Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) (6 page)

“Oh,” said Grayson. “That’s not a great idea. We’d have to go through her bedroom to get to our billiard table in the attic.”

Florence groaned. “Don’t you understand what Dad just said? They’ll be moving in here in three weeks’ time.…”

“Two weeks’ time, to be precise. I’m taking a day off work for it,” said Ernest. “And there are some painting jobs to be done first.”

“They’ll be moving in here, bag, baggage, and nanny!”

“And dog,” added Mia.

“And dog,” repeated Florence. She seemed to have exhausted her strength; she wasn’t shouting anymore. The word
dog
came out as hardly more than a whisper. But as if on cue, the ginger cat arched his back in front of the dining table and mewed out loud. Florence’s shouting seemed to have attracted him rather than putting him off.

Ernest smiled. A little wearily, maybe, but it was definitely a smile. “That’s all clear, then. So now we can fetch the quails in from the kitchen, can’t we, Spot? Will you lend me a hand, Ann?”

Mom stood up with such alacrity that she almost brought the tablecloth with her. “Nothing I’d rather do,” she said.

The cat followed them into the kitchen.

6

GRAYSON, FLORENCE, MIA, AND I
stayed behind in the dining room in silence. I guess you’d feel rather like being quiet if an avalanche had just rolled over you. I’d worked it out that Ernest and Mom would be moving in together, but even I had been surprised to realize they were planning to do it so soon. They must have been really sure they were right for each other.

Grayson’s cell phone vibrated in the silence.

“Only too clear, all of it,” said Florence bitterly after a minute. “Oh, and thanks a million for your support, Grayson.”

“’Scuse me.” Grayson was staring at his display. “But this is all decided anyway, right? And weren’t you saying yesterday how happy you are for Dad?”

“Well, I am. But no one could have guessed they’d want to move in together right away. I mean, they hardly know each other. She’s an
American
. She could be after Dad for his money or I don’t know what, or she could be a psychopath, or…”

“… or hopelessly disorganized, or a kleptomaniac, a Republican, a Jehovah’s Witness, or anything,” I suggested.

“That isn’t funny,” said Florence.

“Do you have anything against Jehovah’s Witnesses?” asked Mia, all pretended innocence.

Grayson pushed his chair back and stood up, his eyes still fixed on his cell phone. He obviously hadn’t taken in a word anyone was saying. “I’m just going out to clear something up. Tell Dad I’ll be right back. And I’d like at least three quails. I’m ravenous.”

“You’re…” Florence watched his retreating form indignantly. “Don’t you notice anything?”

I cleared my throat. “I need to go to the toilet. Where, exactly…?”

“Well, seeing you’re going to be at home here any moment now, you ought to be able to find the way yourself,” said Florence sharply.

“You’re right,” I said. It couldn’t be all that difficult. I followed Grayson out into the corridor.

“Do tell me, is your dad an internationally wanted terrorist or a serial murderer?” Mia was asking behind me in her sweetest voice.

I didn’t hear what Florence replied to that.

The first door I opened was a broom cupboard, but the second, right beside the way to the stairs, was the guest toilet. I looked for the light switch.

“Not tonight, for heaven’s sake. I already told you.” The window stood ajar, and I could hear Grayson’s voice. He was obviously outside the house, talking on his cell phone. I didn’t switch the light on but went over to the window so that I could hear him better.

“Yes, I know it’s the new moon tonight, but can’t we put the whole thing off until tomorrow evening for once? There’s all hell let loose here, and I don’t know whether I’ll be able to sleep at all tonight.… Yup, I do realize that we can’t put off the new moon just because of me, but … No, of course that’s not what I want. Okay, if you say so, Henry, I’ll try to … I hope I can find it. I suppose it was your idea, was it? I thought so.… No, I’ll tell you tomorrow. If I don’t go back indoors this minute, my sister will murder me.… Yes, thanks for your sympathy. See you later.”

Hmm.
Interesting.
I sat on the toilet lid in the dark and entirely forgot what I was really there for. Contrary to all common sense, I felt a delicious sense of anticipation inside me. What had taken Grayson’s mind off our very own family tragedy so much this evening? What kind of transaction could take place only when the moon was new? And what did those words in Latin on Grayson’s wrist mean? It was clear as day that my future stepbrother had a secret—and I just
loved
secrets.

