Awake and Dreaming (19 page)

All evening she brooded about Cecily. “What's wrong with you?” asked Skye, as soon as they went to Theo's room after dinner. “You act as if you're in some kind of trance or something!”

Theo blinked. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

Skye set up one of the board games Sharon had bought Theo. “I never see you!” She was close to tears. “Aren't we friends any more?”

“Sure,” said Theo automatically. She tried to pay attention to the game, but Skye had to keep reminding her when it was her turn.

T
HEO PLAYED
with Skye for most of Easter Monday. She pretended to, anyway—she was like a puppet again, part of her going through the motions, but her real self focusing on Cecily. Skye kept accusing her of not listening.

If she had magically seen Cecily two times, the only way to see her again was to go to one of the places Cecily had been. She couldn't go on the ferry; but of course she could go to the Kaldors' house.

She phoned Anna on Tuesday evening while Sharon was downstairs doing the laundry. “Hi, Theo!” said Anna. “Did you have a good Easter? We have a present from Vancouver for you. Are you coming over this Saturday?”

“Can I come for the night again?” Theo asked.

Anna sounded surprised. “I guess so. Just a minute, I'll ask Mum.”

After she said it was all right, Theo waited to tell Sharon.

Her aunt put down the heavy laundry basket and looked worried. “Oh, hon, don't you think you're spending too much time over there? I know how much you like them, but you don't want to wear out your welcome—you've just
had
a sleepover. And Robin told me that Skye feels neglected. You can't forget her, you know—she's such an anxious child, she needs a friend.”

Theo stiffened. “I spent all day yesterday with Skye. And the Kaldors
want
me to come overnight.” She didn't tell Sharon she had suggested it.

Sharon sighed. “All right, then. I suppose it's up to you to choose your friends, and they
are
wonderful ones. But try not to forget about Skye.”

Theo was so excited about being able to go, she kissed Sharon's cheek. “Thanks! I'll be nicer to Skye, I promise.”

All week she tried. Skye was so easy to please; she revived under Theo's attention like a plant that had needed water.

Theo held tight to her secret about Cecily. Was she really going to catch a glimpse of her again? The possibility was both exciting and scary.

T
HEO HANDED
In Summer Time
to Dan. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

“It's one of the best books I've ever read!” Theo told him. “I found her other one in the library and read it, too. Do you know anything more about her?”

Dan shook his head. “She must have led a very quiet life. Writers often do—their adventures are in their books. All I know is that she once lived in this house. I can show you her grave, though. Would you like to see it?”

“Oh, yes!”

Dan smiled at her enthusiasm. “I have to go to the university for a while, but I'll show you after lunch.”

Anna and Lisbeth dragged Theo upstairs to tell her about their trip to Vancouver. “John went snowboarding at Whistler with our cousins but we weren't allowed to go with them,” complained Lisbeth.

“We built a fort on the beach out of driftwood but some mean kids wrecked it,” said Anna.

They gave Theo a small stuffed whale they'd bought at the aquarium. Theo thanked them, but all she could think about was seeing Cecily's grave. It hadn't even occurred to her that she'd be buried across the street.

Only Anna came with Theo and Dan. They followed him along the pathway almost to the end of the cemetery. Then he led them across the grass to the edge of a hill which dropped to Dallas Road and the sea.

“It's right around the war memorial,” said Dan, examining the markers. “Ah … here you are, Theo.”

The grass plot was outlined by a cement rectangle. Two plaques were set in it. The shiny dark one said:

GILES WILLIAM STONE

BORN 1876 DIED 1945

PHILIPPA MAY STONE

BORN 1885 DIED 1949

The other marker was in the shape of an open book. Its letters read CECILY MARGARET STONE, 1915– 1956. Underneath the dates was a quotation: AND THE BOOKS SHALL BE OPENED.

Theo knelt and ran her fingers over the smooth marble book and the rough letters. She stood up and smiled at Dan. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You're really interested in her, aren't you? I'm touched by how much you love Cecily Stone's books, Theo. John and Anna liked them too.”

