Just Dreaming

  “We’ll be okay,” said Henry kindly. “We’ll concentrate on aromatic hydrocarbons.… I have a kind of feeling they may come up in the test.”

  Grayson looked at him suspiciously. “You haven’t been…?”

  “No,” said Henry. “There are dreams that even I would rather avoid, and Mr. Fourley’s are definitely among them. Now, wake up! Before we do.”

  Reluctantly, Grayson closed his eyes. “So what else do I do?”

  “You’re lying in your bed. You feel the pillow under your head,” I prompted him. “Keep your eyes closed. You’re lying in bed with the quilt over you.… Imagine it in detail. When we were talking about Emily and the necklace at Jasper’s party, you said something about shellfish logistics. I’ve thought it over this way and that, but I can’t make it out. Selfish hysterics, or what?”

  “No idea,” murmured Grayson.

  “If that was to do with Emily, probably something about a hypocritical tart,” suggested Henry, winking at me.

  “Yes, right, hypocritical so-and-so. The hell with eternity. Not with me,” said Grayson crossly. “I got that damn necklace back.”

  I knew it.

  Mrs. Honeycutt’s grandfather clock began striking.

  “Keep your eyes closed, and breathe deeply in and out, Grayson,” I told him, but then I was gasping for air myself, because without advance warning, a door in the wallpaper that hadn’t been there before opened, stupidly not on the same wall as before. And even more annoyingly: flabby, little Alfred didn’t come through the door slowly this time; he leaped into the room with a hoarse cry and the cushion under his arm, moving like a jack-in-the-box, at the very moment when Grayson opened his eyes in alarm.

  And then … then Grayson disappeared.

  12

  “IT WORKED THIS time,” said Henry, pleased.

  Yes, it obviously did.

  “Alfred,” gasped Mrs. Honeycutt.

  “Becky!” Alfred swung the cushion in the air. “Your last hour has come!”

  “We’d better wake up too,” I told Henry. “Before he smothers Mrs. Honeycutt and the dream collapses.”

  “Definitely not.” He took my hand. “I’m so glad to be alone with you at last. Have you noticed that, with all these problems, we never have any time to ourselves?”

  “Well, we’re not exactly alone with each other here either.…”

  “Please,” begged Mrs. Honeycutt. “Don’t hurt me, Alfred. You have what you wanted after all.”

  Alfred laughed his hoarse, serial-murderer’s laugh. “Becky, Becky! What’s to prevent me from cashing in your life insurance too?”

  Exasperated, Henry rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, please,” he said, going over to Alfred. As he didn’t let go of my hand, I had to follow him. “Mrs. Honeycutt doesn’t have time for you now, little fatso.” And as he spoke, I saw Alfred shrinking until he was no larger than my little finger, a tiny, little doll with an even tinier flowered cushion under his arm. He was opening and closing his mouth, but you couldn’t hear a word he said.

  “Wow,” I said, impressed.

  “Where is he? Where did Alfred go?” whispered Mrs. Honeycutt. “He came to smother me. The way he killed my sister. In her sleep, on the sly.”

  “Alfred will come back another time. At a more suitable moment.” Henry bent down, picked tiny Alfred up between his forefinger and thumb, and put him down on the windowsill, under a glass dome that already had a tiny little pot containing an Alpine violet cutting underneath it. He did all that without letting go of my hand. “He can act the part of garden gnome here for a while. And you can finish knitting your beautiful stole in peace. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt looked at the shrunken figure of Alfred with his head on one side, under the glass dome (at that size, he looked positively cute, and so did the cushion). “They never believed me,” she said sadly. “Because he looked so harmless. And he shed such heartrending tears at Muriel’s funeral.”

  “Go on knitting, Mrs. Honeycutt,” whispered Henry as he made the open door in the wallpaper vanish by snapping his fingers at it. “That will give you something else to think about.”

  “Knitting till the break of day drives all pain and grief away,” squawked the parrot.

  Mrs. Honeycutt nodded and picked up her knitting again. “Muriel and I loved to knit, even when we were children.” As her needles began clicking, she smiled. “Muriel used to knit things to suit everything and everyone. She described it as beautification. Our guinea pigs, rolls of toilet paper, telephones, doorknobs, Alfred—even he wasn’t safe from her. Once—she was already thirty-five too—once she knitted her vacuum cleaner a pullover.”

