Tilly's Moonlight Garden

by Julia Green

  “What should we call him?” Tilly said.

  “We need to make a list,” Dad said. “Any ideas, Til?”

  She shook her head. Names were hard. They had to sound right and not remind you of anyone else, and they were important too, Tilly thought. They seemed to make you be the person you were. If she’d been something like Harriet or Alex, say, instead of Tilly, she’d be different…

  The baby began to stir. He made tiny noises; his mouth opened a little bit, then he yawned. Tilly passed him across to Mom very, very carefully. Even though he was tiny, her arms ached.

  “What do you think?” Mom said. “Will he do?”

  Tilly didn’t know what to say. She took the polar bear and the little fox out of the bag and perched them at the foot of the crib, so the baby could see them when he opened his eyes. “These are from Granny,” she said to Mom.

  “And you,” Granny said.

  Mom kissed her head. “Thank you, Tilly. How lovely.”

  Granny wanted a turn holding the baby. She said he was beautiful, though anyone could see he wasn’t really—too scrawny and wrinkled, with skin so pale it was nearly transparent and you could see blue veins underneath.

  Granny got an old envelope out of her bag. She’d scribbled her own list of names on the back. She handed it to Dad.

  Dad gave Mom a funny look. “Maximilian, Benjamin, Samuel, James, Raphael, Sebastian,” he read out.

  Mom pulled a face.

  Tilly laughed. She leaned closer into Mom’s warm body. Mom was all soft, wrapped in her fuschia-pink dressing gown. “When are you coming home?” she asked her.

  “A week or so, maybe,” Mom said. “They have to do tests, on me and on him. But then we can come home if all’s well.”

  “And I’ll be back this evening,” Dad said. “We can have a special dinner to celebrate. How about that, Tilly? What should we have?”

  “Pancakes, of course,” Tilly said.

  Chapter 22

  After supper, Tilly and Dad went upstairs to find the things they’d need for when the baby came home.

  “He won’t have his own room to begin with,” Dad explained. “He’ll need to be close to Mom at night-time. New babies have to feed most of the time. But we’ll have a look for the Moses basket we had for you and the blankets and your little onesies and pajamas.”

  “Where?” Tilly asked. “I haven’t seen any of that stuff ever!”

  “It’s all in the attic,” Dad said. “Packed neatly in boxes with labels, Mom says.”

  They had to get the ladder out. Dad let Tilly climb up first. She had to push open a hatch door in the ceiling above the landing.

  “Careful where you step,” Dad said. “Keep to the places where there are solid floorboards. You should find a light switch on the left, just inside the door.”

  The attic smelled musty and old. Tilly clambered in and stood up. For a second, before she found the light switch, she looked into the darkness and heard things rustling and shifting, scuttling. There might be spiders, or mice even.

  In the light, she saw ancient cobwebs looping the roof joists and piles of cardboard boxes, stacked-up wooden furniture, a big wooden chest.

  “Scoot over,” Dad said from the top of the ladder. “Then I can come up too.”

  Dad had to duck down; the roof wasn’t high enough for him to stand upright except in the middle, where the roof pointed.

  Tilly found the Moses basket. It was lined with pale blue cotton cloth with a rabbit pattern. Inside, on the foam mattress, was a plastic bag full of white cotton blankets, little sheets, and something furry.

  “Sheepskin!” Dad said, looking over her shoulder.

  “Did I sleep in this?” Tilly asked.

  “You did! Imagine that, you really were that size once.” He laughed.

  While Dad searched for the cardboard box containing the baby clothes, Tilly explored the attic. The boards didn’t reach as far as the edges. If she made a mistake, she might step right through the ceiling underneath! She tried to figure out which bit of the house was under the different areas of the attic.

  An oval table and two wooden chairs were stacked over where her bedroom must be. “Where did these come from?” she asked.

