“Nobody notices magic things,
Nobody sees, and nobody hears.
Nobody knows when the magic’s there,
Nobody, nobody cares.”
She blew her nose, very loudly, on her handkerchief.
“But I do!” said Tilly. “I notice! I care! Couldn’t we just try them?”
Mrs Hardcastle gave Tilly some of the balloons, and they went round together to hand them round to everybody.
What a lot of pushing there was! A brother and sister who lived in Tilly’s street started fighting each other because they both wanted the same balloon.
“Careful!” said Tilly. “These are magic balloons, you know!”
“Magic!” the brother and sister laughed. “There’s no such thing!” But their balloon popped, and they didn’t get another one.
“Now!” said Mrs Hardcastle at last. “We’re ready.”
She blew her trumpet again, and everyone gathered round them. She and Tilly stood in the middle, just near where Tilly had seen the leaf-lords dance, all that time ago. Everybody held up their arms, so the balloons danced on their strings above their heads; blue, yellow, green, red, orange, pink and white. They danced and they danced and they danced.
“When the wind whispers,
When the rain calls,
When the moon winks,
And tiny stars fall,
When the earth breathes,
When the sea sighs,
It’s time for the magic
To kiss your eyes . . .”
“I know what’s going to happen now,” said Tilly. “You’re going to start snoring, so the magic can come.”
“Oh no, I’m not, Tilly Mint,” said Mrs Hardcastle. “I’m sick of missing all the fun. I’m going up! Wheee!”
And up she went, clutching her red balloon high above her head.
“Come on, Tilly!” she shouted.
“This is great. I haven’t done this for years!”
Tilly felt the string of her balloon tugging, and her feet lifting off the ground, and up she went after Mrs Hardcastle. Wheee!
“Come on, everybody!” she called down to all the faces turned up like daisies to watch. “You can come too!”
Some of Tilly’s friends started floating up straight away, but their mothers caught them by the feet and dragged them down again. Some people thought they would float higher if they jumped off trees, but their balloons popped in the branches as they tried to climb up. Some people were frightened when they felt their balloons lifting them up, and they let go of the strings. Away their balloons floated, up to the clouds.
Tilly’s mum and Mrs Patel and all Mrs Patel’s children bobbed up, and then down again, and up again, and down. They couldn’t believe what was happening to them!
So, in the end, there were only Tilly and Mrs Hardcastle in the sky, floating over the park. Far below them, all the people were waving.
Tilly felt as if she was dancing in the blue sky. She felt she could dance for ever, holding on to her balloon that was as yellow as the sun.
Mrs Hardcastle bobbed over to her. “Time to go down now, Tilly Mint,” she said. And then she said, “I’ve got something for you in my handbag. Here it is, Tilly. Take care of it.”
“But, Mrs Hardcastle,” Tilly gasped.
“Goodbye, Tilly,” Mrs Hardcastle said.
“But, Mrs Hardcastle. Aren’t you coming down with me?” Tilly was already floating down, and Mrs Hardcastle was already floating up.
“Goodbye, Tilly,” Mrs Hardcastle called, in a far-away voice. “I want to go on flying now. I’m having an adventure, Tilly Mint. I’ve been wanting to do this since long, long ago . . .”
Her voice grew fainter and fainter, and suddenly there was a bump, and Tilly was lying on the grass in the park. Mum was sitting on a bench nearby, reading the paper.
“Hello,” said Mum. “What have you got there, Tilly Mint?”
“It’s a handbag,” said Tilly. She opened it up carefully, keeping the sparkle in. “It’s full of dream-dust.”
Tilly looked up at the sky. She could just see a brown blob that could have been a skylark, and a blue thing that could have been a butterfly, and a tiny red bobbing thing that could have been a bubble. But Tilly knew what it was.
“Bye, Mrs Hardcastle,” she whispered.
And Tilly Mint and Mum walked back home for lunch.
TILLY MINT AND THE DODO
In loving memory of the last dodo, which
was killled by pirates on the island of
Mauritius in 1681, and in honour of all
extinct and endangered species.
