'I think you're getting your wires crossed, Sylvie,' said Carl, opening the Glass H u t door.
I peered around, b r e a t h i n g in t h e lovely slightly earthy smell of the hut. There was somet h i n g slightly strange. The glass collection wasn't arranged with pin-neat perfection. The Glass Boy was facing the wall, his back to us.
The paperweights were clustered together, the vases were spread out unevenly and one of the tiny glass horses was hobbling along on three legs.
'Oh, Carl,' I said. 'The horse's leg's broken!'
'I know. Shame. Still, you know how fragile they are,' said Carl.
'But how did it happen? Who's been in here moving everything around?'
W e l l . . .' Carl suddenly seized the feather duster in the corner of the hut. It was me, Miss Sylvie. I'm Plain Jane the Silly Servant Girl and I was a-doing of the dusting and I just flipped 167
the wee glass horsey with my feather duster and down he toppled and broke his little fetlock—'
'Shut up, Carl. It wasn't you. You're ever so careful when you dust.'
'Yes, OK, well, whatever,' said Carl, tickling my neck with the feather duster. 'Let me see my birthday present then!'
'In a minute. Look, Carl, it's obvious someone's been in here, moving stuff around. It wouldn't be Jules, would it? Perhaps we'd better ask her, because if she hasn't then I t h i n k someone's broken i n — '
'No one's broken in, silly. Paul was here,' said Carl.
'Paul?' I blinked at him.
Tes, he came round for a bit after his match yesterday.'
'And you let him in the Glass Hut?'
'Yes. Don't act like it's such a big deal. It wasn't my idea – he asked to see it, he was interested,'
said Carl, flinging himself on the sofa.
'So interested he mucked everything about and snapped off the horse's leg?'
'He didn't do it deliberately. He can't help being a bit clumsy. He was horrified. He says he's going to get me another one.'
'Did you .. . ?' I swallowed. 'Did you show him our Glassworld book?'
'No!' said Carl. 'No, of course not. It's ours.'
I breathed out.
'Besides, I didn't w a n t him to t h i n k me completely nuts,' said Carl.
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I grabbed the cushion under his head and whacked him with it. He whacked me back a n d t h e n we were messing around mock-fighting, somehow back to normal again. I still hated the thought t h a t Paul had been bumbling around our private place, poking and prying, breaking things, but at least he hadn't stumbled through Glassworld, smashing everything.
'Can I have my present now, please?' said Carl.
I handed it over with a flourish. I didn't need to tell him to be careful. He delicately untied the ribbon, undid the wrapping paper, unwound the bubble wrap.
I waited, my h e a r t beating fast. I knew Carl would be tactful and say he loved whatever I gave him, but I also knew him too well for him to be able to fool me. It was always risky buying him glass when I knew so little about it. I loved the champagne flute and I was pretty sure it was Victorian, but maybe it was just reproduction, maybe it was j u s t any old rubbish and Carl would secretly h a t e it.
'Oh!' he said when he saw it. 'Oh, Sylvie, it's lovely'
'Really?'
'It's absolutely beautiful.' He r a n his finger very gently along the vines curling round the stem. 'Where did you find it?'
'It was in the Cancer Research shop n e a r my dentist's. I didn't have enough money on me but I went back.'
'How much did you pay?'
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'You're not meant to ask that! Ten pounds. Was t h a t too much?'
'Total wondrous bargain. Oh, Sylvie, you're the best friend in all the world.' He raised the glass to me and mimed drinking. He breathed in, as if savouring his sip of champagne, and then held the glass solemnly out to me.
I leaned over and sipped too. It was the way we used to play when we were little, melting ice lollies and pretending they were wine. It was so real I could almost sense the fizz of champagne under my nose, taste the delicate froth on my lips.
I looked at Carl. He looked at me. His face was soft and gentle, his eyes dreamy. He leaned forward a little. He had only to move a fraction more, angle his head sideways, and we would be kissing. I leaned forward too. Carl blinked and stood up suddenly.
'Let's play Glassworld,' he said quickly. 'OK, it's King Carlo's official birthday on Friday, but that's a bit of a public bore, all pomp and ceremony, so Queen Sylviana decides to give him a very special unofficial birthday celebration the Sunday before. Sunday is their only day off from royal duties, a day when they can leave off their glass crowns, kick off their glass boots, and indulge themselves. So they sleep late, and when King Carlo wakes, Queen Sylviana has her pet canary trill Happy Birthday to him. She brings h i m a special b i r t h d a y breakfast prepared by herself, golden croissants in the 170
shape of His Majesty's initial, and a bottle of t h e finest vintage c h a m p a g n e from t h e Glassworld cellars.