  “Wonderful,” whispered Henry as he cautiously moved back to the tea table, with me still in tow. “Simply wonderful, Mrs. Honeycutt. Keep thinking of your lovely stole and how beautiful it will look when it’s finished.”

  “Not bad,” I whispered.

  “Thanks. Where were we?” Henry pulled me into his arms and kissed me on the mouth. Long enough to make me weak at the knees, but not for me to forget that Mrs. Honeycutt was there. She cleared her throat disapprovingly when I propped myself on the tea table, trying to keep my balance, and almost dragged the tablecloth and an Alpine violet off it.

  “It … I think it was about us not having anywhere private to go,” I said a little breathlessly, as I quickly got all the stuff on the table back into its proper position.

  “Yes, it was.” Henry was keeping his eyes on me. He put out one hand and smoothed a strand of hair back from my face. His touch was very gentle, but it immediately sent an electric shock right through me. “We’re not alone together nearly often enough. But I have some good news.”

  “Mhm,” I said in as neutral a tone as possible. I didn’t mind the lack of time for just the two of us so much until I’d disposed of Rasmus. On the other hand—in view of the way Henry kissed me (and he was doing it again)—I’d better deal with that problem as soon as possible. Because this felt just too good. I couldn’t help it; I wound my arms around Henry’s neck and drew him closer to me. It was great to be so near him, and for a moment I couldn’t have cared less about all the imaginary ex-boyfriends in the world. I concentrated exclusively on Henry’s soft lips and his hands. One of them was on my back, holding me firmly and securely, as if he never wanted to let go of me again; he had the other on the back of my neck, and his fingertips were very gently stroking the sensitive skin there. That alone would have been enough to deprive me of any ability to think straight. And then his kiss again … I sighed.

  Lovely dream. Lovely, lovely dream.

  It was some time before Henry reluctantly let go of me. There was a light in his eyes. And presumably in mine too, or at least that’s how I felt. A bit like having a high temperature.

  “Back to my news.” Henry’s voice sounded hoarse, and his hair was even untidier than usual, which I supposed was my doing. He took a step back, as if he deliberately wanted to put a little distance between us. “Listen. My mother is flying to Ibiza to stay with friends over the spring vacation, taking Amy and Milo. She doesn’t want me there so that she can drink white wine beside the pool every evening without a guilty conscience.” His voice was matter-of-fact, and as so often, he had raised one corner of his mouth derisively, but there was something else in his eyes, something that almost broke my heart. “Which means I have the house all to myself for two wonderful weeks. No one will be wanting me to read The Gruffalo aloud for the hundred thousandth time, no one will be burning herself on an omelet pan or throwing a tantrum because one of his Legos has gone missing, no one will want to have all the math he’s supposed to have learned in the last month explained in five minutes flat, and no one will come running in and throw up on the rug.” He laughed. “Well, except maybe the cat. Why are you frowning like that?”

  Because these glimpses of Henry’s family life were rather like a cold shower to me. The proverbial cold shower. Never mind how am
using he made it sound, it always brought a lump to my throat. But because I knew he hated sympathy like poison, I tried to assume a less skeptical expression.

  “Aren’t you glad?” He looked genuinely disappointed.

  “Glad you won’t by lying on the beach for vacation?” Of course I knew that alcoholism is a sickness, but all the same, and without even having met her, I felt a deep dislike for Henry’s mother.

  “Glad we can finally have a place where it’s guaranteed no one will disturb us,” said Henry.

  Oh my word. Only now did I see what he was getting at. “When actually is the vacation?” I asked in a slight panic.

  “It starts on March the twenty-eighth.”

  As soon as that? Only three weeks to go, at the most. Three weeks in which I must either learn to fly, or come out with the truth. Preferably the latter, here and now at that. You had to approach it as something like pulling off a Band-Aid. Don’t stop to think too much, just do it.

