Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) (12 page)

Grayson had stopped and was looking all around him carefully. Very carefully.
Too
carefully.

“The coast’s clear; the Chinese secret service has knocked off work for the day,” I said after about twenty seconds. Grayson stopped.

“Er, Liv, you don’t by any chance have that hooded sweater I lent you here, do you? I’d like to have it back.”

“Of course.” I felt slightly irritated. Didn’t he have anything else to wear? “But no, I don’t by any chance have it here right now. We’ll be seeing each other at Arthur’s party on Saturday, and I’ll give it back to you then, freshly washed and dried.”

Grayson checked out our surroundings yet again. Then he said, “Well, about Saturday evening … I’d rather … you see … I mean, you can simply say your mother’s forbidden you to go to Arthur’s party.”

Now my feelings were more than a little bit hurt. “But why would I do that?”

“Because it … because I…” Grayson passed his hand over his forehead—by now I was familiar with that gesture of his—and looked at me as if hoping I would finish his sentence for him.

I wasn’t going to give him an easy way out. I made myself look sad. “Because you don’t want me to go to the party?”

He nodded.

Oh, charming! “Well, I suppose that’s that, then,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s just that—Mom was so thrilled to think you and your friends were being so nice to me.” And sure enough, Mom had said exactly what I’d expected. “How delightful of Grayson and his friends. Of course you must go. I’m really glad you’re getting to know people so quickly!”

Grayson let out a funny kind of snort. “Listen, we’re not being all that nice to you. It’d be much better for you to steer clear of us.” He mounted his bike.

“Okay, I’ll tell Mom,” I said, adding with a touch of malice, “although maybe you’d rather tell her the reasons yourself.”

Grayson didn’t seem to like that idea at all. He looked far from happy. “Don’t forget my sweater, will you?” he said as he was about to ride away. “I’d be really glad to have it back tomorrow. You needn’t bother about washing it.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“What was all that about?” Mia had appeared like a jack-in-the-box. The two of us watched Grayson cycle away. “First he seems so nice, then he doesn’t want to take you to this party? In your place I’d go anyway.”

“I will, too,” I agreed. “What a…” I tried to find the right word.

“An idiot,” said Mia bluntly, linking arms with me. We strolled over to the bus stop side by side.

“How was your day?” I asked.

“Not bad, really. Even if those girls get on my nerves. If I ever turn out like that, brain-dead on account of some boy and scribbling hearts all over my exercise books, I just hope someone shoots me.”

“I’ll remind you of that.”

“Seriously! I’m so glad we’re immune to boys, Livvy.”

“Maybe not absolutely immune, but at least hard to infect,” I admitted. It was a necessity. If you move every year like us, you have to be careful not to go falling in love, or you get your heart broken saying good-bye. And who’d want a thing like that to happen? “But maybe Mom is right, and someday when the ideal man for you comes along…”

“He’ll just have to wait until I’m through with college!”

I nudged Mia in the ribs. “I bet Aunt Gertrude always said that too,” I suggested, trying to scare her. “And look what became of her.”

“So? I’m certainly not about to sit in a horrible house with four cats, making crochet doilies. As a famous private detective, I’ll be solving the most interesting cases in the whole world.”

“Then maybe you can start by telling me exactly why Grayson is so keen to have his sweater back.” I was still feeling sore over that.

“Could be it’s his favorite one,” said Mia thoughtfully. “Or he’s hidden a love letter in it. Or he’s just an idiot.”

“Yup. I’m afraid he is.” So I was going to keep his sweater out of pure malice.

Only, that evening, when I was putting on my nightie and I saw Grayson’s sweater lying on the gold-upholstered bench in front of the bed, it did occur to me that there could be something else behind it. That Grayson might have a special reason for wanting it back in such a tearing hurry. I picked it up and buried my nose in it. It was just the sort of thing to be someone’s favorite, made of wool that was heavy but soft as butter, slightly roughened on the inside. And it still smelled slightly of Grayson, or rather Grayson’s soap.

The pockets were empty, and to be on the safe side I felt the seams as well. No sign of anything hidden there.

Maybe … It was a crazy thought, but the night before last I’d been wearing the sweater in bed, and then I met its rightful owner in my dream. Could that be why Grayson was suddenly so keen to have it back? Was there some connection between the sweater and the dream? Strange as that might sound, I was going to wear it again that night, anyway. Just to find out what happened.

