by Gill James
Christina had to bite her lip hard to stop the tears coming. There was a huge lump in her throat, which stopped her swallowing. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she managed to whisper to no one in particular as she followed her parents out of the room.
Chapter Five
The White-tiled Room
Christina watched the bus turned round and make its way down the opposite side of the road. She could see Paul’s red jacket. He was sitting about halfway down the bus. He was just staring out through the window. She waved frantically. Neither Paul nor the bus-driver saw her.
‘You absolute toerag. Typical!’ she muttered.
She had told her Paul that she would be late, as she had a detention, but that she would still be in time for the second school bus. There were always plenty of seats on the second, and they didn’t mind the locals using up the extras. Now there wouldn’t be a service bus for another fifteen minutes and by then she wouldn’t be able to use her school bus pass, as the rush hour would have begun. She didn’t want to use her own money, because she wanted to go and raid Pandora’s Potions. Why did she have to have a younger brother? They really were no use. He could have asked the driver to wait. Oh shit! She would just have to walk.
She picked up her bag. It weighed a ton – all those IB textbooks. That was another thing, she had plenty of studying to do. The exams were only a few weeks away. She really didn’t have time for this, but she must go to Pandora’s Potions. There was nothing for it but to walk. Perhaps Mum would be in when she got back and could lend her the tram fare. She could pop up to Kalverstraat quickly and be back for a long evening of study.
As if it wasn’t depressing enough, being stuck here in Buitenveldert. She loved Amsterdam, but not this particular part. It was a concrete jungle with the little boxy houses, all the same. She hated the grey, depressing, university, where her parents wanted her to go and study after IB. The hard pavements hurt her feet every time she missed the school bus, and she did that often enough. Worst of all was the International School.
She liked it at first. She made lots of friends very quickly and she’d enjoyed the work. She’d been a bit upset about leaving Greg back in England, but she’d soon had a good reason to forget that, until Susanne Richards came on the scene.
It had been worth it, though. Christina smiled as she thought about the fight.
This was the last detention and this was the first day she was allowed out. She smiled to herself when she remembered Susanne’s bruised face, and broken nose. She ran her tongue across her own newly capped front teeth. They had actually been an improvement on her old ones and a reminder of her triumph. Now she had a new smile. Thank you, Susanne!
Jan would appreciate that. Oh Jan! Just thinking about him made something inside her jump.
Susanne. What was she doing now? No hard studying for her. She was enjoying a life of luxury, no doubt, watching DVDs all day, staying in bed if she wanted. Or perhaps she was with Jan.
Hot, angry tears poured down Christina’s cheeks. She walked faster, her heels clipping the pavements noisily. Step after step, faster and faster, angrier and angrier, and gradually stamping out her rage on the hard pavements. She was leaving the concrete suburbs and soon Beethovenstraat would be in sight. As the tall, dark, brick buildings with the shiny, squeaky clean windows came into view. It began to rain, a cool summer motregen. The sort that can soak you if you stay in it long enough, but you don’t notice at first. Certainly it dampened her fiery anger just a little.
A number five tram was at the terminus. Christina had a bright, wicked idea. She would travel ‘black’ up to the city centre. She knew how to recognise the secret inspectors. Look out for anyone with a briefcase. And even if they did come up to her, she rehearsed in her mind looking through her pockets for the ticket – turning on the tears. That would be easy – think about Jan. She could show her bus pass and pretend she’d thought it was her ticket. The tram rattled off and its slow jerky journey began, up Beethovenstraat, round by the Concertgebouw, over the Leidseplein. All those places she loved so much. Christina watched the doors carefully every time they stopped – no sign of any inspectors. The tram arrived at Spui. Almost disappointed at not being able to go through her little act, she trotted out of the tram and made her way through the little alley that led into the Kalverstraat.
Although it was almost summer, it already looked dark. The sky was black and the rain was getting heavier. The road between the shops in Kalverstraat was quite narrow and the buildings tall. Lights shone from all of the shop windows.
It seemed like Christmas. Christina loved to scavenge through the displays looking for the item of clothing, the piece of make-up or jewellery, which would transform her from dowdy schoolgirl into fairytale princess. She never found it. She had to buy something, or she felt bad.
She took out her purse. Two euros. Not even enough for a lipstick. She would go into Pandora’s Potions anyway as she could try out all the testers, choosing what she could buy when she had some more money. She would miss the thrill of seeing her purchase wrapped, giving over her money, going home, knowing she had achieved something and looking forward to the improvement in her life the gift to herself would bring. But that thrill never lasted very long. And it seemed like months since she had been able to browse.
It was cool and bright inside. The mirrors all around reflected the light backwards and forwards. Christina tried to count how many times she could see her reflection. One of the assistants smiled at her.
Christina started her assault on the pots and potions. Mango Body Butter sounded good. She smoothed some into the back of her wrist – or Antique Gold Eye Definer. She took the small tester wand out of its case and drew a little squiggle in the middle of her forehead. Her pathetic efforts at drawing made her giggle. Some exotic princess she would make!