I got back to the dining room in an inappropriately cheerful mood, just ahead of Grayson. And just before the Jehovah’s Witness and the serial murderer, in an atmosphere of family harmony, brought in the quails.

The rest of the evening went comparatively undramatically. At least, until the moment when I knocked over my glass with such a sweeping movement that my shirt was drenched with orange juice from the collar to the hem. As Ernest had only just refilled the glass, adding ice cubes as well, my teeth immediately began to chatter.

“I’ve been waiting for that all evening!” said Mom in her I-can-be-witty-too voice. “Knocking over glasses is one of my girls’ specialties.”

“Oh, Mom! Last time that happened to me, I was seven years old! Ew, what’s that?” There was an ice cube melting inside my bra. (If I’d listened to Lottie’s advice and done up the two top buttons of my blouse, that wouldn’t have happened.) I quickly fished it out and put it on my plate, never mind whether that was the polite thing to do or not. Judging by the way Florence and Grayson were looking at me, it wasn’t.

“Exactly,” said Mia. “If it’s anyone’s specialty, it’s mine.”

“Cola! All over my computer keyboard,” Mom remembered. “And black currant juice on pure-white tablecloths. And assorted smoothies, usually spilled on carpets.”

I dared not wring out the blouse, or I’d have drenched the Persian rug. It looked expensive.

Ernest looked at me sympathetically. “Florence, be a good girl and get one of your tops for Liv. She’s freezing. She can’t go home like that.”

“I get the idea!” Florence crossed her arms. “First I have to give them my rooms, now it’s my clothes, right?”

You had to hand it to Florence for staying there at all until then. After all that drama, she could have marched out of the dining room, slamming the door behind her, to fling herself on her bed in floods of tears. At least, that’s what I’d have done in her place. However, up to this point she’d been nibbling a quail peacefully, and she’d even taken part in the conversation, if not at any length. Or maybe she’d simply been afraid of leaving her dad alone with Mom. Ernest and Mom themselves had been doing their level best to pretend they’d forgotten all about the last hour. They’d talked about anything and everything except the changes that were going to take place. And I’d been concentrating on Grayson’s sleeve, hoping it would ride up again and show those mysterious words. But although Grayson had consumed no fewer than four poor little mini-birds in a pretty brutal way, eating them with his hands (every time a bone cracked, Mia jumped—I think she was on the point of becoming a vegetarian for real), his wrist had been covered the whole time.

“Florence!” said Ernest reproachfully.

“Dad!” replied Florence in exactly the same tone of voice.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It will dry again.”
By the day after tomorrow or thereabouts.

“Nonsense. You’re wet through. Florence will now go upstairs and find you a sweater.”

“Florence has no intention of doing any such thing,” said Florence, looking him in the eye.

“
Florence Cecilia Elizabeth Spencer!
”

“What are you going to do about it, Dad? Send me to bed without any dessert?”

“It’s okay.” Grayson put down the quail leg he’d just been gnawing and stood up. “She can have one of my sweaters.”

“Wow, how chivalrous,” said Florence.

“There’s really no need,” I said, my teeth still chattering, but Grayson was already out of the room.

“He has this terrible urge to keep everything on an even keel and avoid conflict,” said Florence, to no one in particular.

“I like your middle names.” Mia was looking at Florence, wide-eyed. “You’re really lucky, you know? Mom gave Liv and me the names of her favorite aunts as middle names. Well, she forced them on us.
Gertrude
and
Virginia
.”

For a split second Florence’s face cleared.

“My aunts are named after Gertrude Stein and Virginia Woolf,” said Mom. “Two great women writers.”

“With shitty names,” added Mia.

Mom sighed. “I think it’s about time we left. It’s been a wonderfu—” She stopped short and cleared her throat. That seemed to be overdoing it, even to Mom herself. “Thank you for the delicious meal, Ernest.”

“Yes, thanks a lot,” said Mia. “Now we’ll appreciate Lottie’s cooking more than ever.”

I could have sworn that the corners of Ernest’s mouth twitched as he stood up and gave Mom his hand. “Mrs. Dimbleby did make a dessert, but I’ll quite understand if you’d rather get home. It’s later than I expected, and the children have school tomorrow. I’ll call you a taxi. It’ll be here in a couple of minutes.”