  “More of Miss Sheldon’s things,” Dad said. “There are all sorts of odds and ends of hers still up here. We’ll have to sort it all out eventually. Get rid of the things we don’t need.”

  Tilly opened up the lid of the wooden chest. The attic light threw strange shadows. She needed a flashlight, really, to see inside. She put her hand in and pulled out the top layers of material.

  “Look! Dress up clothes!” Tilly said. “A whole box full.” She pulled out more skirts and dresses, old-fashioned things made of silky material that slithered through her fingers. In the dim light it was hard to see the colors properly, but there were white lacy things, petticoats or nighties, perhaps, and a thick black skirt that reached down to the ground when she held it against herself, and a flowery dress, a feathery scarf, a green coat with a velvet collar and a pair of soft shoes the same color, some leather ankle boots with little buttons that laced up, too big for Tilly but nice all the same. Helen would love these! Tilly thought, and then she squashed the thought down again because…Because she wasn’t sure about Helen anymore.

  “Right, that’s everything for now,” Dad said. “Shall we go down?”

  Tilly hauled the clothes back into the chest and shut the lid.

  She went down the ladder first and caught the basket and the piles of baby clothes and things as Dad threw them down to her. They took the clothes and bedding and put them in the washing machine to get them clean and ready.

  Granny was reading in the living room, her glasses slipping down her nose. Dad poured a drink for her and himself and put another log on the fire. “Bedtime, Tilly,” he said. “It’s been a long day! And there’s school tomorrow. Run along and get ready. You can read one chapter in bed, that’s all.”

  Tilly closed the living room door behind her and stood for a second in the hall. The dark wasn’t scary anymore, she realized, even with the coats and things hanging up making shadows. She knew it was late, but she had one important thing to do before she got into bed. She listened to the rise and fall of Dad’s and Granny’s voices, cozy and comforting behind the shut door. She went quietly into the kitchen, took three leftover cold pancakes from the fridge and two eggs, and then she put on her boots and coat and ran out into the garden.

  Most of today’s snow had gone. She left the food by the garden gate like last time and called softly for the fox. She waited. Was that something moving?

  Sure enough, she heard rustling and then the shadow of the fox came across from the wild garden to the other side of the footpath. Its ears were pricked up, its nose sniffing the air, the bushy tail held low, twitching. She crouched, waiting, and gradually, step by slow step, the fox came closer. Tilly held her breath. The fox’s golden eyes gleamed. Its breath made clouds on the cold night air. It came right up and stopped, and picked up one of the eggs and ran back with it across the footpath to the wild garden. Tilly watched closely. She was sure this was a different fox: not nearly as scruffy and thin as the vixen. Was it the father fox, helping bring food for the cubs and the vixen?

  Tilly hoped it was. It made her happier, to know the vixen was not so alone, struggling to find food and guard the cubs by herself.

  She stood up. It was much too cold to stay any longer. She ran back to the kitchen and upstairs to her room.

  Later, Dad came up to say good night. “I didn’t think you’d still be awake,” he said. “I’ll wake you up at seven and take you to school tomorrow, okay? Let Granny sleep in. Sweet dreams!”

  “That’s what Granny always says,” Tilly answered, sleepily.

  “Of course. She said it to me when I was a
boy,” Dad said. “And that’s why I say it to you.”

  Tilly remembered a photo at Granny’s house of Dad when he was about eight. The funny thing was, you could see it was Dad even then, even with more hair and wearing shorts.

  “Start thinking of some names for your brother,” Dad said. He blew her a kiss from the doorway. “Something better than Granny’s suggestions!”

  But Tilly was already fast asleep.

  Chapter 23

  Dad took Tilly to school by car in the morning because he was going to go straight to the hospital as soon as he’d dropped her off.

  “Emil, Jonah, Noah, Toby, Todd?” Dad said. “Like any of them?”

  “Toby or Todd,” Tilly said. “Then we’ll both be Ts.”