Chapter One
A Message from Mrs Hardcastle
IT WAS A very windy night; the sort of night that sounds as if wild animals are roaring round the house, and pawing at the door to be let in. The sort of night that looks as if the stars are the eyes of those animals, cold and angry.
Tilly Mint couldn’t sleep. She snuggled under her quilt to try and block the noise out, but still the wild animals of the wind howled at her, and still the eyes of the stars glared down at her.
“Something nice will happen,” she told herself. “And then I’ll be able to go to sleep.”
The animals in the wind laughed.
“Yes it will,” said Tilly. “I know it will.”
The big eye of the moon winked at her as it slid away from the clouds. Through her window Tilly could see the leaves being torn from trees, and twigs and branches too, as if they were alive and rushing for shelter. Then she saw something long and blue twisting about like an eel; wrapping itself round things and tearing itself free; dancing, as if it didn’t care about the wind.
“I’ve seen that before,” said Tilly Mint to herself. “I know I have.”
And then she saw something round and red, cheerful as summer, bobbing like a bubble, and she knew she’d seen that before too. She pressed her face to the window to see what else was there, and soon there came another shape, darker than the red one, and much rounder, and quite a bit bigger, and hanging onto it by a piece of string: a Mrs Hardcastle sort of shape. Tilly sat back on her heels, not daring to believe what she’d seen.
“It can’t be,” she said, though she knew it was. She pulled Mr Pig out from under her pillow and held him up to have a look too.
“Look, Mr Pig,” she whispered. “You know who that is, don’t you? It’s Mrs Hardcastle! Everybody said she’d gone away for ever, but I knew I’d see her again!”
Tilly Mint missed Mrs Hardcastle very much. Everybody said that she’d never see her again, but Tilly knew, in her heart of hearts, that somebody as magic as Mrs Hardcastle couldn’t possibly stay away for ever.
But when she looked again the red thing, and the blue thing, and the darker thing had all gone. The moon had slipped like a fox back down into the dark clouds, and the animal stars had closed their staring eyes. The wind had stopped its roaring and was just sighing gently, like someone in a deep sleep. Tilly pushed Mr Pig back under her pillow, where she knew he’d be warm, and she wriggled back under her quilt again.
“I knew something nice was going to happen,” she said.
Just as Tilly was drifting into sleep the red thing and the blue thing and the darker thing landed with a gentle bump in the middle of the woods at the end of the park that was just down the road from Tilly Mint’s house. The darker thing, Mrs Hardcastle, stood up carefully. She was a bit stiff after her long flight. She tied her red balloon to an overhanging branch, and then she climbed up the tree a bit to rescue her tangled blue scarf.
“What a mess this place is in,” she said to herself, looking round. “No animals to be seen. All the flowers squashed. Someone’s been chopping trees down. And all the birds are hiding! Something had better be done about all this before it’s too late. I think I know just the right person to help me, too.”
Next morning there was a letter for Tilly under the milk bottle on the step. Tilly wasn’t a bit surprised to see it, though her mum was.
She read her letter again and again. The strange thing was, Mum was quite sure that Tilly Mint had written the letter herself, and if you looked at it closely you could see that the writing was very like Tilly’s, a bit scrawly, and a bit splodgy. You could even tell where she’d had to rub things out because she’d made spelling mistakes. But of course, as Tilly Mint pointed out, she couldn’t possibly have written it herself. She’d been fast asleep all night.
“And I saw Mrs Hardcastle flying past,” she said.
Mum smiled and told her to eat up her breakfast, and Tilly slid her letter under her plate and read it every time Mum wasn’t looking.
“Dear Tilly Mint, I’m having a little holiday in my cottage in the country. Can you bring me the box of special things I left in my attic? I’ve got an important job for you to do. Love, Mrs Hardcastle.”
I wonder where Mrs Hardcastle’s country cottage could be, thought Tilly. And what kind of special things could Mrs Hardcastle have left in her attic? And my job! What’s my important job going to be?