  “Henry…,” I began. My mouth was suddenly very dry. I began pacing up and down, although I ran the risk of startling Mrs. Honeycutt. But I couldn’t help it. When I was so close to Henry, I was simply unable to think clearly—as if my brain wanted to switch to autopilot and register only Henry’s nice smell, and the way his chest muscles felt under his T-shirt, and how …

  Stop it! This was getting us nowhere. I had to pull myself together and summon up all my courage.

  “Henry, about—”

  “I know,” Henry quickly interrupted me, suddenly looking embarrassed. “And you’re right. It’s strange that you’ve never been to my place, and now you’d be coming only because the house is empty, and we’ll have a place where we can sleep together undisturbed. I thought that, to keep it from feeling weird, I’d ask you to visit next Sunday.” He took a deep breath. “To meet my family officially. And for them to meet you.”

  I could only stare at him, taken aback. He suddenly seemed even more nervous than me, standing there with his hands in his jeans pockets and a guilty look in his eyes as he gazed at me.

  “It’s a fact, I’ve done all I could to keep them and you apart, and I was rather—well, I know I upset you. That business of B and my father, and the way I acted later…” He took a step toward me. “But now we’re together again, I don’t want to make the same mistake a second time.”

  Another step.

  He put out his hands. “You see, Liv…”

  Now he was close to me, looking at me with as much concentration as if I were a puzzle that he had to solve, and I noticed something inside me skip a beat. Probably my heart. “You see, Liv, whatever happens I don’t want to lose you again.”

  Tears were prickling my nose, and I let my head sink quickly against his chest. I couldn’t have him see them glittering in my eyes.

  All the same, he seemed to sense how I was feeling. “Hey,” he whispered in my ear, laughing quietly, “if anyone can cope with a family like mine, it’s you.”

  “Sure, I have nerves of steel,” I replied, grateful for the chance to get back in control of myself. Although my voice still sounded rather shaky. “Don’t worry.” I could trust myself to look straight at him again; I’d smiled away my tears. “Your family isn’t as peculiar as you make out. I mean, I know Amy and Milo already.”

  “Yes, so you do,” said Henry ironically, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “That was the day when you also met my father and his girlfriend face-to-face and heard the way they shouted at my little brother. What a delightful afternoon.”

  I gave him a quick kiss. I could cope with sarcasm myself—that, at least, was familiar ground. “Exactly,” I said. “And on the same occasion I made off with that pretty snuff box.” The one that later helped me to get into Henry’s father’s dreams and convince him to change his reckless plans. I was still a little proud of that. “Did you give it back to him?”

  Henry shook his head. “I’m keeping it. In case of bad times.” His gray eyes looked intently at me. “Are you ever going to tell me how on earth you did it, Liv?”

  I shook my own head. “I’m keeping that to myself—in case of bad times,” I retorted. “If we ever run out of things to talk about, I can tell you that story.”

  “Hmm. One way or another, talking is overestimated, anyway.” Henry grinned, put both hands on my waist, drew me close, and began kissing me again, and this time I forgot that we were really dreaming, I forgot that Mrs. Honeycutt could see us, I forgot practically everything.

  There was only Henry and me and … that damn parrot.

  “Go find a room,” it screeched somewhere close to us.

  We couldn’t help laughing.

  “A good thing we cleared that up.” Henry sat down on one of the chairs, pulling me down on his lap. “Right, then, tea at our house next Sunday at three.” I leaned against his shoulder. “And about … about the vacation, we have a bit of time yet to discuss some things.”

  “Hmm.” I stared at the attractive curve of his lips and thought what it would feel like to trace it with my forefinger. “Like what, for instance?” I absentmindedly asked.

  “For instance, like what we do about contraception.”

  I sat up abruptly and had a coughing fit. “What?”

  “Well, we ought to think about it first, don’t you agree?” Unfortunately Henry wasn’t a bit embarrassed.

  “Er, yes…,” I stammered. Damn it, what had I just been thinking about telling the truth before it was too late? Maybe I ought to have another shot.

  “What did you and Rasmus do about it?” asked Henry.

  I felt myself blushing and faked another fit of coughing until I felt I had the blush under control. Luckily that happened much faster in a dream than in real life.