  She flipped through the pages of the baby names book on her lap. She read out more funny ones. “How about Norbert? It means ‘Bright North,’ in old English.”

  Dad laughed.

  “Or Orson, from the Latin for bear.”

  She looked for her own name and frowned. “Tilly isn’t in this stupid book!”

  Dad glanced over at her. “Try under Matilda,” he said.

  “Matilda, meaning ‘mighty in battle.’ Short forms: Matti, Tilda, Tilly,” she read aloud.

  “See? That about sums you up, Tilly!”

  “What does?”

  “Mighty in battle. It means you’re brave. You have courage and spirit. And so you do.”

  They’d got to school. Dad parked the car under the trees next to the playground. “Should I come in?”

  Tilly shook her head.

  “Want to invite someone to come over after school?” Dad asked.

  “Maybe,” Tilly said. She picked up her bag from the backseat, got out, and slammed the car door.

  Dad wound down the window. “Any messages for Mom?”

  “Say Come home SOON.”

  Tilly ran into the school. The bell was ringing.

  Everyone in her class was already sitting at their tables, reading. Tilly slipped into her place next to Susila. Mrs. Almond was reading a book too.

  “OK,” Mrs. Almond said to the class, as usual. “Start bringing yourself back from the story world. Find a good place to leave the story for now.” She put her own book down on the desk. “Later on today, we’re going to be sharing our own work-in-progress and helping each other with editing and revising our stories.”

  Tilly thought about her story. Did she really want anyone else to hear about her secret fox? The story was in her notebook, deep at the bottom of her bag, still unfinished. But now it was time for math. There was no point worrying.

  At recess, Susila asked her about the baby.

  Tilly described how tiny he was. “This big,” she said, holding out her hands.

  “Sweet,” Susila said. “I can remember when both my brothers were born. Can I come and see him?”

  Tilly felt herself flush. “Yes,” she said. “When he’s home. You can come and play after school today, if you want.”

  “Yes please!” Susila said.

  And now it was the afternoon, and time to work on their stories. Tilly got hers out of her bag.

  “You’ve written a lot,” Susila whispered. “Mine’s only short.”

  “Take turns to read what you’ve written aloud, then listen to what your partner has to say: the things they like, the questions they have, any suggestions,” Mrs. Almond said.

  “You go first,” Susila said to Tilly.

  Tilly took a deep breath. She moved her chair around a little, so no one else could hear. She started to read her story about the fox and the girl.

  “You’re supposed to say what to do to make it better,” Tilly said when she’d finished reading.

  “I don’t know,” Susila said. “I loved it all. Just write some more, and make it have a happy ending. I don’t like sad endings for stories.”

  “I don’t know what the ending is,” Tilly said. “It hasn’t happened yet.”

  “You mean, it’s all for real?”

  Tilly nodded.

  “Will you show me the foxes if I come to your house?”

  “Yes. But don’t tell anyone.”

  “Promise,” Susila said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “Your turn now,” Tilly said.

  Susila’s story was set in London, about a girl who was an orphan. “It’s not about me,” she said. “It’s all made up.”

  “The descriptions of the house are good,” Tilly said. “You make it sound amazing. The girl living by herself and everything.”

  “She couldn’t do that in real life if she was eleven,” Susila said. “But so what?”

  Granny was waiting at the school gate.

  Tilly and Susila ran over.

  “Can Susila come home with me today?”

  “Of course. Hello, Susila!” Granny said. “Have you asked your mom? Shall I have a word with her?”

  “She’s not here. I walk home by myself usually,” Susila said. “It’s only around the corner.”

  “Do you want to borrow my phone, then?” Granny got her cell phone out of her bag and handed it over.

  Tilly watched Susila chatting on the phone.

  Susila nodded and grinned at Tilly. “I can stay till six,” she said.

  “Good,” Granny said. “Tell your mom we’ll give you a ride back. Then she won’t have to come out to get you.”

