Now I was standing in the garden, hunched up tight, not daring to take a step further. Will gripped my wrist tightly, tense himself. I wondered what he could see.
‘Let’s go back, Will,’ I begged.
‘No, Violet. Let’s go forward,’ said Will, pulling me.
The grass reached right up my legs so I had to wade through it like water. Brambles tore at me, branches flipped into my face. Will steered me slowly, telling me to duck and dodge, but I was clumsy with fear and kept blundering into things. I couldn’t help thinking there might be someone in the garden watching us.
‘Is there anyone there, Will?’ I whispered.
‘Oh yeah, Miss Lang’s ghost. Watch out, she’s coming to spook you,’ said Will. ‘Help, help, she’s coming!’
I knew he was fooling around but I could suddenly see her, luminous white in a long nightgown, her face twisted sideways with her stroke. I could hear the rasp of her breath, the shuffle of her slippered feet, the tap, tap tap of her stick. I knew I couldn’t see anything under my blindfold, and I was simply hearing my own breath, my own footsteps – but I still clutched Will desperately.
‘Leave go of me!’
‘But I’m so scared, Will. I hate it out here.’
‘OK, OK. We’ll go indoors,’ said Will.
He didn’t lead me back towards the gap in the hedge. He led me onwards, to the back of Miss Lang’s house. He had to be playing another trick on me. We couldn’t possibly get inside. All the doors were boarded up, the windows bricked in.
The windows at the front. They hadn’t bothered to brick the back windows. I heard Will bashing at some catch and then felt him pushing hard. Something splintered and Will hurtled forwards.
‘Now comes the tricky bit,’ said Will, breathing heavily. ‘You’ve got to do exactly as I say, Violet. Just follow me.’
I didn’t have to follow him. I could tear the blindfold from my face and run away from him. I could barricade myself back in my own room till Mum and Dad came back. What was the time? What if they came home early and we were missing?
I couldn’t concentrate on Mum and Dad now. This was just Will and me. I had to stand up to him. I wasn’t a stupid baby any more. I didn’t have to do what he said. He didn’t have any real power over me. He still had a hold on me but he was scrabbling upwards, obviously trying to get in the window. I could tug my arm free now, when he was trying to balance on the sill. Now!
‘Now, Violet!’ Will hissed.
I did as I was told. I scrambled after him, blindly obedient. He hauled me up and swivelled me round and pushed me out over the sink. I got painfully caught on the taps for a moment but then I fell with a thump onto the cold kitchen floor.
I lay there, winded.
‘Violet? Vi, are you all right?’ Will touched my shoulder, giving me a little shake. He sounded scared but he still didn’t take the blindfold off. I lay holding my breath as long as I could, wanting to make him really worried.
‘I know you’re pretending,’ said Will, but he bent right down and put his face against mine to see if I was breathing. His cheek was as smooth and soft as a girl’s. His hair tickled my forehead. I twitched.
‘You bad girl,’ said Will. He tickled me under the chin. I shrieked and squirmed away from him.
‘There! Making out you’re dead!’
‘I feel dead,’ I said. ‘You’re killing me, Will, dragging me into hedges and through windows, acting like we’re on some crazy quest.’
‘We’re not finished, yet,’ said Will.
‘Please take the blindfold off. It’s really hurting, cutting right into my head. My eyes feel like they’re being poked back into my brain.’
I remembered my old baby doll and the terrible day her blue eyes disappeared into the back of her head and rattled inside. I felt as blind and helpless now.
Will pulled me along and I stumbled after him, through the kitchen, along the hall, in and out of the front room and then the living room. Our footsteps echoed horribly as we walked over the bare floorboards. I struggled to keep a plan of the house in my head but it was getting harder and harder. It stopped being Miss Lang’s ordinary suburban semi, the mirror image of ours. It was distorted into a dark maze and I felt as if I was never going to find my way out.
Will led me up the stairs. I tripped on every step. We seemed to be going up and up and up – but when we reached the top at last it still wasn’t over. We didn’t go right or left along the landing. We were going up again.
