The Time Of Green Magic

by Hilary McKay

  ‘Maybe I can help!’ suggested Danny. ‘I mean, not with Esmé of course, but with anything else . . .’

  ‘It’s Esmé I need help with, though, Dan.’

  ‘Mate,’ began Danny, deeply shaken and feeling like his own grandma. ‘Mate, she’s . . . I mean . . . French. And eighteen . . . You may be a bit out of your league, mate . . .’ His grandma’s words would have been ‘all going to end in tears’.

  He bravely said them.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ said Max.

  ‘I do, I do. All my brothers, one time or another, I’ve seen them on their knees . . .’

  ‘I’m not on my knees!’ said Max. ‘Not at all! Anyway, eighteen . . . it’s not like she’s twenty or something. I’ll be nearly sixteen myself next year . . .’

  Danny, who was good at maths, looked surprised, but did not argue and instead said, ‘Course you will. Nearly. More or less. About.’

  ‘I’ve got to see her,’ said Max.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yes, and really quickly. Now. About her art.’

  Danny looked at him in disbelief. Max saw the look and explained a bit more.

  ‘You know those great big art books they do? She’s been doing hers at our house and there’s something come out of it that needs to go back in.’

  ‘Like a painting or something?’ asked Danny. ‘One of the pages come loose?’

  ‘Yeah, sort of,’ said Max, picturing Iffen. ‘Yeah, there’s something got loose, that’s right. And she’s handing her book in today, so I’ve got to stop her.’

  ‘Can’t you just message her or something?’ asked Danny, not believing a word of it.

  ‘She’s not answering.’

  ‘Does it matter that much? One loose page?’

  ‘It isn’t just one loose page.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘I can’t explain, Danny,’ said Max a bit desperately. ‘I just need to see her, that’s all.’

  ‘Mate, you’ve got it bad!’ said Danny. ‘OK! Tell you what, straight after last lesson, soon as we can, we’ll go over to the college. I’ll say I need to see my mum to get a lift home, and you’re coming with me. Soon as they sign us in you can shoot off and find her.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny,’ said Max gratefully. ‘Thanks, really, really thanks! Thank you! Oh . . .’

  It was another message from Abi: You’ve had a minute. You’ve had ages!

  Thought of something, Max sent back. Danny’s helping.

  It’s got to work, wrote Abi to Max.

  ‘It’s got to work,’ said Max to Danny.

  ‘Trust me!’ said Danny, happier than he’d been for weeks. ‘It will.’

  At first it didn’t seem like it would. They reached the college, breathless from running, and were signed in at reception by someone who knew Danny’s four brothers and wanted a good long chat about each of them. It seemed hours until they escaped at last into the teeming corridors. There Max glimpsed Esmé, lost her, raced, caught up with her again and found himself mistaken.

  ‘Esmé?’ asked the stranger. ‘Never heard of her.’

  ‘She’s French, you must have,’ said Danny, who had come panting up behind.

  The stranger rolled unfriendly eyes, sighed and walked away.

  ‘What’ll we do?’ asked Max, despairing, and just then Danny’s mother arrived.

  ‘Danny! Max!’ she exclaimed. ‘Just who I need! Follow me, follow me, follow me!’ And she rushed them into an office at the back of a big messy classroom. ‘Hold out your arms!’ she ordered, and loaded half a huge pile of art portfolios into Danny’s, the other half into Max’s, and added her keys to Danny’s heap. ‘Find my car and plonk them in the boot!’ she told them. ‘You’ve dropped something, Max, I’ll get it for you! There!’

  Then she rushed away again.

  Max did not move. He stood and stared. There, in his arms, was Esmé’s portfolio, with the ivy leaf that had fallen from her hair on the top.

  It was fate, it was green magic, helping him out at last. Max dumped his armload, retrieved the ivy leaf, picked up Esmé’s book, and said, ‘Dan, I’m taking this and running!’

  ‘Why?’ asked Danny. ‘What about seeing Esmé? I thought the whole point of coming here . . .’

  ‘Cover for me, will you? I’ll bring it back as soon as I can.’

  ‘Mate, you know you’re not making sense any more?’

