Kiss (9 page)

Carl looked at me. ‘Come on, come on. I’ve been talking for ages. It’s your turn now, Sylvie.’

I sighed, trying to think. I didn’t really want to carry on. I felt hypnotized like the poor rats. Carl hadn’t been so inventive, so fired up, so totally involved in Glassworld for ages. I’d longed for him to play it properly, the way we did when we were little kids, but now I wasn’t quite so sure.
I
was usually the one with the best ideas, the one who invented new characters and planned every aspect of the plot. I felt usurped, wrong-footed, left out. I couldn’t get
into
the story. I was stuck in the hut, holding the paperweight in my hand, while Carl was inside Glassworld with his King and this new irritating Piper who seemed to have taken over, charming everyone with his ludicrous get-up and crude music. I wanted him out of Glassworld.

‘Queen Sylviana had not been idle when she was rather unkindly closeted in her bedroom, erroneously deemed mad. She sensed right from the beginning that the Piper was a dangerous enchanter. He not only bewitched rats, he bewitched children, women, men – even kings. He was actually in league with the enemy spy who blew up the Glassworld sewers. It was all
part of his dastardly plot to charm his way into the royal circle and eventually usurp the King himself.’

‘Rubbish!’ said Carl. ‘You’re spoiling it.’

‘Look, it’s my go now – you had ages and ages. I’m
not
spoiling it. I’ll make it turn out right, you’ll see.
So
, Queen Sylviana tossed and turned on her silk swansdown pillow, trying to think what to do for the best. Her own magical powers were in decline, as she always sank into a terrible depression when she felt she was out of favour with the King. She thought hard of all the women in the world strong enough to play the Piper at his own game. She looked into her Glassworld mirror, and every facet of the glass shone rainbow spectrums in her face. She closed her eyes, dazzled, and when she tried opening them again she did not see her own reflection, she saw a plump and comely raven-haired enchantress, Princess Mirandarette, playing with her potions in her Ice Palace in the Snowland Steppes. Queen Sylviana shivered, knowing Mirandarette’s powers. She was the most ruthless of all the enchanters, showing no mercy, because she had a sliver of ice in her heart. She was her only chance.

‘Queen Sylviana summoned up all her magical strength and sent a psychic message through the ether. Princess Mirandarette smiled. She donned her white fur robes, called for her reindeer sleigh, and set off across the night sky, travelling faster than the speed of
light to Glassworld. As her sleigh hovered over the beleaguered city the reindeer threw back their heavy antlered heads at the stench and trod thin air, not wanting to land in such a polluted place. Princess Mirandarette waved her moonstone sceptre thrice above her head and snow started falling, such thick, rapid snow that Glassworld all but disappeared, just the very pinnacles and spires sticking out of the all-enveloping snow blanket. She circled above, her sceptre flashing through the air, lowering the temperature so suddenly that Mirandarette turned a ghostly shade of blue beneath her furs. Then her arm shot out and she summoned the sun itself, and the snow melted almost instantly, taking with it all the stench and mire, miraculously cleaning Glassworld until it sparkled in the glorious sunshine. Princess Mirandarette sparkled too, a radiance glowing around her like an all-encompassing heavenly halo. King Carlo stepped out of his palace, wondering who had performed this truly miraculous feat, and saw her standing there, and he was dazzled by her beauty—’

‘No he wasn’t,’ said Carl.

‘Yes, yes, he fell passionately in love at first sight, though he claimed indifference to her. He did not even thank her very graciously—’

‘Utter bilge! Shut
up
, Sylvie!’

‘Not not not bilge, it’s beautiful storytelling. Now listen, I have a cunning plan, it’s all part of the plot—’

‘I’m not listening,’ Carl said childishly, putting his hands over his ears.