“Here.” Grayson was back. “Freshly washed.” He handed me a gray hooded sweater, and while Ernest was phoning for a taxi, I went into the guest toilet and changed out of my blouse. The sweater did smell of soap, but also a bit of crisply broiled quails. Delicious, really.

When I came out again, everyone else was standing in the corridor waiting for me. Everyone but Florence, who was nowhere to be seen. She was probably already packing her things.

Grayson grinned at me wearily. “Really suits you. At least six sizes too large.”

“I like oversize,” I said, crumpling up my blouse in my hands. “Thanks. I’ll give it back to you when … well, sometime.”

He sighed. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other quite often.”

“I guess there’ll be no avoiding it.” Oops. I hoped that hadn’t sounded full of happy anticipation. I cast a last glance at his wrist, but too bad: the mysterious words were still hidden by his sleeve.

7

THIS TIME MOM
abandoned Hansel and Gretel (otherwise known as Mia and me) not in the forest, as I dreamed our first night in London, but in the corridor of Ernest’s house before she disappeared through a doorway with the words “It’s for your own good.”

“Did you hear that?” Mia asked. “There are quails cackling somewhere around here.”

“Right you are!” The door of the broom cupboard opened, creaking, and out came … Lottie. She was waving a hatchet about. “I could do with a bit of help. Someone has to stretch their necks out so that I can slaughter them.”

“And if you don’t do it right,
Nanny
, Dad will throw you out and get Mrs. Dimbleby back.” Florence was skating gracefully along the corridor in a glittery black tutu. She performed a pirouette in front of the coat and hat stand, and gave us a nice smile. “Looking for the gingerbread house, were you? The witch will be so pleased to see you. Grayson, show these two the way, will you?”

Grayson, who was leaning on the wall beside the coat stand, looked up from his iPhone for a moment and pointed to the door behind which Mom had disappeared. Its handle was a gigantic vanilla crescent. “Along there, mousies,” he said, and Mia set off at once.

I wanted to call “Don’t be so stupid, Hansel!” after her, but something seemed to be sticking in my throat, and before I knew it, Mia had taken hold of the vanilla crescent, whereupon a claw appeared out of nowhere, then grabbed her by her collar, and she disappeared.

“And now I have to share my bathroom with only one little quail,” said Florence, laughing. “Be a good little girl, Liv. Just follow your sister.”

“No, don’t,” whispered Lottie behind me. “It’s only the first of September, far too soon for Christmas baking.” She pointed to a door beside the broom cupboard. It was painted green. “You’ll be safe in there.”

“Don’t you dare!” screeched Florence. She skated straight toward me. I flung myself on the green door, tore it open, and slipped through, and it latched behind me a tenth of a second before Florence began thundering on it from the other side. Only at that moment did I realize that it was all just a dream, and a silly dream at that. (Besides being easy to interpret, except maybe for the skates. What was my unconscious mind trying to tell me about those skates?) All the same, my heart was still thudding rather fast with agitation.

Hesitantly, I looked around me. I was in another corridor, one that seemed to go on forever, with countless doors to the right and left. The door I’d come through was painted deep green and had dark, old-fashioned metal fittings, a letter box in the same material, and a pretty brass doorknob in the shape of a lizard. I decided to go back, because now that I knew I was only dreaming, I wasn’t afraid of Florence anymore. I felt extremely keen to show her how good I was at kung fu. In a dream, of course, I’d be even better at it than in reality. But just as I was turning the lizard knob, I caught sight of a movement in the corner of my eye. Another door, next to this one, had opened, and someone had come out into the corridor. It was Grayson. Although he was only a few feet away, he didn’t seem to have noticed me. He carefully closed the door behind him and muttered something that I couldn’t make out. Then he took a deep breath, opened the door once more, and disappeared again. I let go of my door in order to take a closer look at Grayson’s. It was just like the white-painted front door to the Spencers’ house, including the steps outside and the heavyweight stone statue that was half eagle, half lion. When I came closer, the statue blinked its eyes, raised one clawed foot, and said in a surprisingly squeaky, high voice, “No one can come in unless they say my name three times backward.”

Aha, a riddle. I loved riddles. Although this one could have been a little harder to crack. “You’re Frightful Freddy,” I said.