Will eventually burst out laughing the tenth time I leaped up. ‘For God’s sake, Violet!’
‘She said ten minutes! It’s nearly three quarters of an hour. Where do you think she’s got to?’
I was so anxious, desperate for her to get here. Yet I also couldn’t help hoping she wouldn’t come at all. Part of me wanted the phone to ring and Jasmine to tell me she couldn’t make it after all. I didn’t know why. I didn’t think I needed to worry too much about Will. He seemed to be trying really hard to be on his best behaviour. He could be so beguiling when he wanted. I knew Jasmine didn’t seem to like boys, but she’d actually said she quite liked the look of Will, hadn’t she? It would be so perfect if we could all get on together, Will and Jasmine and me.
So why was my heart beating hard under the butterfly wings on my T-shirt? Why was I staring at the phone, willing Jasmine to ring with some excuse?
I thought of all my fairies, the Dragonfly, the Rose, the Willow, the Crow Fairy, and in my head I set them spinning, scattering fairy dust.
‘Ring!’ I wished – and the phone started ringing.
‘She’s not coming after all,’ I said, running to the phone.
‘Yes she is,’ said Will. ‘You wait.’
‘Hi, Violet,’ said Jasmine on the phone, her voice wavering because she was speaking on a mobile. ‘Sorry, slight delay. I decided to get a bit of food seeing as we’re having this party and I had to wait for the shops to open. I’ll be with you in ten minutes – and I mean ten minutes this time. OK?’
‘Yes. Sure. Lovely. See you soon,’ I said, and put the phone down.
I looked at Will.
‘I’m always right,’ he said smugly.
‘How?’
‘I’m magic.’
‘Yeah.’
‘The changeling child. The dark fairy goblin who disrupts family life. The child who saddens the mother and infuriates the father and terrorizes his little sister.’
‘Oh yes, help, help, you’re frightening me,’ I said, trying to turn it into a joke. ‘I wish you wouldn’t go on about being a changeling, Will, it’s sick.’ But seeing him lounging on the sofa, even in his good clothes with his hair brushed, there was still something unearthly about his white skin and black hair and glittery green eyes, something savage about his big gleaming teeth, something strange about his bare feet with their long toes and pointed nails . . .
‘Cut your nails, why don’t you?’ I said irritably.
‘Right now? So that the princess arrives while I’m hacking at them with your sewing scissors?’
‘Do you really use my scissors to cut your toenails? That’s disgusting! And I wondered why they got blunt so quickly.’
We were still bickering noisily when the doorbell rang at last. Jasmine stood smiling on the doorstep, weighed down with huge carrier bags.
‘Hi! Here’s the picnic!’ she said. ‘Shall I take the bags into your kitchen?’
She looked incredible, wearing a tight black low-cut top edged with lace, a pale pink and primrose flouncy silk skirt, and her black high-heeled boots. She was wearing one armful of bangles and a new home-made necklace, my Jasmine Fairy hanging from a long black velvet ribbon.
‘Doesn’t she look lovely?’ said Jasmine, giving the fairy a little flick with her fingers. ‘You’re so clever, Violet.’
I was pleased she liked the Jasmine Fairy so much, but disconcerted to see her worn as a necklace. It made her more of an object, a pretty little ornament. I didn’t like to see her tied up, hanging on the ribbon, even though Jasmine had attached her very neatly. She’d tied a matching black velvet ribbon round the end of one tiny plait, but the rest of her hair hung loose and shining to her waist. I reached out my hand as I followed her, longing to slide my fingers down those golden curls.
‘Is it through here?’ said Jasmine. ‘Isn’t your house neat and tidy! Jonathan and I are such slobs, we never get the place straightened up. Oh wow, look at your kitchen, it’s gleaming! And it all looks brand new. Have you just had it fitted?’
‘My dad did most of it.’
‘My dad can’t even bang in a nail without knocking a wall down – and ending up in Casualty,’ said Jasmine.
She started unpacking her bags, producing the most amazing luxury food – lobster, king prawns, chicken breasts, flans, salads, baguettes and brioches, chocolate cake, cream cakes, a pineapple, melon, peaches . . .
‘Jasmine! There’s heaps and heaps!’