'"But you've forgotten the glasses, my dear Queen," says King Carlo.'
'"No, no," says Queen Sylviana, smiling, and she h a n d s him a beautiful midnight-blue parcel tied w i t h silver ribbon, a n d inside the parcel King Carlo finds the finest antique champagne flute blown when his great-great-great-grandfather was but a boy. It's the most beautiful birthday present from his dear Queen.
It makes him very happy. He starts musing on all the past birthdays they've spent together, ever since they were first betrothed as small seven-year-olds. His first birthday present was
. .. Come on, Sylvie, w h a t was it?'
'I don't know,' I mumbled. He was indulging me, playing the game I loved most in the world, b u t it was all delicate diversionary tactics.
'Of course you know,' said Carl. 'Come on, start writing it. On King Carlo's seventh birthday his child bride Sylviana gave h i m — '
'She gave him a huge set of glass Lego bricks, hand-carved prisms with rainbow reflections, and he set to and made an amazing shiny glass palace. Then he fashioned two small figures out of modelling clay, one a boy, one a girl, and put t h e m on two tiny thrones within the newly constructed glass palace, as representations of the infant newlyweds. He promised they would reign over Glassworld happily ever after.'
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'And on his eighth birthday?'
We went through crystal bikes, alabaster snow-skis, a glass aviary filled with lovebirds, a tame snow leopard with a ruby-studded collar, a pair of polar bears with silver claws, a glass fountain with rainbow-hued water, an indoor garden of blue glass flowers, and finally the crystal champagne flute. It was p a r t of an entire sparkling set of glass dishes a n d goblets. King Carlo and Queen Sylviana celebrated the royal birthday by drinking pink champagne out of the birthday flutes and eating strawberries and cream from glass dishes.
'Perfect,' said Carl. 'Maybe Mum can t u r n up trumps and give us real strawberries.'
'We've only j u s t had pancakes. And we don't have t h e special glass dishes for t h e strawberries.'
'Oh fiddle-de-dee, Miss Fussy Knickers. We'll substitute china and use our imagination. .'
Carl hurried off to find Jules.
I stayed in the Glass Hut, starting to write up the latest chronicle. I heard a little ching-ching on Carl's mobile. It had fallen out of his jeans pocket onto the floor while we were wrestling. I pressed the little button to see who was sending him a message. I wasn't really snooping. I did it almost without thinking.
WOT??? NEVER SENT U WAKE UP TEXT, U BERK. IVE
BEEN IN SNOOZZZZZELAND ALL MORN. U DONE YR
MATHS HOMEWORK? CAN I COPY? CHEERS. PAUL.
Mum didn't get home till late afternoon. She came to collect me at Carl's.
'Wow, look at you! Positively glowing' said Jules. 'So what's he like, this Gerry?'
'Oh, he's very sweet,' said Mum, ducking h e r head coyly. H e r cheeks were bright pink a n d she giggled.
br />
'Look at you, blushing like a schoolgirl,' said Jules. 'So when are you seeing him again?'
'Well, next weekend, if it's OK w i t h you?'
'Of course,' said Jules. 'Sylvie's p a r t of t h e family, you know that.'
Mum looked at me. 'Is it OK w i t h you too, Sylvie?' she asked.
'Mm. Yes. Whatever,' I said.
'We'll go home and t a l k about it,' said Mum, putting h e r a r m round me.
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'It's fine, Mum, truly,' I said, wanting to stay with the Johnsons, b u t Mum steered me firmly towards the door.
'Can't you stay for supper, both of you?' said Jules.
'Yeah, h a n g out, why don't you?' said Jake.
'Though watch out, Dad cooks supper.'
'I make a mean plate of b u t t e r n u t -squash risotto, even though I say it myself,' said Mick.
I was looking at Carl. He was carefully looking past me, as if observing something fascinating in thin air.
'Carl!' said Jules. 'I'm not sure t h e Johnson cellars can come up with champagne, but I'm sure we'll find a bottle of Cava lurking somewhere. Then you can sip from your lovely flute in style.'