Theo was studying Cecily's grave again. Some of the surrounding plots were brightened with grape hyacinths or Easter lilies in pots, but this one was straggly with rough grass.

“At least Cecily has a good view!” said Dan. Anna giggled. Theo tried to memorize the plot's location as they walked away.

O
NCE AGAIN
Theo was lying awake while Anna and Lisbeth breathed steadily. After she heard their parents come up, she'd sit by the window again.

She yawned, her body limp with drained excitement. It wanted to give in to sleep but Theo struggled
to keep her eyes open.

But when she opened them next, she knew the night was almost over. She jumped up angrily and darted to the window. It was almost dawn; she could see the hedge across the street in the thin light. One bird had begun a hesitant morning call.

She'd missed her! Theo watched for a few minutes but no gliding woman appeared. She almost began to cry. Then she was riveted by an idea.

Why not go out? Cecily had come from the cemetery last time—maybe she was there. Maybe she was by her own grave! Theo didn't stop to think of what that might imply. She picked up her shoes and crept downstairs.

In the hall she put on her jacket over her pyjamas and did up her shoes. Bingo came lumbering out of the kitchen, stretching as he walked. “Is it morning already?” his puzzled brown eyes asked her.

Theo hesitated. She'd feel safer with Bingo along, but what if he barked? She made him sit while she opened and closed the door as softly as she could. Standing on the front steps, she took a deep breath. After all, it was almost morning; Anna and John had once sneaked out at night. If someone saw her, she could just say she felt like going for a walk.

Her legs still trembled as she went slowly along the same route Dan had taken her this afternoon. What was she going to find? The closer she came, the more she wanted to turn back; but something compelled her to keep walking.

When she reached Cecily's grave, it was deserted. Theo was both relieved and disappointed. She stood there a long time, the only sounds the increasing bird chorus and the rhythmic lap of the sea below.

Theo turned to face the war memorial—and froze. She tried to scream but it came out as a muffled choke.

A woman was sitting on the lowest step of the memorial. When she heard Theo, she jumped up with astonished delight. “Can you really see me?” asked Cecily Stone.

19

“D
on't be afraid,” said Cecily. “I won't hurt you.”

“But you're—you're—”

“I'm dead. That's what the gravestone says, doesn't it? My body is buried there.
It's
gone. But the rest of me is still alive.”

Theo's voice finally worked properly. “Then you're a ghost,” she shuddered. She tried to make her legs run away, but they were rubber.

“I suppose so, although I prefer the word ‘spirit' to ‘ghost.' But there you are, I'm just being particular about words as usual.” Her expression was yearning. “You're the first person who has ever seen me—imagine that! I haven't talked to a living soul for forty years! Why don't you come and sit down, Theo?”

She didn't look like a ghost. She wasn't transparent or white or any of the ways ghosts looked in movies or comics.

Cecily looked exactly the same as she had the last two times. She was wearing the same pants and baggy coat, her hair was still messy and her eyes were still sad. Theo's skin crawled with fear, but she couldn't help feeling curious and excited as well. She stayed where she was, but she dropped to the grass, clutching her trembling legs.

“How do you know my name?” she whispered.

Cecily sat down on the step and smiled. “I heard your mother call you Theo on the ferry. It's a good, strong name—it has a real ring of individuality to it.”

“I saw you watching us.”

“You saw me there as well? I wondered, because you kept looking at me, but I wasn't sure. If you could see me I apologize for staring at you like that. I often travel on the ferry and watch people. It used to be my best place for getting ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“Ideas for books. I was a writer.” Her expression became even sadder.

“I know,” said Theo. “I've read both of your books.”

“I hoped you would. That's why I put one where you'd find it.” Cecily looked eager. “Did you—what did you think of them?”

Theo stopped trembling. “I
loved
them! My favourite characters were Edward and Gwyneth.”