‘Well, it can be tea as well as lunch. And I thought maybe your brother’s got a big appetite. Will he really help me with my homework, do you think?’
‘Maybe,’ said Will, standing in the kitchen doorway.
He wasn’t staring at the feast spilling out over the entire kitchen unit. He was staring at Jasmine. She was staring straight back at him.
The kitchen was very quiet apart from the tick tick of the timer clock. The fridge suddenly switched itself on and made us all jump.
‘Is this for all of us?’ said Will, reaching for a peach.
‘Do you dare to eat it?’ said Jasmine.
Will looked impressed because she was quoting from his beloved T. S. Eliot. She probably didn’t know the poem at all, quoting at random from some play Jonathan had been in.
‘Oh, I dare all right,’ said Will, sinking his teeth into the peach. A little juice ran down his hand. He licked his fingers.
‘Will, stop eating. It’s only half past eleven,’ I snapped.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Will.
‘You can’t be. You had all that bread and jam at breakfast.’
‘I love bread and jam,’ said Jasmine. ‘My granny used to make her own raspberry jam. It was so good.’
‘Home-made jam doesn’t count. Or nutritious brown bread. The true bread and jam aficionado demands limp white sliced bread and synthetic scarlet jam.’
‘Or how about chocolate spread?’ said Jasmine. ‘Or, I know, that thick sweet milk you get in tins. We had it once when we went camping, Jonathan and me.’
‘Condensed milk! Excellent choice. I can’t imagine you shivering in a sleeping bag, rain dripping down on your canvas roof.’
‘That’s Boy Scout camping. Though I bet you weren’t ever a Boy Scout.’
‘I’m certain you weren’t a Brownie.’
‘No, I wasn’t that sort of girl.’
They seemed to have forgotten I was in the kitchen too.
‘I went to Brownies once,’ I said. ‘I thought it might have something to do with fairies. How sad is that!’
Jasmine and Will didn’t react at all, not even to laugh at me.
‘We could have a coffee now,’ I said, putting the kettle on. I scurried round the kitchen, getting out the best rose-patterned cups and saucers, hunting for a jug for the milk, rifling through the cutlery drawer for the special silver sugar spoon . . .
‘Oh for God’s sake, Violet, stop faffing about,’ said Will, spooning instant coffee into three big mugs. ‘Let’s have the cake now anyway.’
‘Chocolate cake,’ said Jasmine, ripping open the packet.
Will cut the cake with the breadknife, hacking it into clumsy wedges. ‘Here,’ he said, handing the biggest slice to Jasmine.
‘Great,’ she said, taking a large bite.
I’d only ever seen her nibble at food before – one bite, sometimes just one little lick – but now she chewed her way through the great big slice, seemingly relishing it.
Will gave me a big slice too but I was feeling too anxious to eat.
‘So what about your homework, Jasmine?’ I said, trying to make things normal. ‘Is it just the maths, or all of it? I could maybe help you with the history or the French.’
‘Give it here,’ said Will. ‘Seeing as Violet’s bottom of the class in practically everything.’
‘I’m not! Only maths. And I’m nearly top in art.’
‘What about you, Will? You’re top in just about everything, aren’t you?’
Will shrugged. ‘Have
you been going on about me, Vi?’
‘Everyone goes on about you at school. I’ve heard heaps of stuff about you already,’ said Jasmine.
‘Yeah, well, I expect it’s all rubbish,’ said Will. ‘Let’s see this maths then.’
Jasmine fished her school stuff from her big suede shoulder bag. Will peered at the set questions.
‘Right. Piece of cake. Now, I can explain it all properly, show you how to do it, then you can work all the sums out for yourself—’
‘Or you can just tell me the answers,’ said Jasmine.
‘OK,’ said Will.
She started writing them down as he dictated. I hesitated, and then ran to get my maths homework book too.
‘Violet, I rather think Miss Rushbrook will smell a rat if you get your sums all right,’ said Will. ‘You do your own work.’
‘Oh poor Violet, don’t be so mean to her!’ said Jasmine. ‘Come on, Vi, you copy off me.’