Or if anything at all did happen.

14

THE SHINY GREEN DOOR
attracted my eyes in a bleak street lined with gray, shabby terraced houses. I had no idea what I’d been dreaming up to this point, but the moment I saw the door I was sitting on a bicycle, pedaling hard to pull a heavily laden trailer behind me. Uphill.

The door! In my dream last time it had led me to the cemetery.

Mom overtook me. She, too, was riding a bike with a trailer. “Feeling tired is no excuse,” she called to me.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“Moving house,” replied Mom, looking over her shoulder. “Same as usual.”

“I see.” I braked and got off my bicycle to take a closer look at the green door. Yes, no doubt about it, this was the same door as last time, and it was also the door that had turned up in Aunt Gertrude’s dining room. Suddenly it was all as clear as day: if I wanted to find out the meaning of these mysterious dreams, then I had to open it. And go through the doorway.

If I was brave enough.

“No dawdling, mousie!” cried Mom. “We have to go on! We always have to go on.”

“But without me today,” I said. The lizard doorknob felt warm when I turned it. I took a deep breath and went through the doorway.

“Olivia Gertrude Silver! Come back this minute!” I heard Mom calling a moment before I slammed the door in her face. Just the same as last time, I was standing in a corridor that seemed to go on and on forever. Fascinated, I looked at all the doors. They looked like the windows of an Advent calendar and were equally individual in their size, shape, and color. There were plain, white-painted doors, there were the front doors of modern houses, and others that looked like the doors of elevators, nothing decorative about them. Others could have been shop doors, or the magnificent portals of castles and palaces.

The bright-red door opposite seemed to be a new one, or at least I couldn’t remember seeing it here on my last visit. It was a very striking door with a showy golden doorknob shaped like a crown; you wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. I didn’t find Grayson’s door, which had been right next to mine before, until I’d gone a little farther down the corridor. So the doors here obviously didn’t stay in the same spot but played a kind of hide-and-seek. Next to Grayson’s door I saw one painted pale gray, with glass panes in it and ornate lettering. The lettering said
MATTHEWS’ MOONSHINE ANTIQUARIAN BOOKS. BOOKS TO LAST YOU A LIFETIME. OPEN FROM MIDNIGHT TO DAWN
. That sounded enticing. For a moment I was tempted to press the handle down and explore the inside of the antiquarian bookshop, but then I reminded myself why I was here, and I went on to Grayson’s door. It looked just the same as in my last dream, a perfect copy of the front door of the Spencers’ house. Frightful Freddy spread his wings and squeaked, “No one can come in unless they say my name three times backward.”

“Ydderf, Ydderf, Ydderf,” I replied, whereupon Freddy folded his wings and curled his lion’s tail around his feet.

“You may enter,” he squeaked solemnly.

I hesitated. Somehow I felt I’d better arm myself for what was to come. Whatever that might be. Maybe I ought to imagine Lottie’s hatchet out of the last dream. Or at least dream that I had a sharp knife in my pocket. Or hang some garlic around my neck, or …

“What are you waiting for?” inquired Frightful Freddy.

“I’m on my way.” If things got too dangerous, I could always just wake up. That had worked last time. (And this time, for safety’s sake, I had padded the floor beside my bed with cushions.) Taking a deep breath, I went through the doorway. Instead of darkness and the spooky peace of the cemetery, I walked into bright light, the noise of a lot of people shouting, and metallic clanking. My foot missed a step, and I lost my balance and reached for the nearest thing I could grab, which turned out to be the shoulder of a red-headed girl.

“Watch out,” she said, but she paid me no further attention. Instead, she leaned forward and shouted, “That was a foul, ref! Do you have tomatoes for eyes or what?”