  “Livvy? Do you feel awkward talking about it?”

  You bet I did. “No, you’re right. We ought to think about these things. And Rasmus and I … er…” Rasmus and I only went for walks together. Because he was a dog. Say it. Just tell him, Liv. And then you’ll be awake and biting your pillows.

  “Condoms,” I managed to say.

  Henry nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s the most sensible thing. For a start, anyway.” Was I just imagining it, or had his face gone a little red too? “Well, three weeks is still a ways off.…” He sighed. (And at that moment the way he looked really did have a fatal resemblance to Rasmus. Rasmus when he wanted a dog treat.) “An eternity, in fact.”

  An eternity … for him, maybe. On the other hand, he was right: a lot could happen in that time. Who knew whether we’d even be in the land of the living then? After all, Arthur and Anabel’s demon had both clearly announced their murderous intentions.

  “When was that eclipse of the sun?” I asked. But Henry couldn’t answer—he had disappeared.

  And without his lap there, I fell against the edge of the chair, and the parrot laughed gleefully.

  * * *

  TITTLE-TATTLE BLOG

  The Frognal Academy Tittle-Tattle Blog, with all the latest gossip, the best rumors, and the hottest scandals from our school.

  ABOUT ME:

  My name is Secrecy—I’m right here among you, and I know all your secrets.

  8 March

  Do you remember those weeks last winter when NOTHING AT ALL happened? You know—that boring time when there were so few scandals to be revealed that I almost felt like inventing some myself. Journalists call a phase with as little news as that the silly season, and you may remember that I used to write a lot about totally uninteresting people or revive stories that had already and probably rightly been forgotten. Well, what can I say, except that right now I don’t have any space to spare for boring people even in the PS. Because you out there are doing the craziest things every day! Thanks, you’re the greatest. (Although maybe we ought to have the drinking-water supply in Hampstead officially investigated, because there’s something not quite right going on here.…)

  So here’s a quick rundown on Jasper’s welcome-home party yesterday, for those who weren’t
present:

  7:00 p.m., an hour before the official beginning of the party … The party begins.

  8:00 p.m.: The beer runs out.

  8:15 p.m.: Emily Clark is wearing such a short skirt and such a tight top that Jasper flirts with her by mistake. Until he looks at her face (presumably also by mistake) and recognizes her.

  9:00 p.m.: The fresh supplies of beer also run out. Guests begin looting the contents of Jasper’s father’s wine cellar.

  9:21 p.m.: Persephone Porter-Peregrin turns up in a dress that her sister bought in Harvey Nichols that afternoon. As the photo shows, she obviously forgot to zip it up the back. Doesn’t matter, it’s a really sexy dress, Pandora. It’s a shame you’ll never wear it without someone pointing at you and saying, “Oh, look, the dress that girl was wearing when she ran amok.”

  Between 9:30 and 9:45 p.m.: The toilets are always occupied, so Ben Ryan pees secretly in the umbrella stand in the cloakroom. Without taking the umbrellas out first. Little does he know that he’s being watched by someone standing behind the coats who has turned into a pillar of salt.

  At about the same time: Persephone drinks until her alcohol level rises from zero to well above the limit, and disappears down to the cellar.

  9:57 p.m.: Persephone appears back in the living room with Jasper’s father’s shotgun and tries to shoot her best friend, Liv Silver, who always makes out she’s a nerdy four-eyes but manages to hook the cutest boys all the same. Unfortunately Persephone doesn’t explain why. But she seems to be in earnest. Arthur Hamilton saves Liv’s life by persuading Persephone to put the gun down. It turns out that it wasn’t loaded, but too late for Maisie Brown, who has already wet herself in terror. (And yes, Maisie, I know I’ve read eleven e-mails in which you say you sat in some lemonade, that was all, and there are witnesses, only it’s a fact that all those witnesses, without exception, say that the lemonade smelled of pee).

  10:00 p.m.: The party is in full swing now, but without Liv and Persephone, who have gone off somewhere. (And without Maisie, who has gone home because of the lemonade on her dress.) Rather mean of Liv, if you ask me, not to thank Arthur for his courage in saving her—no one could have known that the gun wasn’t loaded.