Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter (4 page)

I got up and shut the window. Then I hooked the feathery thing onto a jagged piece of wood sticking out of the beam above my bed.

Lying down again, I stared up at it, thinking that it reminded me of one of those mobiles you hang above babies’ cradles and wishing it had a little wind-up machine inside so that it would turn around and around and play “Rock-a-Bye Baby.” The thought made me smile. Or perhaps it was some kind of feathery lucky charm, like a symbol that ancient tribes used to worship. A feathered charm — yes, I liked that idea!

I was finally getting sleepy. Yawning, I told myself something that Dad used to say to me when I was little: if I made sure I still had a smile on my face as I fell asleep, I’d be certain to have happy dreams.

But then, what did Dad know?

I can’t see anything. Why can’t I see anything?

It’s so dark — too dark. It’s pitch, pitch-black. More than that, even. It’s like a complete absence of light, absence of everything. There’s nothing. So much nothing that I want to cry.

I try to make my way through the emptiness. I’m on my knees, crawling, reaching out with my arms for something — anything. I feel like a blind man without his cane, hoping someone will notice him, flailing around, calling out.

Then I’m slipping through nothingness.

My hands hit something. A wall. I feel my way around it, inching up with my fingers. I pull myself out of the vacuum and stand in the darkness. Another wall on my other side. It’s too near, closing in on me. A corridor. I walk forward — it’s all I can do.

And then I see it. A bright light, ahead of me. I want to cry again, this time with happiness. The light — it’s full of everything I want. There’s a face inside it, looking at me, calling to me. A woman — what’s she saying? I need to know what she’s saying to me!

I’m running blindly down the corridor, running toward the light, toward the face. Wait!

But she’s gone. Only the light remains. It keeps moving, changing, growing strong, then faint, disappearing altogether and then returning, strong and focused, almost blinding me.

“Philippa.”

I have to get to the light. Don’t go — don’t go — stay!

“Philippa! What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

No, don’t stop me! I have to get to the light. It’s fading — disappearing. I can hardly see it now. Please! Come back!

“Philippa, you have to wake
up
!”

Mom was holding my shoulders.
What happened? Where’s the light?

“Darling, are you all right?”

I stared blankly at her.

“You were calling out.”

I looked around the room, trying to take in the reality of it. Of course. It was just a dream. A nightmare. Nothing to worry about.

I took Mom’s hand. “Sorry,” I said.

Mom hugged me. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I was still awake. I can never get to sleep the first night somewhere new. Shall I fix us a couple of hot chocolates?”

I sat up and pulled the blankets off me. “That would be great.”

“You stay here,” Mom said, tucking me back in. “I’ll bring it up.”

Mom left the room, and I snuggled down again, still unsettled by my dream. I could hardly remember what it had been about now; just the feeling remained — a huge feeling of sadness. I’d never felt this sad in my life. It was as if the sadness were bigger than me, as if it could swallow me up and I’d disappear completely.

I must have drifted back to sleep, because I don’t remember Mom coming back. I woke in the morning with a dull ache inside me that I couldn’t explain.

Reaching across to the bedside table, I gulped down the chocolate drink Mom had left me. Cold and bitter. My parents don’t believe in normal hot chocolate, that is, hot chocolate that tastes like chocolate. It has to be free-trade, recycled, organic, and preferably stripped of flavor before it’s allowed in our house. Still, my mouth was dry, so I drank it down, only wincing a bit.

As I got dressed, I pushed the nightmare to the back of my mind, shaking off the strange sadness like a tree shaking off dead leaves.

The house was so quiet I could almost have believed my parents had gone out and left me there on my own. Except I knew them well enough to know that there wasn’t a huge probability of their waking up before lunchtime if they didn’t have to — and it was only ten-thirty.

I crept past their room, listening for any signs of life. Gentle snores came from the other side of the door. They were
so
predictable!

I went down to the kitchen and looked out at the garden. It was pouring rain outside. I guess that’s what happens when you take your summer vacation in October.

“Morning, darling.” Mom appeared behind me, her nightgown wrapped around her, her hair sticking out at every angle imaginable. “Thought I heard you.”

“What are you doing up? Isn’t this like the middle of the night for you and Dad?”

Mom ruffled my hair as she passed me, heading straight for the coffeemaker. “Ha, ha! Couldn’t sleep. I told you — never can, somewhere new. I’m usually all right after the first night. I’ll probably sleep like a log for the rest of the week. At least you got back to sleep after your bad dream. You were passed out when I came back up.”