So I copied too while Will worked everything out for us. He was so patient, so pleasant. The rare times I’d persuaded him to help me before, he’d always been so ratty and patronizing. He was great with history too, giving Jasmine an entire essay plan with all the points she needed to make. He was fun with French homework, pretending to be French himself, putting a tea cosy sideways on his head like a beret and grabbing a baguette in each hand, conducting with them while he made Jasmine and me recite our way through our vocabulary lists. Jasmine was pretty useless at French but she was brilliant at improvising in a passable accent. Half the things she said were just made-up words but they sounded impressive.
We carried on talking in silly French accents when we started eating our feast. Jasmine acted like a French waiter, tea towel over her shoulder, as she poured out cranberry juice for us.
‘J’aime le vin rouge,’ I said.
‘Pretending has its limits,’ said Will. ‘Let’s get real now.’ He went to the drinks cabinet in the living room and came back with a bottle of Côtes du Rhône.
‘Bon, bon, bon,’ said Jasmine, clapping.
I thought they were still playacting, but Will got the corkscrew out of the cupboard.
‘Will! Dad will go berserk!’
‘So what’s new? Dad’s always going berserk,’ said Will. He dug the corkscrew right in and twisted it. He poured us all a large glass. I didn’t really want any but I didn’t want to be left out. I sipped the red liquid and forced my food down, wondering why it wasn’t working for me. I was with my two favourite people in all the world, and yet it was like being back with Marnie and Terry, the odd one out all over again.
Jasmine drained her glass and Will filled it up immediately.
‘Thank you, brother Will,’ she said. She started singing her own version of ‘Frère Jacques’, substituting Will’s name.
‘Come on, let’s all sing in French,’ she said, waving her glass in the air. The Jasmine Fairy swayed on her chest, her wings fluttering. ‘We could play a game, singing in rounds.’
‘Violet and I know much better games,’ said Will.
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Jasmine, her cheeks very pink.
‘OK, we’ll play La Vérité ou un Défi,’ said Will. ‘Truth or Dare, mes petites filles.’
‘No, Will. Please don’t,’ I begged.
‘I’ll play,’ said Jasmine. ‘What do you have to do?’
‘Simply tell the truth or perform a dare,’ said Will. ‘And don’t think you can fob me off with fibs. I always know when someone’s lying, don’t I, Violet?’
‘That’s because you’re such an expert liar yourself,’ I said.
‘OK, Jasmine. Violet and I have already had a go before you came, so it’s your turn now,’ said Will. He took a gulp of his wine and then said, ‘Why did you make friends with Violet?’
I felt sick, scared of what she might say. Jasmine sipped her own wine, considering.
‘I thought she looked the most interesting person in our class. And I was right – about her, and her family.’
We both smiled back at her.
‘Is it my turn to ask now?’ Jasmine said.
‘No, it’s my turn again. I distort all the rules, don’t I, Violet? And it’s your turn for a question. Are you ready? Who do you like best, Jasmine or me?’
‘Oh, Will. That’s silly. I like you both.’
‘That’s not a proper answer. Come on, choose.’
‘I choose both,’ I said. ‘I can distort the rules too.’
‘Oh no you can’t. I think you’re heading for a forfeit.’ Will reached for the timer. Jasmine raised her eyebrows at me, obviously not taking any of this seriously.
‘Jasmine or me?’ said Will, setting the timer.
‘You can stop that. I’m not choosing. I’ll do the dare.’
‘No, Violet, pick Will. I don’t mind,’ said Jasmine. ‘I wouldn’t trust him when it comes to dares.’
‘I’m renowned for the excellence ofmy dares,’ said Will. ‘So, little indecisive sister, I dare you to go up to our attic and stay for ten minutes.’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said Jasmine. ‘You can do that dare, can’t you, Violet?’
I sat very still. I remembered Will had said he’d put a bat box outside the attic window. Maybe bats were already flapping around our attic in the warm darkness.
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to,’ said Will. ‘Look, I’ll give you the timer. A piddly little ten minutes! Even you can do that.’
‘Please don’t make me, Will,’ I said helplessly. ‘Look, OK, I’ll choose between you and Jasmine.’
‘Too late,’ said Will. ‘You’ve chosen the dare. Now do it!’
