Suddenly the platform fills with noise and a thick fug of steam and smoke as the train arrives. The green-eyed girl throws her arms around the young man, hanging on tight as if she will never let go.
‘James, don’t go,’ she whispers. ‘Please don’t! I’m scared!’
‘It’s all right, Ellie,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back soon … I promise! And I’ll write!’
The train begins to plough forward again and the young man jumps on just in time, dragging his kitbag behind him, leaning out through an open window to wave until the train carries him far from sight. The girl waves her handkerchief until there is nothing left to wave at. Turning away at last, she finds herself alone now on the platform except for a small brown bird that swoops around her, diving and soaring through the air. She stops to watch the bird as it flutters around her, smiling through a haze of tears, reaching up her hands towards it. I watch, my heart filled with sadness, as the finch hops on to her palms, fluffing up its feathers, stretching out its wings.
I wake up late to the sound of a gentle knock on the caravan door.
‘Finch?’ Skye’s voice is uncertain. ‘Are you awake?’
I roll out of the bunk, still wearing last night’s jeans and T-shirt, taking the army jacket down from its peg as I open the door. I am trying to make sense of the dream from last night; it was so real, so vivid. I feel choked with sorrow, as though I’m still inside the dream, as though something painful, something terrible has happened. What kind of dream can do that? Was it stress-related? Did somebody spike my drink? Was it a Halloween happening, a once-in-a-lifetime glimpse into the past? Or just my freaked-out imagination going extra crazy?
‘Hey,’ I say, smiling sadly as I see Skye at the foot of the caravan steps. I go down to sit beside her, letting my bare feet rest on the cool, dew-damp grass. ‘Think I might have slept in.’
Skye hands me an apple and a slightly mangled spider web cupcake. ‘Breakfast,’ she says. ‘There wasn’t a lot of choice … it’s carnage in that kitchen. Mum, Paddy, your mum and the TV lot have gone down to the Mad Hatter for a full English. Looks like they’re all agreed on pitching the idea for the series to the BBC. Scary, huh?’
‘Cool,’ I say. ‘It might never happen, but if it does … well, Mum would make sure it was done in a good way.’
I bite into the apple and remember the dream again, the little brown bird flying high. Gradually the sadness ebbs away until there’s a feeling of hope and freedom, a kind of lightness inside me that I haven’t felt in months.
‘I had a very weird dream last night,’ I tell Skye. ‘Kind of spooky. It felt … like a glimpse into the past. Does that make sense?’
‘Tell me,’ she says.
So I do. I tell her about the railway station, about the soldier and the green-eyed girl who didn’t want her boyfriend to go to war.
‘Do you think he came home?’ Skye asks. ‘Did they have a happy ending?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I think … I felt … maybe not. There was a bird in the dream, too, a little brown finch …’
‘Trust you to put yourself in the dream,’ Skye says, laughing. ‘What happened to the bird?’
I remember the girl holding out her hands so that the finch could fly on to them, but I say nothing.
‘Skye?’ I say. ‘We had the best summer ever last year, didn’t we? I’d never met anyone like you. It was … magic, almost. Unforgettable.’
‘It was,’ she agrees.
I force myself to go on. ‘But … this long distance thing isn’t easy, right? I’m not good at phone calls or answering texts. I get easily distracted. I sometimes wonder …’
Skye puts her hand in mine as we sit beside each other on the caravan steps. ‘What do you wonder?’
I take a deep breath. ‘I met your crazy neighbour last night,’ I say. ‘Mrs Lee – the post office lady, right? She read my palm and told me I wasn’t a part of your future.’
Skye’s hand squeezes mine softly.
‘I think we both know that,’ she says.
‘We do?’
‘I’ve known for a while now that things weren’t the same between us,’ Skye says. ‘You stopped writing, stopped messaging, stopped texting and calling. You didn’t want to come down to Tanglewood this summer, and … well, I wondered if you’d met someone new.’
Can I say it out loud? Do I dare?
‘There is someone,’ I say. ‘We didn’t plan it … not at all … but yeah. I care about her. Her name’s Ellie. I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to tell you; I just didn’t know how … but I think we have to break up, Skye.’
‘I think so too,’ Skye says. ‘Thanks for telling me, Finch. The thing is … I’ve met someone, too. We’re not seeing each other … not yet. But I think we maybe will, sometime soon, now things are finished between the two of us. His name’s Matt.’