Tilly knew that she couldn’t be bothered to finish her toast, even though it was sticky with the yellow marmalade that she’d helped to make. She didn’t even want any more orange juice to drink. She was definitely too excited to help to clear the table.
“Can I go?” she begged. “Please, please, Mum? Can I go round to see Captain Cloud?”
And at last Mum said yes, and Tilly Mint ran like last night’s wind to the house where Mrs Hardcastle used to live, and where Captain Cloud lived now.
Tilly would never forget the day Captain Cloud had arrived in her street. He hadn’t just walked along the pavement as anyone else would have done. He’d come by boat! On the rainiest day Tilly Mint had ever known Captain Cloud had rowed up the street in a little green boat and parked it outside Mrs Hardcastle’s house. Tilly was the only one who’d seen him do that. Everyone knew that he was Mrs Hardcastle’s brother, and that he’d come to stay. Every time it rains he brings his boat out and rows up and down the street in it, just for fun, when Tilly’s the only one looking.
If you’ve ever seen Captain Cloud, you’ll know what he looks like. His face is as brown as a nutmeg, and his beard is as grey as clouds on a rainy day. He wears huge green wellies that come right up to his armpits, as if he’s been poured into them, and his pockets are full of shells, and he smells of the tide when it’s full of fish.
When Tilly knocked on the door, Captain Cloud was in his kitchen, singing a song about a jellyfish . . .
“Proper little squelchy things
Blobs of slime
Pink and purple bubbles
Dancers in the brine
Swirling out their skirtses
Watch them do their curtsies
Swaying in the waves like washing on the line . . .”
“Captain Cloud!” Tilly shouted through his letter box. “Can I come in, please?”
“Why, it’s Tadpole Tilly! Pleased to see you,” Captain Cloud shouted through the other side of the letter box. “Come on in, little shrimp! You’re just in time to hear my new song!”
“I heard it,” said Tilly. “It was good.”
“Thank you. Very kind of you to say so. Would you like to hear it again?”
“Please let me come in, Captain Cloud! I’ve had a message from Mrs Hardcastle, and it’s important.”
Captain Cloud was as excited as Tilly was when he saw the letter.
“Country cottage, eh?” he said, stroking his cloud-wisp beard. “Important job, eh? Wonder what that can be? Special things! In the attic! Well, I’ll be barnacled!”
“Please, Captain Cloud, can we go and look?”
Tilly ran up the stairs with Captain Cloud puffing behind her. They went right up to the very top of the house, to the dark and spidery attic where Mrs Hardcastle used to keep her most special things; the precious things that had belonged to her when she was a little girl, years and years and years ago.
“Oh, Captain Cloud,” whispered Tilly. “Isn’t it lovely in here!”
It was a most wonderful attic, dim and quiet as a bat’s cave, and draped with fluttering scarves and long birds’ feathers, and piled with shells that had the sound of the sea in them, and pebbles the colour of rivers, and stones with fossils curled inside. And in the corner, lit by the dusty light from the cobwebby window, was an old basket with a piece of paper tied to the handle.
SPECIAL THINGS, the label said. CARE OF TILLY MINT.
“Captain Cloud, I’ve found it!” said Tilly. She pulled back the dusty headscarf that was covering the contents of the basket and peered in.
“There’s a long black shiny thing,” she said. “But I don’t know what it is.”
“Let’s have a look,” said Captain Cloud. “Why, that’s a spyglass, Tilly-turnip-head! You look through it and you see things. You spy on things, Tilly!”
Captain Cloud crawled round the attic, spying on spiders and moths and blue bottles, while Tilly brought the other special things out of Mrs Hardcastle’s basket.
“There’s a yellow balloon,” she said. “Waiting to be blown up. And a little blue feather. Haven’t I seen this before? And there’s a drawing of a funny-looking bird. I think Mrs Hardcastle must have been trying to draw a turkey, and it’s gone wrong. Oh, and look, Captain Cloud. Look!”
