for what felt like hours, so I decided to take a chance.

  My legs ached from the running, and I slowed back to a walk, carefully making sure I didn’t take my eyes off the path, even for a second.

  Soon, the trees thinned again. I was getting to the edge of the forest. I saw something ahead. Houses! Our cottage! Yes! I started to run again, this time from the sheer relief of being back. I’d never been so happy to see anything in my life as I was to see that garden gate!

  Then I thought of something else. How on earth was I going to explain myself to Mom and Dad? I was covered in mud that had splattered all over my clothes and face, and I’d been gone for hours. They’d be worried out of their minds. How could I have been so stupid and selfish?

  I let myself in through the patio doors. The kitchen was empty.

  “Mom?” I called nervously as I went into the living room. “Dad?”

  Nothing. They weren’t here. They were probably so worried that they’d gone out looking for me. I went upstairs to change into some clean clothes so I could go out into the village and find them.

  But as I passed their bedroom door, I heard something.

  Nnnnngghhh!

  A snore! They were still in bed! I edged their door open. They were both there — Dad on his front, one arm hanging over the side of the bed, Mom on her back, mouth open, snoring noisily.

  I closed the door gently behind me and laughed with relief. Running back up to my room, I checked the time on the clock. It was still only eight o’clock. It felt as though I’d been out there half the day!

  I whipped off my muddy clothes and tossed them into my laundry bag. Then, realizing I was completely worn out, I crept into my pajamas, lay down on the bed, and fell instantly asleep.

  “Philippa, are you awake?”

  Mom’s voice filtered through a sleepy, foggy haze.

  “Mmisthnkso,” I said. I opened an eye and scrunched up my face. Mom was leaning over the bed.

  “It’s nearly noon,” she said. “Dad thought we should wake you. It’s a lovely day. We thought maybe we’d go out for a nice walk. Go and see the stone circle or something.”

  “Mmthbnice,” I said, forcing my other eye open and rubbing my cheek. It felt hot and creased from the blankets.

  “Come on, then, sleepyhead. The day’ll be over before you know it.”

  With that, she left and went downstairs. As I dragged myself out of bed, hot, heavy, and tired, I remembered my earlier escapade in the forest. Had I imagined it? Had it just been another bad dream?

  Then I saw my jeans sticking out of the laundry bag. I pulled them out. Mud all over them. I hadn’t imagined it, then. At least I wasn’t going crazy.

  Mom and Dad were both dressed and drinking coffee in the kitchen when I came down.

  Dad patted the bench beside him. “Come and give your dad a hug,” he said. I sat next to him and snuggled under his arm.

  “Whoops — look what I’ve found!” he said, reaching behind me and tickling my ear. Then he held out his hand. He had a few folded-up bits of paper in it.

  “Dad, that’s the oldest trick in the world,” I said, laughing. However cheesy his tricks were, I still liked him doing them on me. It was thanks to his magic that we were here, really. He’d taught me magic tricks all my life, and it was the magic show I did at the talent contest at school that had won us this trip. Still, the look-what-I’ve-found-behind-your-ear trick wasn’t exactly his most original or impressive.

  Dad pointed at the bits of paper. “Check them out,” he said.

  I took the paper out of his hand.

  “Open them up,” he said with a grand magician’s flourish, spreading his arms wide as though he’d just released twenty white doves from a hat.

  I unfolded the bits of paper. It was three guest passes for the hotel’s indoor pool. “Dad!” I exclaimed. “We’re going swimming!”

  “Yes, indeedy. I went to get them this morning.”

  I hugged him again. “Thank you!” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re the best dad in the world.”

  Mom got up to fix some more coffee. “It’s a gorgeous day. Maybe we should get out in the fresh air first,” she said. “We could always save the swimming for when the weather turns bad again — which I’m sure it will, soon enough.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. As long as we got out of the house and I kept my mind occupied, right now I didn’t care what we did.

  “Philippa! Sweetie!”

  Pretty much everyone in the grocery store turned to see who was shouting. It was the woman with the frizzy hair, the orange-and-green baggy pants, and the old and slightly torn T-shirt with a picture of Che Guevara on it. In other words, my mom.

  Six months ago, I would have died on the spot if she’d yelled to me in public like that. I used to be so embarrassed by my parents that I wished for them to be different. But as soon as I got my wish, I realized I loved them exactly as they were!

  She came over and held out a couple of sandwiches. “Tuna mayo or ham and tomato?”

  I took her hand. “I don’t care. You choose,” I said.

  “Right. Tuna mayo it is,” she said, grabbing three bags of chips and throwing them in the basket with the sandwiches.

  As we left the shop, Mom swung my arm while we walked along.

  “Isn’t that the girl from yesterday?” she said, nodding toward the bookshop in the center of the village. Robyn was kneeling in the window, putting some books out on a stand. She didn’t see us at first, but she looked up as we passed by and immediately stood up and waved.

  “Let’s go and say hello,” Mom said.

  “Mom, she probably won’t want to —” But she was halfway through the door, dragging me along behind her.

  “Hi,” I said awkwardly as I closed the door behind us.

  Robyn came over to the front of the shop. “I’m glad you came in,” she said. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to sound as though seeing someone get dragged out of a shop by a man who looked like a walking explosion was the kind of thing that happened every day.

  Mom wandered off. “I’ll just have a look around while you girls chat,” she said, leaving me stranded and once again not knowing what to say.

  “Is this your shop?” I managed eventually, silently screaming at myself for being so dull.

  Robyn nodded. “Yeah. My dad’s had it for years. We live here, too. We’ve been in the apartment upstairs since —” She stopped and looked down. Her face seemed to close over and darken, as though a cloud had sailed across it. “Well, for nearly a year,” she said quietly.

&n
bsp; An awkward silence fell. I glanced over at Mom. She was wandering around the shop, head bent sideways as she scanned the spines of the books.

  “Come and sit down for a minute,” Robyn said, leading me through the rows of books. They were stuffed into every tiny space you could find, stacked so high in some places I was amazed they balanced.

  Her dad was kneeling on the floor, sorting through a boxful of books and making some notes on a pad. He looked up as we passed him and gave a slight nod. I smiled in reply, but he’d looked away again, and I felt like he hadn’t even noticed me. It was as though he’d looked through me.

  Robyn led me to an alcove at the side of the shop. It had a bay window with cushions and beanbags and an old sofa. A cabinet held rows of comic books, art and craft manuals, magazines. “This is where I go when I want to escape from the world,” Robyn said, plunking herself down on a beanbag and patting the one next to her for me to join her.

  Her dad had gotten up and started slotting books onto the shelves. I watched him mechanically squeezing them in.

  His face was stubbly where he hadn’t shaved. His sweater was stained, and one of the cuffs was torn. His jeans looked as worn as his eyes. His black hair flopped onto his face as limp and lifeless as the rest of him. It was as though he didn’t care what he looked like. He didn’t seem so scary today. More sad and pathetic, to be honest.

  He stopped for a moment when he reached the shelves in front of us. “You know, I’m sure your friend has better things to do than hang around here all day,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” I said. “I like it here.”

  He nodded vaguely and went back to the box of books.

  “Sorry about my dad,” Robyn said in a quieter voice. “He’s OK, really. He’s just never really been the same since . . . Well, he’s not always good at being sociable, but he’s all right once you get to know him.”