'Mm. Great. Though actually, I might j u s t dash over to Paul's for supper. He's having a m a t h s crisis and I kind of promised to help him out,' said Carl.
'Do you really have to? Honestly!' said Jules, looking quickly at me.
I smiled as if I'd known all along and was perfectly happy about it. It wasn't really a big deal, was it? Carl h a d a perfect right to go round and see his friend. We'd spent nearly t h e whole day together and he'd been so sweet to me all t h a t time. He'd obviously sneaked off at some point and texted Paul but t h a t wasn't a crime.
Miranda a n d I were always texting each other.
'It's fine,' I said. T h a n k s for having me, Jules, 174
it's been lovely. See you, everyone. Come on, Mum.'
Mum's a r m was still round my shoulders. 'I can't come up with butternut- squash risotto but I'll do us a lovely plate of beans on toast,' she said.
It was our special comfort food. I hated it t h a t Mum felt I needed comforting.
'I'm actually not really hungry. I'm still stuffed with lunch,' I said. 'Maybe I'll j u s t go and get on with my m a t h s homework,' I said as we went into our house.
It seemed so shabby and empty after a day at t h e Johnsons'. There were oblong patches on the walls where Dad's paintings and maps h a d hung, great gaps in t h e bookshelves, heavy indentations in the carpet where his desk once stood. Mum h a d bought a couple of paintings from t h e Hospice charity shop, Gwen J o h n and Picasso reproductions, but they didn't quite fit t h e b a r e squares. The Gwen J o h n woman looked hopelessly forlorn and the old Picasso lady h a d h e r head thrown back, her mouth wide open in agony. We were better off with bare walls.
We bought books from library sales but Mum's were mostly self-help paperbacks and diet books and mine were modern kids' books about broken families, so the bookcase h a d a sad air too. We didn't have enough spare cash for a proper new desk. We h a d a huge flatpack standing in the desk place, but we couldn't even work out how to get it out of its cardboard case, let alone erect it.
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It was as if our lives had been p u t on hold since Dad cleared off. Mum kept insisting we were better off without him. She said she liked it much better with j u s t the two of us. She said she didn't want to meet anyone else, ever.
B u t now she'd gone and got herself a boyfriend.
'He's not my boyfriend!' said Mum. 'He's my friend, that's all. For the moment, anyway.'
She brought a tray of baked beans on toast for two into my bedroom even though I said I didn't w a n t it. The beans smelled so good I couldn't help eating them, giving up all pretence of working at my m a t h s homework.
'So you like this Gerry, Mum?'
'Yes, ever so much. He's so funny,' said Mum.
'He j u s t makes you feel comfortable straight away. I was a bit nervous about meeting h i m — '
'What?'
'OK, OK, I was totally terrified. I h a d to go and find t h e ladies twice on the journey I was so scared. I almost came straight back home. It wasn't j u s t meeting Gerry. It sounds so terrible, but I didn't know quite how badly his stroke had affected him, and I was so worried I'd go to shake his h a n d and then find he couldn't use it, stuff like t h a t . He'd told me he h a d a limp but I didn't know how bad it was. I wondered if he used a wheelchair and I tried to work out in my head if I should bend down to be at his eye-level when I said hello or whether t h a t would look 176
patronizing. But anyway, t h e moment we saw each other he gave me this lovely big smile and I smiled back and all my worries j u s t seemed so stupid. It felt as if we already knew each other, as if we'd been friends for years. He doesn't have a wheelchair, he can manage with a walking stick. His limp's quite bad but it was good to walk slowly, especially as I was wearing my best shoes with high heels.'
'Is his face a bit wonky?' I asked. 'You know.' I pulled my own mouth down and to the side.
'Don't, Sylvie! Honestly! No, it's not a bit wonky, not t h a t I'd really mind if it was. It's him t h a t matters, not his looks, though actually I t h i n k he looks pretty special. He's eight years older t h a n me and he's going a bit grey, b u t he works out a lot in t h e gym so he's got great a r m s and a really flat stomach. I did feel a bit shy then, coming out of the changing rooms and meeting up with him in the pool. I was so conscious of my stomach. I worried t h a t I looked awful in t h a t bright red costume. Still, once we were in t h e water I was fine. He's such a good swimmer, he can totally outpower me, flashing up to t h e end of the pool and back. You'd never t h i n k he h a d any kind of disability'
M u m went on and on and on about Gerry while I speared baked beans moodily with my fork.