  Danny found that he was talking to himself. Max was gone. ‘Maxi-babe,’ he said, shaking his head, then gathered up the whole great heap of portfolios and staggered very slowly to the car park.

  On the way back to look for his mum, he walked right into Esmé.

  Esmé stumbled a bit.

  ‘Pardon!’ said Danny, blushing. ‘Sorry, Esmé!’

  Esmé’s eyes narrowed and she asked, ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Non,’ said Danny. ‘But I know you parce que – you babysit my friend Max.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘You must have noticed Max!’

  ‘What you mean, noticed?’ asked Esmé, yawning politely behind a slim brown hand.

  ‘Noticed . . . er . . . observed, detected, clocked, checked out, taken in . . . um . . . considered or regarded,’ offered Danny, who was excellent at English, as well as French and maths.

  ‘Regarded?’ asked Esmé, and then suddenly she smiled, glancing at Danny in such a way that for a moment he felt his knees become as unreliable as ever any of his brothers’ had.

  Crikey! he thought, reaching out for a wall to steady himself. Crikey, poor Max!

  ‘Quoi pauvre Max?’ asked Esmé, and Danny realized that he had spoken aloud. ‘I take care of his brother, Louis, mais bien sûr, j’ai remarqué Max!’

  ‘She said something about Louis,’ Danny said, ages later, trying to recall it all for his friend. ‘And then she said something about you.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said, “Mais bien sûr, j’ai remarqué Max.” ’

  Danny paused, and looked expectantly at his friend.

  ‘Come on,’ said Max. ‘What’s it mean? You’re the one who went to Disneyland, not me!’

  ‘It means,’ said Danny, ‘ “But of course I have noticed Max”!’

  ‘She said that? She really said that?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Danny, ‘she did.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Most days, Louis went to his After-school Club until Esmé arrived to collect him. It was a club that liked parties. They had celebrated Diwali with sweets and lanterns, and Hanukkah with games and gold-and-silver chocolate money, and now they were getting ready for Christmas. They were making Christmas decorations to hang on the school tree: red-and-white woven paper hearts, fat felt robins, gingerbread stars and cotton-wool lambs.

  ‘Lambs?’ asked Louis, and they showed him the Christmas crib set up on the windowsill, with the stable and the star, the manger and the baby, the Three Wise Men and the shepherd boy, and his flock of snow-white lambs.

  ‘Okay, lambs,’ said Louis, nodding.

  Louis’ lamb did not look like the other children’s. It was a strange, sinewy beast, with pointed ears and teeth. It came in for a lot of criticism.

  ‘Its tail is too long,’ said Lucy.

  ‘Lambs don’t have spots,’ said Jay.

  ‘It doesn’t look like a lamb at all,’ said Amit, which was perfectly true. It didn’t look like a lamb; it looked like a giant spotted cat, big enough to eat all the lambs on the Christmas tree, with the robins for pudding afterwards.

  Summer (who always had dreadful colds in winter) sneezed and said it wasn’t very nice. Summer’s family didn’t celebrate Diwali or Hanukkah or Christmas. Summer was waiting for December Solstice Day, when there would be sweets and candles and a chocolate Yule log and piles of presents under a tree strung with lights. ‘With a picture of me on the top,’ said Summer proudly.

  ‘Yuck,’ said Amit.

  Summer’s lamb was white and fat and cotton-wool fluffy. Summer poked L
ouis’ lamb-that-wasn’t-a-lamb and said it looked dirty.

  ‘He’s meant to be that colour,’ said Louis. ‘And he’s meant to have spots. And his tail isn’t too long either.’

  ‘It’s a monster-lamb,’ said Summer, and she waved her hand in the air to attract one of the After-school Club supervisors and said, ‘Miss, look! Louis has made a monster-lamb!’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to try again, Louis,’ said the supervisor in a kind, tired voice.

  Louis shook his head.

  ‘Cut off its tail,’ urged Amit.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done teeth,’ said Lucy.

  ‘It could be a black lamb,’ suggested Jay, ‘if you blobbed all the spots together.’

  ‘It would still be monster, though,’ said Summer. ‘Miss, Louis is crying!’