At the bottom of the basket, wrapped up in one of Mrs Hardcastle’s orange dusters, was an egg. It was as big as a melon, and it was pale gold. They looked at it through the spyglass, and they polished it with the duster, and they held it up to the light of the window, and, very gently, they put it back in the basket.
“What is it, Captain Cloud?” asked Tilly.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. Never, never, in all my travels. It looks very special to me, Tilly Mint. I’ll tell you something; it looks important, but I’m blowed if I know why.”
He looked down at it again and scratched his cottony hair under his cap, and then he lifted up the basket and hooked it over Tilly’s arm. ‘If I were you I’d set off straight away with it and take it to Mrs Hardcastle.”
“That’s just the trouble.” Tilly followed him down the stairs to his salty kitchen. “I don’t really know where she is. I don’t know how to find her. And look, Captain Cloud. It’s raining!”
He came over to the window and stood looking out at the grey drizzle splattering down the glass. He loved the rain. It was his favourite weather. He once told Tilly that when it rained anything could happen. Anything . . .
“Why, little Tilly Lobster, you don’t have to let that bother you!” he said, and his voice was bubbly with excitement. “Rain is just what you need!”
“Is it? I don’t think I’ll get very far in the rain, Captain Cloud.”
“I’d say rain is just right.” He opened the door. “Bring the basket!”
Tilly followed him down the path to the shed at the bottom of his garden. She had to duck between the raindrops, they were so fat. They slid between the cracks on the path and tumbled against each other. By the time Tilly had caught up with Captain Cloud a little river of rain was nibbling round her ankles.
“I don’t like this much,” she said.
“Yes you do,” said Captain Cloud. “Look.”
He opened up his shed door. “Just right!” he breathed. The floor had turned into a pool of browny-green water that slapped against the wooden walls. And bobbing against the side, moored to a hosepipe, was his green boat.
“In you get, Tiddlywink!”
Captain Cloud hauled the boat in and lifted Tilly and her basket onto the slippery seat.
“What’s happening?” asked Tilly.
“Nothing much,” said Captain Cloud. “Not to me, anyway. I’m going to polish my goldfish bowl today, that’s what I’m going to do. But you, Tilly Fish, you are going to find Mrs Hardcastle.”
He poked his head out of the shed to look at the weather. Tilly could hear the rain gushing down the path now, like a ri
ver rushing to the sea.
“This should do it,” Captain Cloud said. “Hold on tight as a barnacle, Tilly-my-lizard. I’m going to give you a push.”
Before Tilly knew what was happening, Captain Cloud had pushed the little boat out of the shed into the garden that was shimmering like a lake, and away she sailed; away from the shed, away from the house, away from all the houses in her street, and far, far away from Captain Cloud in his long green wellie legs, waving to her from the door of his boat shed.
“Bye, Skipper Mint!” he called. “Give my love to Mrs Hardcastle!”
“Bye!” Tilly shouted back. She closed her eyes and let herself be rocked backwards and forwards in the little bobbing boat.
“Soon,” she whispered. “Soon, I’ll see Mrs Hardcastle again.”
And, because the rocking of the boat made her very tired, she fell asleep.
Chapter Two
The Hideaway Woods
TILLY WAS WOKEN up by the sound of knocking. Her boat was bumping gently against the roots of a tree. She lifted her basket out and then clambered up onto a reedy bank, tying the boat to a twisty root that stuck out like an elbow over the water.
There was no sign of a cottage anywhere, but when she bent down to pick up her basket, she noticed a crowd of mushrooms all huddled together like little bald men at a party. They were growing in the shape of an arrow, and pointing into the woods. She followed the arrow, and there was another, and another, all gleaming in the dark undergrowth.
“I hope this is the right way,” Tilly said.
A rabbit came quietly along the path towards her.
“Is this the way to Mrs Hardcastle’s?” Tilly asked it, and the rabbit turned and scampered off, flashing its tail like a torch for her to follow.
“This way! This way!” the birds in the trees sang down to her.
Tilly Mint Tales Page 5