I blink and frown and try to make sense of this, and then I start to laugh at the absurdity of it all and Skye is laughing too, and all the awkwardness and guilt falls away and what is left is friendship, strong and pure and lasting.
‘I’ve been an idiot,’ I tell Skye. ‘I should have told you right from the start.’
‘I kind of knew,’ she shrugs. ‘It’s OK. Things have a way of working out …’
‘I hope so,’ I reply.
Back in London that evening, I text Ellie. Guess what? I’m single. Want to go out sometime?
She texts back a few minutes later. See you at the playground.
I’m there ten minutes early, my hair combed and ruffled, wearing my best black jeans and a pair of red Converse. I sit on the roundabout and push it round with one toe, and when Ellie appears in the distance I try to imagine her with her hair in a victory roll, wearing a blue 1940s dress and waving a handkerchief at the horizon. I try to imagine her hands, holding the little brown bird, keeping it safe.
‘Hey,’ she says, jumping up on to the roundabout. ‘You did it, then? You broke up with her?’
‘I did it,’ I confirm. ‘I should have done it months ago …’ I pause. ‘Ellie … this is going to sound weird. But what’s your grandmother’s name?’
‘Sarah,’ she replies. ‘Well, that’s Dad’s mum. Mum’s mum is called Louise.’
My shoulders slump. ‘Great-grandmother?’ I try. ‘She was a teenager in the war. Her sweetheart went off to fight …’
‘And never came back,’ Ellie says. ‘Yeah, that was my great-gran. Her name was Eleanor … I was named after her. Who told you about her?’
‘Nobody, really,’ I say. ‘I think you might have mentioned it a while back …’
Ellie frowns. ‘Did I … ?’
I think of the dream, of the girl with dark green eyes and the young man going to war, and I wonder if love can reach across the years and find a second chance, or if it’s just that hanging out at Tanglewood has made my imagination go into overdrive. I’ll probably never know.
Ellie nudges me. ‘You’re still wearing that horrible jacket …’
‘It’s my favourite jacket,’ I say firmly. ‘I love it. It’s got history … happy stuff, sad stuff, forgotten stuff.’
Ellie shrugs. ‘I quite like it too,’ she says. ‘It looks cool. I just don’t want you to get too big-headed, that’s all …’
‘Big-headed? Me?’ I argue, and Ellie laughs. I remember how much I love the sound. I push the roundabout some more, making it spin, and I slide an arm round Ellie’s shoulders.
‘I’ve made a total mess of things the last few months,’ I confess. ‘I haven’t been fair to you, but things will be different now, I promise. I’ve worked out what matters to me, and you matter to me, Ellie. Can we start over?’
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Without the guilt, without the rows, without the lies.’
She leans in to kiss me, and it’s just like a first kiss should be, gentle and sweet and full of promise. I think briefly of Skye, and I hope that her new boy is everything she wants him to be, that he will make her as happy as Ellie make
s me.
Above us, the moon and stars glint bright above the dull orange glow of the city sky.
shy, quiet, always on the outside … sometimes finds it hard to separate truth from fiction
15 years old
Born: Glasgow
Mum: Kiko
Dad: Paddy
Looks: small; slim; coffee-coloured skin; straight, dark hair with a fringe, often worn in little bunches
Style: bright skinny jeans, T-shirts, anything with a Japanese theme
Loves: dreaming, stories, cherry blossom, Irn-Bru, gypsy caravans
Prize possessions: kimono, parasol, Japanese fan, photo of her mum from long ago
Dreams: of being part of a family
www.cathycassidy.com
friendly, eccentric, individual, imaginative
14 years old – Summer’s identical twin
Born: Kitnor
Mum: Charlotte
Dad: Greg
Looks: shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes, big grin
Style: floppy hats and vintage dresses, scarves and shoes
Loves: history, horoscopes, dreaming, drawing
Prize possessions: her collection of vintage dresses and the fossil she once found on the beach
Dreams: of travelling back in time to see what the past was really like …
www.cathycassidy.com
quiet, confident, pretty, popular, and very serious about dance
14 years old – Skye’s identical twin
Born: Kitnor
Mum: Charlotte
Dad: Greg
Looks: long blonde hair, always tied back in braids or a neat ballerina bun; blue eyes; moves gracefully
Style: anything pink … neat, pretty, fashionable clothes and dance-wear
Loves: dancing, especially ballet
Prize possessions: pointe shoes and tutu
Dreams: of going to the Royal Ballet School, becoming a professional dancer and one day running her own ballet school
www.cathycassidy.com
cheeky, energetic, friendly, adventurous, crazy about animals
13 years old
Born: Kitnor
Mum: Charlotte
Dad: Greg
Looks: chin-length wavy blonde hair, always tangled; blue eyes; freckles; big grin
Style: tomboy: jeans, T-shirt, always messy and dishevelled
Loves: animals, climbing trees, swimming in the sea
Prize possessions: Fred the dog and the ducks
Dreams: of having a llama, a donkey and a parrot
www.cathycassidy.com
a drama queen: moody, selfish, often sad … but also bright, charming, organized and sweet
16 years old
Born: London
Mum: Charlotte
Dad: Greg
Looks: long, ringletty blonde hair that reaches to her waist; blue eyes; creamy skin; tall; slim
Style: cool: little print dresses, strappy sandals, shades, shorts and T-shirts
Loves: drawing, painting, fashion, music … and Shay Fletcher
Prize possessions: hair, diary, sketchbook, turret bedroom
Dreams: of being a model, actress or fashion designer
www.cathycassidy.com
Which Chocolate Box Girl Are you?