‘Here,’ said Will, putting my hands on the rungs of a ladder.
‘I can’t! I can’t, Will. Not blindfolded.’
‘Yes you can. I’m just behind. Go on. Up. Up!’
I went up, Will pushing me every time I stopped. I started sobbing, my nose running. I hated Will for doing this to me. I hated myself for letting him.
He was reaching over my head, struggling to push the trapdoor open. We were going up into the attic. I felt my way up the last few rungs of the ladder, knowing that I could easily fall and break my neck.
‘I’ve got you,’ said Will, beside me now, hand under my elbow, helping me. I hauled myself up, right into the attic.
There was a strange smell, not just dust and mould. I straightened up cautiously. I heard Will switch on the light. And then there was a flapping and a rushing as little creatures flew at me, their wings beating in my face.
Dear C.D.,
I wonder if you’ve got a brother? Did he ever scare you when you were young? Did you ever stand up to him?
I wish I knew how to stand up to Will.
I wish you were my brother. I wish you were my friend. I wish you could write to me.
With love from
Violet
XXX
From The Smoky Fairy by Casper Dream
So the Smoky Fairy and the Magic Dragon flew away . . .
Three
THEY WERE BATS, flying all round me, flapping their weird black wings. I screamed and screamed, waving my hands wildly, trying to beat them away. Will helped me tear the blindfold off and let me escape down the ladder first. My shoes slid on the rungs and I scraped my shins. I ran along the landing, raking my long hair with my fingers, terrified one of the bats might be tangled up in it.
I hurtled down the stairs, along the hallway, blundering in the gloom even without the blindfold. I heaved myself up onto the draining board in the kitchen, edged out of the broken window, and then raced down the garden. I wove my way through the long grass, scared there were more little darting creatures hiding there. I found the gap in the hedge and burrowed my way through.
I straightened up in our own garden. It looked so neat and ordinary, the grass clipped, all the plants carefully pruned. I ran to the back door and got into the kitchen just as the old grandfather clock in the hall was chiming midnight.
It was a shock seeing how muddy I was. I’d made dirty footprints across Mum’s newly polished floor-tiles. I took my trainers off and rushed upstairs to the bathroom. I locked the door and then started running a bath, struggling out of my filthy clothes.
Will banged on the door. ‘Vi?’
‘Go away, you pig.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Violet.’
‘I’m having a bath. Clear off.’
‘Look, I didn’t know about the bats, I swear I didn’t.’
Will was so good at lying you never knew when he was telling the truth.
‘Vi, talk to me.’
I pressed my lips together, rubbing soap all over myself. I dunked my head in the water too, massaging shampoo in so fiercely I scratched my scalp. I needed to wash away the feel of the bats. I kept twitching and shuddering as if they were still flying into my face.
‘You’re being very childish,’ said Will, rattling the doorknob.
I said nothing, rinsing my hair.
‘If you don’t answer I’m coming in,’ said Will.
My heart started thumping. I’d locked the door, but the lock was old and faulty. We both knew Will
only had to shove the door hard and the lock would give.
I waited.
He waited.
Eventually I heard him walking away, along the landing to his own room.
I breathed out. The blood was beating in my head. I could even feel it in my eyelids. It felt as if tiny wings were trying to fly through my lashes. I rubbed my eyes hard with the towel, and then stood up. The bath had been too hot. I felt dizzy and had to lean against the wet tiled wall. When the room stopped whirling round I wrapped myself in the largest towel, grabbed my muddy clothes and listened at the door. I waited, steeling myself, and then made a dash for it along the landing to my own room.
I was in bed when Will came knocking again.
‘Violet?’
I didn’t have a lock, faulty or otherwise, on my bedroom door.
Will knocked again – and then opened the door.
‘Get out!’
‘I’m not in. Vi, please, I want you to listen to me. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to play the old game and I got a bit carried away. I was just trying to spook things up a bit by going next door. But then it got way too spooky, even for me. Those bats gave me a fright too. Did you see their little vampire faces and those pointy teeth? I didn’t know they were lurking there, I swear I didn’t. You do believe me, don’t you?’