I looked appealingly at Jasmine. She was holding onto her fairy necklace, her lips pressed together.
‘Jasmine?’
‘It’s only a little dare, Violet.’ She looked at Will. ‘I’m sure you’ll think up worse ones for me.’
He gave her a strange smile but then he frowned at me. ‘Go on. Here’s the timer. I’ll set it for you when you’re on the steps. Come on, up you go.’
‘But what if there are bats?’
‘Then you’ll be able to do a very useful little wildlife survey and see whether they have short ears and muzzles and are therefore pipistrelles, or maybe they’ll have huge great ears and be placid long-eared bats, or they could just be as big as your head with immensely pointed teeth and be the dreaded demon dive-bombing poison bats.’
Jasmine was falling about laughing. ‘He’s joking, Violet!’
I gave a nervous titter.
‘Come on, up the stairs.’ Will held his hand out to me.
‘You can do it, Violet,’ said Jasmine, taking my other hand. ‘We’ll applaud you when you come down and then it’ll be your turn to ask us questions. You can use your time up in the attic to think up the most amazing embarrassing questions that will make us both squirm.’
I let them lead me up the stairs and along the landing.
‘Can’t you come up with me?’ I said.
‘Violet, you’re deliberately missing the point.’
‘Well, couldn’t you go and have a look in the loft first, just to check there aren’t any bats?’
‘You’ve got bats on the brain, Violet,’ said Jasmine, but she squeezed my hand sympathetically. She looked up at the closed loft entrance high above us. ‘How on earth are you going to get up there?’
‘Open sesame,’ said Will, pulling a lever.
As if by magic the trapdoor opened and a set of steps was lowered downwards. Dad fixed it up years ago so he could store all our old stuff more conveniently. Will and I were expressly forbidden to go up into the loft because the floor didn’t have any proper boards laid down.
‘I’ll probably fall through the joists and break my neck,’ I said. ‘Then you’ll be sorry, Will.’
‘Oh, I’d be heart-broken. If I had a heart,’ said Will, adjusting the timer. ‘Here you are. I’ve set it to go off in ten minutes.’
I snatched the t
imer from him and started up the steps. I kept looking up at the dark rectangle above me, waiting for the bats to come flying out into my face. I wished I’d thought to tie my hair up, even though Will said that was an old wives’ tale. Why should I believe anything Will said? Why could he always make me do whatever he wanted? I looked down at him.
‘Will you come and rescue me if I scream?’
‘Certainly. Once your ten minutes are up. Now get on with it. The timer’s ticking away and you’re not even up there yet. Get in!’
I took a deep breath and tentatively took two more steps upwards, poking my head up into the entrance. It was so dark I couldn’t see a thing. I listened hard for the flapping of wings. I didn’t think I could hear anything. My pulse was beating so fast there was a drumming in my ears. I took one more step, then another. I stood shakily on the last step and walked right into the loft. I stood on a narrow joist, dizzy with fear, waiting. And waiting. And waiting . . .
I put my hand out, terrified that something might be waiting too, invisible in the dark. I couldn’t feel anything in front of me. I tried moving my hand sideways, sweeping it in an arc. My fingers brushed against something small and hard and familiar on the loft wall. A light switch! I flicked it on and saw the loft properly. It wasn’t the bogey bat lair of my imagination, it was a perfectly ordinary dusty room stacked with suitcases and trunks and boxes, with a big water tank in the corner.
I waited for Will to shout up to me that it was cheating to have the light on. Perhaps he couldn’t see from down on the landing. I stepped gingerly from one joist to the next, making my way over to a big cardboard box containing a Sylvanian Family tree house, all my old Barbie dolls, a push-along dog on wheels. I squatted precariously beside it, stroking these once-loved toys, sucked straight back to my little-girlhood.
I started searching through the other boxes. There were lots of boring things, old tea sets, spare duvets, sports things, a box of police boots, helmets and a truncheon. Then I came to a box of baby stuff. Little pink dresses, a white hand-crocheted shawl, a musical box, a white christening robe with pink smocking, little pink and white striped booties . . . I put a tiny knitted bootie on either forefinger and waggled them up and down like little glove puppets.