“I'm so glad,” said Cecily warmly. “That's the best part of writing—hearing the reaction of my readers. Or at least, that
was
the best part.”

She stood up and paced the grass. Theo tried to keep still. When Cecily moved, she did seem like a ghost. Her feet hovered slightly over the grass instead of touching it.

“You can't imagine how utterly
frustrating
it is, Theo, to be cut off from your vocation in the middle of it! There were so many books I wanted to write! My head was bursting with ideas, especially since I started so late. And
then to
die
. To die at age forty-one, just when I had begun to master my craft!”

“I'm sorry,” whispered Theo.

“If only I hadn't waited so long to start,” continued Cecily. “I always wanted to write, but I didn't have much confidence in myself and it certainly wasn't something my parents would have approved of. When Father died, I looked after Mother for four years. After her death I changed my whole life.” Her face lost some of its anguish. “There wasn't much money—my parents weren't rich, although they took care to associate with people who were. But I was left the house and enough to live on. First I sold all my fancy clothes. Mother had always dressed me, even as an adult. I only wore comfortable slacks after that—I've never given a hoot about clothes. Then I finally got started on my first book. What a relief it was! All I did those last years was write and garden—I was perfectly happy. Until I began to feel sick …”

“Couldn't you still write?” asked Theo timidly. Then she felt her face redden. “I'm sorry—that was a stupid question.”

“It's not stupid,” said Cecily sadly. “I tried. I went into my house and found a pen and tried to write words on paper—but the paper was blank. That was my most despairing moment, looking down and seeing that paper full of nothing.” She sighed deeply. “I can still
read,
at least. I've read most of the books the families who've lived in my house have owned. The Kaldors have the best collection.”

Theo smiled—so that's why Dan's books were always misplaced! Smiling made her braver. She tried to ask Cecily what she most wanted to know—but the question was so hard to put into words.

“Why … why are you here?” she whispered.

Cecily understood at once. “You mean why haven't I really died? Why am I not at rest, as I should be?” She sighed again. “It's because I haven't written the book I was meant to write. The first two were perfectly adequate—but they weren't
me,
they weren't my story. All the time I was ill a new idea was forming in my mind. I knew it would be my best book.”

“What was it?”

“It was about being a lonely child. Being an outcast and yearning for a different kind of life. All the children in my books were so happy, so confident. They hadn't much inner life. I wanted to write about a child who was true to the child I once was.”

Cecily began pacing again. “I couldn't flesh it out, though. I wanted the story to be a fantasy and set in the present time, since I'd written so much about the past. I needed to find a real, modern child to trigger it—someone to inspire me to turn my glimmerings of an idea into a solid story with a beginning, a middle and an end. I looked for that child for years. Every once in a while I'd travel on the ferry and look there. And it gave me something to do. I'd simply go back and forth on the ferry from Victoria to Vancouver, sometimes for months. The last time I did that I saw—”

“You saw me,” breathed Theo.

“Yes!” Cecily looked excited. “I saw you and your mother and I moved closer to listen.”

Theo remembered that terrible argument. Some of the anger she'd felt when she'd first noticed Cecily returned. “I don't think it's polite to listen to other people's conversations,” she said. Then she shrank at her boldness.

But Cecily laughed. “You're absolutely right. It's very rude—but I've always done it. I'm incurably nosy. And as soon as I started listening I knew I finally had my story.”

“What was it?” whispered Theo.

“I noticed how unhappy and lost you seemed, and I knew from your conversation that you were going to Victoria to live with your aunt—and that you didn't want to.”

“No,” whispered Theo.

“You also looked so dreamy—as if you were off in another world. You were making something up, weren't you? Fantasizing.”

“Yes,” said Theo. “I always did, then.”

Cecily clapped her hands. “I knew it! I did exactly the same when I was a child. My parents were very correct and cold. I was lonely but I led a vivid fantasy life inside. When I grew up I turned my fantasies into stories. You're supposed to stop pretending when you're an adult—but some of us never do.”