I picked up one of my early Casper Dream fairy books and started slowly turning the pages, taking no notice of Will.
‘Vi? Listen to me.’
He walked into the room and snatched my book away. I made a grab for it. Will held it high above his head.
‘Give it back! Are you mad? It’s a first edition, worth a fortune.’
‘I’m not harming it.’
‘Yes you are. You’re getting your muddy hands all over the cover, look!’
Will looked, and saw the little smears from his fingerprints. He wiped the laminated cover with his sleeve.
‘Gone,’ he said, but he handed the book back, laying it down carefully beside me on the bed.
‘You’re crazy,’ I said, opening the book again.
Will pulled a crazy face, eyes crossed, tongue lolling, nid-nodding his head in front of me.
I always found it weirdly frightening when he pulled faces. It was as if he’d really turned into someone else. I tried to take no notice, concentrating on the fairies in the book. Will started making mad gibbering noises, capering round my bed.
‘Now who’s being childish,’ I said. ‘And there’s mud all over your shoes. Take them off. Go and have a bath. They’ll be back soon.’
‘Don’t be daft. The old man will be out half the night getting sozzled,’ said Will – but as he spoke we heard the car draw up outside.
‘Oh cripes,’ said Will, losing all his cool.
He pretended he couldn’t care less about Dad but he was still a bit scared of him. We all were.
‘Quick!’ I hissed. ‘Get into your bed with your clothes on. Pull the duvet right up so Mum won’t see. Oh help, wait!’ I sat up and wiped a muddy smudge from Will’s cheek.
I was still mad at him but it was always Will-and-me against the parents, no matter what.
‘Thanks, Vi,’ Will whispered, and then he ran off to his own room.
I hoped he wasn’t making any more muddy footprints. The landing light was off so maybe they wouldn’t show. I switched my own moon-globe bedside lamp off and lay in the dark, listening. I heard the key in the front door, then footsteps and voices. They were whispering, but Dad’s voice got louder as he went into the living room. I heard him opening the cupboard where he kept his whisky. Mum murmured something and Dad started yelling at her. The big night out had obviously not been a success.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and then my bedroom door opened. Mum put her head round the door and moved quietly into the middle of my room.
‘Violet?’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake?’
I shut my eyes tight. Mum waited. Then she came padding over to my bed and bent over me. I lay still, heart thudding. After a few seconds Mum sighed and carefully felt her way back to my door.
‘Night night,’ she whispered on her way out.
Did that mean she knew I was faking sleep? I turned over on my tummy, feeling mean. I knew Mum longed for a proper girly daughter to confide in. But I never knew what to say to Mum. We didn’t have a thing in common. It was almost as if I was the one who was adopted.
I listened to see if Mum would check out Will. She paused outside his bedroom, but then walked past to her own room. So there we were, all in separate rooms, each wide awake in the silent house.
I stared up at the ceiling. I thought about the loft up above me. Then I thought about the adjoining loft, under the same roof, where the bats were flying, their leathery little wings beating the air.
I burrowed right underneath my duvet. Phantom bats pursued me, tangling in my hair, diving down the neck of my nightdress. I huddled up tight, clasping Little Growl close to my chest for comfort. I felt so babyish, still needing to cuddle my little teddy. It was a wonder I wasn’t still sucking my thumb. I dropped Little Growl overboard and lay tensely on my own, telling myself to grow up.
What was I doing, still playing these weird games with Will? Why did I always let him control me? He didn’t really have any power over me. He couldn’t make me do anything, not if I stood up to him. I just didn’t know how to do it.
I kept to myself most of Sunday. I had a lie-in and then I had a long bath and washed my hair all over again. It’s so long and thick it always takes hours to dry. The damp weight of it made my neck ache. I twisted it back in a fat plait, but I looked younger than ever then. I untied it and started experimenting, plaiting little strands of hair and tying tiny purple beads to the ends. Violet beads.