She opened the fridge, getting out the milk and reaching into the cupboard for the biggest mug she could find — which wasn’t very big. “What do you want to do today, chicken? Go for a nice walk? We should get out and make the most of the countryside while we’re here.”

I nudged a thumb toward the French windows. “You have seen the weather, haven’t you?”

Mom sat down beside me and looked out. “Oh,” she said.

We sat in silence, listening to the coffeemaker grind into action.

“Hey, I know,” Mom said, poking me with her elbow. “Let’s go to one of those sessions at the pottery shop.” She looked in disgust at her mug. “We could do with some decent-sized mugs!”

I’d rather have gone swimming. I was about to say so when Mom said, “Come on — it’ll be fun,” and looked at me with big, pleading eyes that made me wonder — as I often did — which of us was the parent and which was the child.

It was just as well I
wasn’t
the parent. The pair of them would be spoiled brats. I could never say no to them. To be honest, I liked making them happy. Was that so wrong?

“OK,” I said, smiling. “That’s a great idea.”

We could always go swimming another day.

“So, you can help yourself to any of these books. Have a look through to get ideas for pots. You can even copy straight from the picture, if there’s one you particularly like.”

The woman had short red hair tucked under a headband with multicolored flowers on it and bright green eyes that sparkled when she smiled — which she did a lot. She told us her name was Annie, and she showed us around the shop, pointing out little bits and pieces while she talked. Strange things that people had made, different casts we could use, paint trays with every color you could think of.

Everything was ordered and labeled, even the different types of coffee on a shelf at the back — and there were a lot of those as well! Mom was in heaven — especially when Annie said we could help ourselves whenever we wanted a refill.

“If you don’t see the color of paint you want, just let me know, and I’ll mix it for you,” Annie went on. “I’m here to help — so don’t sit there wondering what to do. Just be creative and have fun!”

Something about her manner had already cheered me up. She seemed to radiate a happy feeling. The shop made you feel like you were being wrapped up in a blanket and put in front of a fire with a hot chocolate. Or maybe it was just the fact that the heat was on and it was still pouring outside. Either way, I realized I was glad we’d come.

Annie showed us to a table. “This is where you can work. Just let me know if you have any questions, OK?” She caught my eye, and a tiny shiver ran through me. Her eyes were so sharp — I had the feeling that they could see all the way inside my mind, that she could read my thoughts. Then she smiled her warm smile again, and I realized I was being silly. My imagination really was working overtime today!

“I just need to make a quick phone call,” Annie said. She headed for the back of the shop and picked up the phone.

A moment later, I could hear snatches of her conversation.

“. . .
So
glad it was you who picked up the phone . . . could do with some help . . . will he let you, d’you think? . . . OK, great. See you soon. . . .”

I wandered over to the books of pictures, trying not to eavesdrop. Annie had finished her conversation now anyway, and was busy tidying the paint pots into neat rows.

I glanced at the other tables on my way past. There was a young couple at one of them, sitting opposite each other and painting a huge plate together. They hadn’t looked up since we’d been in here. Too busy giggling and squealing and reaching across the table to hold hands. A family of four was working quietly at another table: the parents hunched over their bowls, a young boy frowning seriously, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he drew around his hand onto a mug, and a toddler splattering paint onto a plate.

Mom and Dad had decided to launch in without looking at any of the books. No doubt they’d come up with the most flamboyant paintings for their mugs. Mine would look really boring compared with whatever they did. Not that I minded. I was used to it. Mom and Dad rarely did anything you couldn’t notice from a mile away.

I’d just settled down to flip through a book of pictures when the doorbell tinkled and a girl came in. She had deep brown eyes and long blond hair that fell over one shoulder. She was wearing denim shorts and woolly tights and a fluffy sweater with a couple of silver dog tags around her neck. She looked like the kind of girl who wouldn’t notice me in a million years. Far too cool and pretty and trendy for the likes of me.

She stood in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of her shorts as she looked around the shop.

“Robyn!” Annie went running over to the door and threw her arms around the girl.

“Annie.” Robyn relaxed into the hug.

I watched them out of the corner of my eye, my head still in the book I was holding. I didn’t want to look nosy.

Robyn pulled away. “I thought you said you were busy,” she said. “There’s hardly anyone here!”