'Sylvie?' Mum said eventually. 'I thought you were cool with all this but now it looks like it's really bugging you.'
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'No, I'm fine, I keep saying' I snapped.
I wanted to feel fine. I wanted to reassure Mum and tell her I was happy for her. I was in lots of ways. It was j u s t t h a t I was jealous too. It felt so raw and painful and humiliating but t h a t was t h e t r u t h of it. I was jealous of my own m u m because she'd gone out on a proper romantic date, j u s t the two of them. I was still longing for Carl to ask me out on a date with him, j u s t the two of us.
'Did he kiss you?' I asked suddenly.
Mum went bright red. 'No!' she said.
'Then why are you blushing?'
'Well, because I feel silly. OK, we did kiss, j u s t when we said goodnight.'
'Did he kiss you first or did you kiss him first?' I asked.
'Look, I'm not spelling out all t h e details! And I don't honestly know. It j u s t happened out of the blue. First we were saying goodbye, and then I t h i n k I leaned forward, maybe to kiss him on t h e cheek, but somehow we ended up kissing kissing.'
All right, I thought. That's t h e way to do it.
Jules drove us to Kew on Friday evening, Carl, Paul, Miranda and me. We stopped at Pizza Express on t h e way. I was so keyed up I could barely eat. I was sitting next to Carl b u t he was busy chatting to Paul about some stupid production of A Midsummer Night's Dream t h e y were doing at their school. They s t a r t e d t a l k i n g in cod Shakespeare.
'Oh, m e t h i n k s 'tis a pizza! Marry, I love t h e dish.'
'Aye, my good fellow, let us nosh this excellent fare.'
They wouldn't stop, even w h e n J u l e s begged them.
Miranda yawned. 'Canst ye not give it a rest, you guys?' she said, b r e a k i n g off a piece of Carl's pizza, an extra cheesy bit.
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'Get off!' T i s my morsel!' said Carl. He prodded her gently with his fork.
T h i n k s t thou I am frightened of t h y weapon?'
said Miranda.
Paul snorted with laughter and Carl joined in.
Miranda sighed hea
vily. 'Give us a break, guys, you're being so boring. Are you in this play?'
'We're rude yokels,' said Paul.
'That figures,' said Miranda. 'So which ones?
Are you Bottom?'
'I'm Snout t h e Tinker, so I also play Pyramus's father. Carl's Flute, so he's got to play Thisbe, this bird t h a t P y r a m u s is in love with, and he h a s to kiss her.'
'Shut up,' said Carl.
'Yeah, yeah, and it's Michael Farmer who plays Pyramus. Imagine snogging him] We're going to have to watch you, Carl, you might t u r n gay on us,' said Paul.
'Shut up' said Carl.
'Oooh,' Paul said in a silly camp voice. 'My love! Thou art my love, I think. Kiss me, kiss me
– oooh, Mikey, kissy kissy kissy.'
Carl stabbed at Paul with his fork. Paul raised his own and they started up a silly fork fight.
'You boys a n d your forking fights,' said Miranda. 'Stop it!'
'Yes, stop. Now' said Jules.
'I'll divert them,' said Miranda. She opened h e r big shoulder bag and brought out a small 180
purple-velvet parcel. 'It's present time,' she said.
'Oh God, I forgot. I was going to give you t h a t glass pig, wasn't I?' said Paul.
'It doesn't matter. I don't want presents,' Carl said quickly.
'I think you'll want mine!' said Miranda.
'Come on, open it up. Carefully!
Carl cupped the purple present in his hands.
It looked as if it might contain a piece of glass.
My chest went tight. Carl opened t h e parcel slowly, stroking the velvet, t h e n finding the black tissue paper inside. He slid a finger delicately u n d e r t h e sellotape, u n w r a p p i n g until he held the present in his hand.
'Oh!' he said.
'Let's see. W h a t is it?' said Paul. He peered.
'An old p a p e r w e i g h t ? ' he said, s o u n d i n g disappointed. 'That's a duff present.'
'No it's not!' said Miranda. 'Is it, Carl?'
He was too stunned to answer. The paperweight w a s n ' t p r e t t y w i t h little glass rod p a t t e r n s like a mosaic. It was plain and big and round, with Remember Me in white, and a laurel w r e a t h and a tiny rose with green leaves. Carl was holding it as if real roses were flowering in his palms.