‘Listen to me!’ I grabbed his hands and pulled them away. I wanted to spin out the story but now I could see I had to blurt it out. ‘King Carlo fancies Princess Mirandarette
because
she’s enchanted him, it’s not his fault, but
then
she sees this Piper person and he plays his silly old fluty tune and suddenly
she’s
the one who’s helplessly enchanted. She follows him as blindly as all those awful rats and he charms her away to wherever he came from. So they’re both gone for ever and King Carlo and Queen Sylviana breathe the cool cleansed air of Glassworld and gaze into each other’s eyes, all enchantments over, and they renew their wedding vows and live happily ever after,’ I gabbled, still holding onto Carl’s hands.

Then I stopped. Carl stopped. We looked at each other.
We
were gazing into each other’s eyes. It was the perfect moment. I waited. I waited and waited. Carl didn’t move towards me and kiss my lips. He looked past me, over my shoulder, at the Glass Boy poised on the shelf.

LUCY WAS STILL
sulking on Monday but Miranda was surprisingly friendly. She came rushing up to me at lunch time, giving me a hug, as if we’d been best friends for ever.

‘Hey, Sylvie,’ she said. ‘Let’s slope off somewhere by ourselves. You haven’t had lunch yet, have you? Shall we slip out the back way and go and get chips?’

We were strictly forbidden to leave the school premises at lunch time. I was usually a timid little goody-goody – but I nodded yes. I tried to act as if it was no big deal but my heart started thumping as we walked round the back of the canteen, ducked behind a delivery van and then ran out through the trade entrance. We carried on running to the end of the road and then slowed to a stop, laughing.

‘There! I knew it would be easy-peasy,’ said Miranda. ‘Come on, let’s find the chip shop.’

‘So you’ve never done this before?’

‘Never.’ She smiled. ‘You’re obviously a bad influence, Sylvie. You’re leading me astray.’

‘Yeah, like I’m the really bad naughty girl,’ I said.

‘You are, you are. Look at you on Friday night, snogging my boyfriend.’

‘
What?
’

‘Andy kept going on about you after you left. He really fancies you.’

‘Rubbish! And Andy isn’t your boyfriend. You were snogging
my
boyfriend.’ I swallowed. ‘Miranda, was it a
proper
snog?’

Miranda peered at me. ‘Hey, you didn’t really mind, did you? It was just a silly game. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I get crazy sometimes, I always push things too far. I could have kicked myself when Carl walked out like that. It was just meant to be a
laugh
.’

‘Oh well,’ I said lamely.

‘Carl isn’t still mad at me, is he?’

I shrugged.

‘You’re so
lucky
having a boyfriend like Carl. He’s so interesting. Most boys are so incredibly
basic
. They just want to fool around all the time. Andy and Raj are OK, I suppose, but they get on my nerves. Would you believe they started up a farting competition after you left? I was glad you guys weren’t there to witness it. It was so irritating. Alice and I left them to it.
We went up to my bedroom and played music. Alice danced around for a bit. She watches pop videos compulsively and she’s perfected all these little routines. It’s kind of pathetic. Although Alice is one of my totally-for-always best friends I often find her irritating too. Is that awful?’

‘Well. I suppose I find my best friend irritating too sometimes,’ I mumbled. I felt incredibly disloyal to Lucy but it was true.

‘I frequently irritate
myself
,’ said Miranda. ‘Do I irritate you, Sylvie?’

‘Not at all,’ I said politely.

‘I bet I irritate Carl,’ said Miranda.

I hesitated.

‘Yeah, right,’ she said, sighing. ‘I know, I know, I’m too full-on for most guys, especially someone as complex as Carl. I wish I had the knack of just
being
. I’ve always got to prance around and show off.’

‘But it works, Miranda, you know it does.’

Miranda pulled a face. ‘It only works with the people I’m not really bothered about.’

‘It worked with me!’ I said. ‘So you’re obviously not bothered with me, right?’

‘Wrong wrong wrong,’ said Miranda. ‘You’ve always intrigued me. You hang out with silly old Lucylocks and yet you don’t twitter and giggle like she does. You wander round at lunch time looking dead mysterious and you jump if someone talks to you, as if you’re deep in thought, in another world entirely—’

‘Glassworld,’ I said, and then I put my hand over my mouth.