I got out my Casper Dream books and flicked through all the fairy plates. His painting of the Violet Fairy was so dark I could barely make out her hairstyle, and she was half hidden anyway behind long blades of grass. But some of the other Casper Dream fairies were very big and bright. The Sun Fairy, the Rainbow Fairy, the Rose and the Fuchsia and the Willow were all fairy princess figures with long curls flowing way past their knees. I could never decide which was my favourite. Maybe the Rose Fairy. She had little plaits amongst her golden curls, coiled intricately to form a crown around her head, studded with tiny rosebuds.
I peered hard at the painting and tried to copy her hairstyle. I didn’t have any rosebuds but I had some old daisy slides from Claire’s Accessories. I wove my crown of plaits, skewered them with slides, and went to look at myself in my long mirror. I sighed. I didn’t look remotely like a Casper Dream fairy.
I pulled all the slides out, brushed my hair hard, and tied it back in one plait. I pulled on my oldest, comfiest jeans and a big baggy sweatshirt. Will’s big baggy sweatshirt. I plucked at the soft material and then tugged it off again. I’d been wearing Will’s clothes ever since I was little, his check lumberjack shirts, his navy sweaters, his stripy T-shirts. Why did I always want to wear his old cast-offs?
I put on my own blue butterfly top. It was small and showed my stomach, but that didn’t matter as I’ve always had a flat tummy. But the rest of me was still flat as a pancake too. That was the really depressing part. My chest was like a little girl’s. A little boy’s. I’d tried wearing a bra and stuffing it with tissues but it just rode up under my armpits because there was nothing to anchor it. I was a totally undeveloped freak.
Mum even took me to the doctor’s to check there was nothing wrong. I had to unbutton my school blouse, nearly dying of embarrassment. The doctor just said I was a late developer, but suggested I might try exercising. I tried bending my elbows and sticking out my chest and whirling my arms around for weeks, but nothing whatsoever happened.
I tried the windmill exercise now, but my fingers kept colliding with the fairy dolls hanging from my ceiling. They bobbed about my head, doing their own aerial exercises.
Mum bought me a proper manufactured Casper Dream fairy doll
one Christmas but I shut her in my cupboard. I hated all the mass-produced Casper Dream trademark fairies in gift shops and toy shops and W. H. Smith. They were horrible pouting plastic creatures with prawn-pink skins and nylon hair. They wore cheap net dresses and matching clip-on wings in stinging shades of magenta and turquoise and emerald and acid yellow.
I leafed through my books, looking at Casper Dream’s subtle shades of soft purple and sea-blue and olive and primrose. I stroked the book fairies’ skin, silver and sand and pearly green, and brushed their long wild curls with my fingertip. I knew Casper Dream would hate those horrible fairies flocked in their plastic cases on shelves in shopping centres. He’d hate the television cartoons too. I’d burst into tears when I saw what they’d done to Casper Dream’s delicate designs and switched the set off straight away. I knew Casper Dream wouldn’t be able to watch them either.
I knew him better than anyone. He knew me too. I had a letter from him.
Dad had bought me Casper Dream’s first book, The Smoky Fairy, when I was six. I don’t know why he chose it. He likes to say now that he had a hunch it was going to be really special, worth a fortune in the future. I think that’s rubbish. Dad probably rushed into a bookshop in a hurry and picked the first little-girly book he came across.
The Smoky Fairy wasn’t a big brightly coloured picture book. It’s a small slim square book. I carried it around in my pocket, pretending the Smoky Fairy herself was nestled up in the silky grey lining. When all the other Casper Dream books started to get popular and Dad saw the price The Smoky Fairy was reaching on the Internet he made me put the book in a cellophane wrapper and store it upright on my bookshelf. Casper Dream’s letter to me is carefully folded up inside it.
I wrote to him to tell him I thought The Smoky Fairy was the best book ever. I’d read it again and again, pointing along the lines with my finger and muttering the words until I knew them by heart. I can’t properly remember everything I said in my letter. My printing was pretty wobbly and my lines wavered up and down the page. I was only six, remember. I wasn’t up to giving him a detailed analysis of why I liked The Smoky Fairy so much.