  Granny chatted as she drove them home. She’d been at the hospital before coming to get Tilly. “Your mom sends you a big kiss, and baby sends a little burp.”

  Susila laughed.

  Tilly was quiet, thinking about Mom.

  “Your house is huge,” Susila said as they climbed out of the car. “And there’s a garden and everything! It’s like a house in a story.”

  “It’s freezing cold and very impractical,” Granny said. “But the garden will be lovely in the summer, won’t it, Tilly?”

  Having Susila with her meant that Tilly saw everything a bit differently. In her story, she’d made the garden sound bigger and grander. She hoped Susila wouldn’t be disappointed when she saw it for real. They walked all the way around, and Tilly showed Susila the flowers hiding under the dead leaves and the way the birds flew down for bread crumbs and the robin almost tame enough to take cheese from her hand, and then she showed her the way out of the metal gate, across the path, to the wild garden behind the flint wall, through the rickety wooden gate.

  But here too it all looked smaller and more messy and drab than when she came by herself. There seemed to be fewer trees, even.

  “Is this where the fox lives?” Susila asked.

  “Yes. In the bramble bushes. Ssshh, now.”

  They crept closer to the tangle of dead branches and leaves and thorns. It was bitterly cold. The wind carried tiny bits of ice, like frozen rain. There was no sign of the foxes. They waited. Nothing stirred. The brambles looked empty of life.

  Susila was shivering.

  “We may as well go back,” Tilly whispered. “Nothing’s going to happen here today. It’s too cold.” She didn’t show Susila her own den. She had the strangest feeling that Helen might be there, and she didn’t want her to see Susila. She didn’t know why.

  Granny had made them tea.

  “Let’s explore the house!” Susila said. She wanted to look in all the rooms, even Dad’s study. She thought everything was amazing. “So many rooms!” She ran along the landing and shouted, so she could hear the way her voice echoed from the high ceilings.

  The house had never seemed so alive!

  Downstairs, Granny turned up the radio.

  Now what? They’d run out of things to do.

  “We could go on your computer?” Susila suggested. “What games ha
ve you got?”

  “None,” Tilly said. “I don’t even have my own computer.”

  “What do you usually do, then, when you’re at home?”

  Tilly thought for a bit. “I read. And I play outside. Sometimes I watch TV or DVDs.” She nearly mentioned the dollhouse but that sounded much too babyish. “I know!” Tilly said. “We could go and look in the attic.”

  Together, they tugged the ladder from the spare room onto the landing and set it up beneath the trapdoor. Tilly went first, to open the hatch, and Susila climbed up close behind.

  “Wow!” Susila said. “Look at all this old stuff! It’s like an antique shop!”

  “There’s a chest full of old clothes,” Tilly said. “Want to see?”

  They pulled out armloads of clothes and started trying them on. “Careful where you step,” Tilly said. “You don’t want to go right through the ceiling.”

  That made Susila giggle—that and the funny clothes. They pranced around in front of an old mirror they found stacked up next to loads of old, framed pictures. The pictures were paintings mostly, and some more photographs, like the ones in Dad’s study. There was one of a girl. Tilly pulled it out to look. A girl with darkish hair in a woollen dress stared back at Tilly, out of the spotted old photo. It was the same girl who’d been in that other photo before, but older. More like twelve or thirteen.

  “Helen,” Tilly whispered.

  “Who? Who’s that?” Susila asked.

  Tilly put the photo back down on the floor. “No one, I mean, I don’t know,” she said.

  Susila looked at Tilly. “She’s like the girl in your story.”

  “Yes.”

  “But this photo is really old. Like, it’s from the olden times.”

  Tilly didn’t say anything.

  Downstairs, Granny was calling their names. They both stood still to listen. They heard footsteps and then Granny was calling again, up into the attic. “Tilly? Susila? Whatever are you doing up there? It’s time for Susila to go home.”