‘Whichworld?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘Come
on. What?
Did you say Glassworld? Is this the story you and Carl made up together?’

‘You’re too sharp, Miranda. Stop it!’

‘Is it like Glasstown? You know, the stories the Brontës made up together when they were children?’

‘The Brontës? Like, Charlotte and Emily? The ones who wrote great fat Victorian novels?’

‘Yes, that’s them. They weren’t great fat
girls
, they were spindly little sisters, three of them and a brother who was a bit of a waste of space. Haven’t you read
Jane Eyre
? Ha, that’s who you remind me of, funny fierce dreamy little Jane. You must read it, Sylvie, and
Wuthering Heights
, it’s got the most amazing beginning –
and
end, though it gets a bit muddly in the middle.’

‘Aren’t they rather long and difficult? They’re classics.’

‘Yeah, but they’re fantastic dramatic love stories too. You’ll love them. And then you’ll get into reading about the Brontë family and how they lived in this bleak parsonage on the Yorkshire moors and they wrote these little books in minute handwriting when they were children about two imaginary worlds, Angria and Glasstown. I always thought how cool it would be to have a family like that so you could
all make up stuff together. I used to play all kinds of pretend games when I was young and I made the other kids play them too, but it was definitely under sufferance. They all thought I was totally weird. But now I’ve found you guys we’ll all be in the Weird Club together. So, tell me all about Glassworld.’

‘I can’t. I really truly can’t, Miranda, it’s just been our secret thing for years and years. Carl would kill me if I breathed a word about it.’

I felt so worried she’d take offence but she just shrugged and laughed.

‘OK, OK, but you can’t stop me making up
my
world too. The Brontës had Glasstown and Angria, remember. Yeah, I’ll have
Sangria
, that’s like a Spanish drink – we drank heaps of it in Madrid last year.’

‘
You
drank it?’

‘Well. A glass. My parents had great
jugs
of it. Yes, Sangria will have red-wine fountains and everyone will be very relaxed and there’ll be lots of dancing and it will be really really hot, summer all the time, and it’ll be like an island so everyone can go swimming whenever they fancy and the sea will be really warm and there’ll be dolphins – yeah, everyone will swim with the dolphins and I shall speak dolphinese like this!’ She started squeaking and clicking, flapping her hands like flippers. ‘See, I’m good at making it up, aren’t I? You’re going to get bored holed up in Glassworld so you can come and visit, right?’

‘OK, I’d love to,’ I said. ‘So long as I have my own pet dolphin.’

‘Absolutely. And your own pet piranha fish who will give you such a loving little nibble if you try to stroke it. I’ll personally decorate your hair with pearls and coral beads and tie it with silky green seaweed. I’ll give you a sea-green velvet dress to wear in the evenings buttoned with real pearls and you’ll drink sangria out of green goblets—’

‘Made in Glassworld,’ I said. ‘My gift to you.’

‘You’re a very polite girl so after you’ve stayed with me several weeks and I’ve thoroughly spoiled you you’ll
have
to invite me to your … glass home?’

‘Palace, if you please.’ I hesitated. ‘Actually, you’ve already visited Glassworld. I’ve written about it in the Chronicles.’

Miranda stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘Really? As me or as one of your made-up Glassworld people?’

‘Sort of both.’

‘What kind of an answer is that?’

‘Look, it’s
secret
, Miranda.’

‘You can’t just
appropriate
me and put me in your book and then refuse to tell me how you’ve portrayed me.
Why
won’t you tell me? Have you made me a horrible character? Have you turned me into Miranda the Mad Hag, with a warty nose and black bristles on my chin? You
have
, haven’t you? I’m psychic, I can tell.’

‘Your psychic powers are rubbish because
you’re not a bit mad or haggy, you’re Princess Mirandarette, an enchantress.’

‘Ah! So who do I enchant? Can I enchant Carl?’

‘Absolutely not. He’s the King and he’s married to me,’ I said.

‘That’s not fair! You can’t bag him in real life
and
in Glassworld.’

‘Yes I can!’

‘Am I a brilliant enchantress?’

‘The best.’