  Louis picked up his lamb-that-wasn’t-a-lamb, grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, shoved past Summer, dodged Amit, pushed away one supervisor, stepped over the other (who was half under a table picking up spilt googly eyes), made it to the door and ran. He ran along a corridor and across the back of the hall, where a recorder club was tormenting a Christmas carol to shrieking ribbons, past the office where someone lay on a plastic sofa hugging a bucket, and out of the playground door, wading against the flow of the Eights-and-over Football Team, who were just now streaming in. The footballers covered his tracks long enough for him to reach the gate. Then he was out in the wild, the true wild, where he was never allowed alone, the city street at the end of a December day, buffeting with traffic and weary people and slanting rain and a chilly wind.

  It didn’t feel safe. Louis looked down at his lamb-that-wasn’t-a-lamb and saw that it had somehow got scrunched. He tried to smooth the creases, and a skittering gust caught it and flung it into a puddle.

  ‘Iffen!’ cried Louis, and rushed to pick it up.

  Now it wasn’t a lamb, and it wasn’t Iffen either. It was a gritty, woolly, wet-papery nothing. Even so, Louis couldn’t quite throw it away. He didn’t know what to do. He hunched his jacket tight around him and stuffed his handful of nothing in his pocket.

  His fingers met ivy leaves, cool and smooth. They helped Louis think. He thought, Home.

  Which way is home? wondered Louis, clutching his leaves, and then, like a series of stepping stones, he knew.

  Past the street bin where Amit got his head stuck and the fire brigade had to get him out. Past the lamp post with its horrible graffiti picture of a skull. Up to the crossing where Esmé always held his arm and said, ‘Wait! Wait for green!’

  Louis waited for green, crossed safely to the middle, waited again and reached the other side. The next landmark was the vet’s, which was easy to spot because it had silver metal animals all along the railings – cat, rabbit, tortoise, dog, parrot – and Louis knew he was going to be all right, because there was Abi’s bus stop and a minute later the cooking smell from the noodle shop. Now, just round the corner, the ivy house waited.

  It was suddenly very quiet.

  All along the street, the shadows were deep behind parked cars and walls and entrances. Curtains were closed across windows. Louis peered into the gloom. Was the Narnia lamp on?

  No.

  So no one is home, thought Louis. The door will be locked. A question repeated over and over, in his head: What’ll I do? What’ll I do?

  As he came closer to the house, he wondered some more what he would do. There was a small movement in their scruffy hedge: pause, move again, pause.

  Iffen? wondered Louis.

  Perhaps it was just a bird.

  Please . . . not Iffen.

  The yews around the old church held darkness like a mantle. Louis watched them out of the corner of one eye. Then another sound came, halfway between a cough and an exclamation.

  Tcha!

  Louis’ heart jumped.

  He heard a roosting pigeon rise from the yew trees, shrieking and clapping in alarm. He pictured thorn-black claws, and fangs as long as his finger. He remembered the great weight of Iffen’s silent velvet tread, and panic seized him.

  Tcha! he heard again, closer, and a rustle like heavy silk.

  Louis ran, leaping for the doorstep. ‘Not now! Not now!’ he gasped, as he pounded with his fists. ‘Not now! Somebody! Somebody!’ And then, beyond all hope, the door was opened, and he tumbled inside, gasping, shaking and yet again in tears. Tears not just of loneliness, but of shame and fear and temper, because he had run away from his friend at last.

  ‘Iffen, Iffen, Iffen!’ sobbed Louis, but he leaned against the door to hold it shut.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  A little earlier that same afternoon, Max had met Abi as she climbed off her bus. After the art college he’d gone back to school to collect his bike and now he was pushing it, with Esmé’s enormous portfolio balanced on the handlebars.

  ‘You got it!’ Abi exclaimed as soon as she saw what he was carrying.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Didn’t Esmé mind?’

  ‘I didn’t see her. She’d already handed it in to Danny’s mum, so I had to . . . had to nick it!’

  ‘Nick it?’

  ‘What else could I do? We’ll just have to put it out of sight when she comes back with Louis.’

  ‘You were right to take it,’ admitted Abi. ‘We have to have it. And we’ve got to think quickly of a way to use it, before Iffen comes again.’ She looked nervously over her shoulder as she spoke. All at once the street seemed very long.