I’d regained my footing, and I looked curiously around. Aha—a sports hall. I was standing on the steps between the tiers of seating for spectators, all of them full, and a basketball game was in progress on the court in front of me. It wasn’t difficult to guess that the boys in the black and red stripes were the Frognal Flames. Arthur was just catching a ball passed to him by Grayson, and he passed it on to Henry, who dribbled it skillfully past the member of the opposing team who was marking him and then threw it to Jasper. Jasper leaped up in the air right under the basket, and as he came down he shot the ball through the hoop. The crowd shouted with glee. According to the scoreboard, the Frognal Flames were eighteen points in the lead. It looked like it was about to be a landslide victory. Two of the spectators kindly moved up a bit to make room for me in the front row, right behind the substitutes’ bench. If I turned around, I could still see Grayson’s door at the far end of the tiers of seats. However, apart from me, no one seemed bothered by the sight of a front door in the middle of the wall of a sports hall. And the spectators took no notice of me, either, as if it were perfectly normal to turn up at a basketball game barefoot and in a nightdress. I didn’t know just what I’d been expecting, but I felt a sense of relief. In any case, this was more comfortable than being in a cemetery by night, with people reciting gruesome incantations to conjure up spirits.

I watched the game, feeling almost relaxed. At first it looked as if the opposing team didn’t have the slightest chance against the magnificent form of the Frognal Flames, but then Grayson began passing poorly and losing the ball, and the other team was catching up. I didn’t understand basketball, but as far as I could judge, Grayson was suddenly playing incredibly badly. He missed the basket, didn’t pass the ball to members of his own team, and committed foul after unnecessary foul. The spectators booed him. Someone shouted, “Go home, Grayson, you total loser!” and threw an empty soda can onto the court. Grayson looked absolutely miserable, but he went on systematically making every wrong move in the game. The other team’s fans were yelling with delight, shouting, “Number Five’s our man!”

I could hardly bear to watch, but it wasn’t until the score was 63–61 in favor of the other side that the coach of the Frognal Flames substituted another player for Grayson, looking at him icily as he trotted off the court, his shoulders stooped. In all the noise I couldn’t make out what the coach was saying to Grayson, but there was contempt all over his face. Grayson seemed to be near tears and was obviously trying to apologize, but the coach had already turned away to shout tactical orders over the court. From then on he ignored Grayson.

The Flames seemed to be doing better again without Grayson, but it looked as if it was too late for the team to reverse the damage. Grayson dropped onto the substitutes’ bench, looking terribly ashamed of himself, and the other players moved away from him as if he had an infection.

He buried his face in a towel.

Although it was only a dream, I felt really sorry for him. I leaned forward and patted him on the shoulder from behind. “Hey, it’s only a game,” I said, trying to console him.

Very slowly, he raised his head and turned around to me. “It’s not only a game,” he said, “it’s
the
game. And I’ve botched it!”

“Well…” Unfortunately he was right. He really had botched it. “But all the same, it’s just a game between two high school teams.”

“A game in which I’ve failed.” His eyes wandered along the rows of spectators. “Of course you had to be here to see it too. And Emily won’t even look my way, she’s so ashamed of me.”

“Silly cow,” I said spontaneously, following the direction of his eyes. “Which one is she? The dark-haired girl in the blue sweater beside Florence?” I hesitated for a moment. “And is that by any chance
Henry
coming down the steps? Hang on a moment!” I turned to look back at the court, where Henry was just passing the ball to Jasper. Then I looked at the steps again. No, I hadn’t made a mistake. There was Henry waving to me. “Grayson? Does Henry by any chance have an identical twin brother?”

But Grayson had buried his head in his towel again and didn’t hear me. Or was pretending not to hear me.

I looked once again from the Henry in his basketball shirt to the Henry coming toward me in jeans and T-shirt from the other side of the hall, and then from one to the other again, before shrugging my shoulders. After all, it was a dream; I didn’t have to take it literally.

“Sorry, could you move up a bit? Thanks.” Henry squeezed into the second row and sat down right behind me. “Hi, cheese girl. Good game?”

“Depends how you look at it. You two are losing,” I said, as if it were normal for there to be two of him. “And do stop calling me cheese girl.”

Henry watched his alter ego sinking a three-pointer in the basket and whistled appreciatively through his teeth. “Hey, I’m playing pretty well!” He leaned so far forward that his head was almost level with mine. I tried not to let that make me nervous. This was good practice. Training for reality.

“Okay, cheese girl, I’ll call you Liv from now on.” Henry’s voice was soft and deep, right beside my ear. “I have an idea it was Grayson who made a mess of the game, right?”