Your perfect day would be spent …
a) visiting a busy vintage market
b) with your favourite canine companion on a long walk in the countryside
c) curled up on the sofa watching black-and-white movies with your boyfriend
d) window-shopping with your BFF
e) sipping frappuccinos in a hip city cafe
Your ideal boy is …
a) arty and sensitive
b) boy? No thanks!
c) a good listener … and a little bit quirky
d) polite and clever
e) good looking and popular – what other kind of boy is there?
Who’s the first person you would tell about your new crush?
a) your sister – she knows everything about you
b) your pet cat … animals are great listeners
c) your BFF
d) your mum – she always has the best advice
e) no one. It’s best not to trust anyone with a secret
Your favourite subject is …
a) history
b) science
c) creative writing
d) French
e) drama
Your school books are …
a) covered in paisley-print fabric
b) a bit muddy
c) filled with doodles
d) neat, tidy and full of good grades
e) rarely handed in on time
When you grow up you want to be …
a) an interior designer
b) a vet
c) a writer
d) a prima ballerina
e) famous
People always compliment your …
a) individuality. If anyone can pull it off you can!
b) caring nature – every creature deserves a bit of love
c) wild imagination … although it can get you into trouble sometimes
d) determination. Practice makes perfect
e) strong personality. You never let anyone stand in your way
Mostly As … Skye
Cool and eclectic, friends love your relaxed boho style and passion for all things quirky.
Mostly Bs … Coco
A real mother earth, but with your feet firmly on the ground, you’re happiest in the great outdoors – accompanied by a whole menagerie of animal companions.
Mostly Cs … Cherry
‘Daydreamer’ is your middle name … Forever thinking up crazy stories and buzzing with new ideas, you always have an exciting tale to tell – you’re allowed a bit of artistic licence, right?
Mostly Ds … Summer
Passionate and fun, you’re determined to make your dreams come true … and your family and friends are behind you every step of the way.
Mostly Es … Honey
Popular, intimidating, lonely … everyone has a different idea about the ‘real you’. Try opening up a bit more and you’ll realize that friends are there to help you along the way.
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Puffin is over seventy years old. Sounds ancient, doesn’t it? But Puffin has never been so lively. We’re always on the lookout for the next big idea, which is how it began all those years ago.
Penguin Books was a big idea from the mind of a man called Allen Lane, who in 1935 invented the quality paperback and changed the world. And from great Penguins, great Puffins grew, changing the face of children’s books forever.
The first four Puffin Picture Books were hatched in 1940 and the first Puffin story book featured a man with broomstick arms called Worzel Gummidge. In 1967 Kaye Webb, Puffin Editor, started the Puffin Club, promising to ‘make children into readers’. She kept that promise and over 200,000 children became devoted Puffineers through their quarterly instalments of Puffin Post.
Many years from now, we hope you’ll look back and remember Puffin with a smile. No matter what your age or what you’re into, there’s a Puffin for everyone. The possibilities are endless, but one thing is for sure: whether it’s a picture book or a paperback, a sticker book or a hardback, if it’s got that little Puffin on it
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First published 2014
Copyright © Cathy Cassidy 2014
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
ISBN: 978-0-141-35552-8
Moon and Stars Page 4