  ‘Would it . . . he . . . come if Louis wasn’t there?’ asked Max.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Abi, walking more quickly, almost running. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Let’s not put any lights on when we get in.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘So it doesn’t look like anyone’s home if he’s watching the house.’

  The thought of Iffen watching the house was so uncomfortable that Abi began to talk very fast to distract herself.

  ‘I’ve been thinking all day about how we could get him to go back. Iffen, I mean. I’m sure it’s possible, because it happened with an animal once before.’

  Max stopped pushing his bike to look at her in amazement and ask what she was talking about.

  ‘Do you remember I told you about the raft in the book? There was a parrot on that raft, a tame parrot. I saw it clearly. It flew towards me, just as Louis called my name, and then swerved away again. I think Louis saw it, just for a moment. I remember he asked me, “What was that green?” So if the parrot could come out of a book, and then go back in, Iffen should be able to do the same . . . I hope. What colour eyes do lions and panthers have in the dark?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just wondered if you knew.’

  ‘No I don’t. Why are you scaring yourself?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Well, you’re scaring me! Hurry up! Let’s get inside.’

  They had reached the house. Abi fumbled for her door key. If she’d taken a minute longer and looked back, she’d have seen Louis behind them, just turning the corner. But she didn’t do that. She found the key quickly, unlocked the door and stood aside to let Max go in with his bike.

  ‘You first,’ said Max calmly, but he followed behind her fast enough, and closed the door very swiftly.

  ‘Dump your bike and bring Esmé’s book into the rocking-horse room,’ said Abi. ‘We’ll have some light from the street lamp in there.’

  Max obeyed, and followed her into the room, pale in its dust sheets, lit from outside, not dark but not light, with its shadowed grey walls.

  A cave of a room.

  Together, he and Abi put the book on the sofa, and had already opened it, turned past the maps and the bison, and the outlines of the bears. They had come to a page of horses when the pounding began on the door.

  For a moment they stared at each other in shock. Then Abi spun round to go to the window, and Max grabbed her back.

  ‘Don’t show yourself!’ he whispered, and then went quickly forward, slip
ping around the room until he reached a place where it was possible to see out to the doorstep.

  The hammering came again, with shrieks.

  ‘It’s Louis!’ exclaimed Max suddenly, and ran to the front door.

  Louis shot inside, slammed it shut, and leaned on it. ‘Iffen, Iffen, Iffen!’ he gasped between sobs.

  ‘Louis, don’t!’ said Abi, dismayed. ‘Iffen’s not here. It’s OK. Why isn’t Esmé with you?’

  Louis wept on.

  ‘Louis, stop it!’ said Max, taking him by his shoulders. ‘Look at me! Talk to me! Did you come back on your own?’

  Louis nodded.

  ‘All the way from After-school Club?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘They’ll be going mad!’ said Max. ‘They’ll call the police if we don’t tell them he’s OK . . .’

  ‘I’ve got their number,’ said Abi. She was already texting Louis Valentine home safe to Theo, the After-school Club and Esmé. ‘There! Sent! Louis, what frightened you just now?’

  Louis blubbered and snuffled into his sleeve.

  ‘You have to tell us what happened, Lou!’ said Max, but Louis shook his head and wouldn’t, until Abi, inspired, said, ‘Come into the rocking-horse room. I’m going to jump you up on to Rocky.’

  That stopped the floods. Louis wobbled for a moment, rubbed his eyes and looked up at Abi in surprise.

  ‘You said I couldn’t.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said Abi. ‘Blow your nose properly . . . That’s a dust sheet! Oh, never mind. There! Hold on tight! OK?’

  Louis managed a shaky smile as Abi started Rocky moving, his street-lamp shadow rocking too, huge against the white-sheeted sofa.

  ‘Now tell us why you were in such a state,’ said Max. ‘Howling and hammering on the door like that. What frightened you?’

  ‘Did you see Iffen?’ asked Abi.

  ‘No,’ said Louis, feeling much better now that he was home with Abi and Max, and actually riding Rocky at last. ‘Why’ve you got Esmé’s book?’

  ‘Louis, you know how Iffen isn’t ordinary? He’s real, like the snow and the shell, but he’s magic too. The way Theo can’t see him. The way he grew so quickly. We talked about it, didn’t we?’