Making her way through the rows of little bottles, she picked them up one by one. The colours fascinated her, such exciting names, yet so simple – someone’s homemade dream. Then she saw the green scrunchy. If she was not mistaken, it would match her eyes exactly, and it would look so good next to her dark hair. She lifted it up to her head. She was right! It was superb. It would look great. She looked at the price label. €1.75. It had been reduced from €3.50! She could afford it. Excitedly she held it up to her head again.
There was a strong smell of peaches and the mirror in front of her seemed to wobble, waves forming on its surface. She felt dizzy and slightly sick. Suddenly, the glass and her head cleared and she caught her reflection smiling at her-except it couldn’t really be her reflection because the girl looking back at her was wearing chiffon veils around her head, in that very same green as the scrunchy. In her hand was a jar covered in jewels. The girl held the jar towards her and took off the lid. The smell of peaches became stronger and the girl nodded.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’ It was the assistant who had smiled at her earlier.
‘Er, yes. I think I’ll take this.’
She followed the girl to the till and handed over the scrunchy.
‘It goes really well with your eyes,’ said the girl. ‘It will look lovely.’
‘Yes,’ said Christina, pleased. She made to leave the shop, but couldn’t resist taking one last look at skin care products. ‘Hydrating Moisture Lotion, made with peach kernel oil,’ she muttered as she took the lid off one and took a sniff. It was that smell again.
The dizziness came back, and there was that strange reflection again. The girl in the mirror nodded. Christina then saw the odd-looking jar amongst the bottles of moisturiser. It was the very one that the girl had been holding out to her. She meant her to take it. But who? Why? It would be shoplifting. Christina quickly looked round. All of the assistants were busy serving clients or re-stocking the displays. The only customers were at the tills. She quickly put the jar in the bag with the scrunchy and hurried out of the shop.
She hardly noticed the journey home. She had to take the tram again, as now the rain was torrential. Ag
ain, she had to travel ‘black’. Jan, you’re making me wicked, she thought, first the fight, then travelling without paying twice in one day, and now shoplifting. No, that wasn’t fair. Jan had shown her everything. They had been to hard-edged Rotterdam and elegant Den Haag, the magical Efteling theme park and across the dramatic Afsluitdijk, which cut the North Sea off from the Ijsselmeer, into gentle Friesland. He had shown her where the drug scene was and how to observe but avoid. They had gone into the brown cafés and the teashops where you can buy cakes laced with marijuana. They had gone into bars where his biker friends smoked pot and got drunk, but the most he ever did was drink a small beer, and she was allowed nothing but cola or mineral water.
‘You are underage,’ he always said. ‘You must know these things exist so that you can avoid them.’ When it got too dangerous he would whip her away. Saint Jan, she thought, but not unkindly. He had only kissed her properly once, very recently, as they had sat by the Amstel one warm evening in the Bos. Then he had pulled away. ‘Too tempting,’ he had said. There had been cuddles, holding hands, and little kisses…nothing more. But neither of them had minded. It was like electricity between them. She tingled whenever he touched her. It had only been like that with Greg right at the beginning. Then he had become comfortable and familiar. Jan was always exciting, full of surprises.
The tram stopped at a red light. Christina looked inside her bag. The green scrunchy seemed to glow and made her eyes go funny. She pushed it to the bottom of the bag. She undid the jar of moisture lotion. The smell of peaches overwhelmed her again, causing her to go dizzy. Oh, god, she was going to be sick. Clutching her school bag in one hand, the other clamped over her mouth, she rushed forward to the front of the tram.
The tram driver got the message, and opened the doors. Christina rushed down the steps and vomited onto the road beside the tram tracks. Then her knees gave way and as she crumpled, she felt herself slip into that strange space again. The room from which there was no way out. A band tightened around her head. She could feel her whole body rocking rhythmically to and fro and she could do nothing to stop it.
Chapter Six
Theft
The room was worse than it had ever been before. Hardly able to breathe, Christina was desperate to get out. The walls were closing in and soon they touched her all over. She imagined it must be like this to be buried alive, and to come to, finding the coffin pressed into you, all around. Then the room got even smaller and she shrank into her head, the tight band now crushing her brain. She could still hear the sounds of the street.
‘It’s some sort of fit.’
‘Clear her airways.’
‘Is there a doctor around?’
‘Has anyone sent for the paramedics?’
Soon came the sirens of an ambulance but she didn’t hear it actually arrive. The voices grew fainter and fainter, then stopped altogether. Free from the tight band, she was catapulted through the air. Darkness surrounded her and she could see nothing. She floated forward, the unusual pot still in her hands, with the faint smell of peaches. She was pushed or pulled – she wasn’t sure which – and went further forward. And again and again, six or seven times. With each thrust forward, the darkness became lighter.
Finally, she felt a street beneath her feet and warm sunshine on her back. She still clutched the pot tightly, but now it seemed to be a real ceramic pot, covered in jewels and not made of plastic at all. Strange buildings cast cooling shadows on the dusty slabs of the narrow pathway.
Suddenly she was running as if her life depended on it. She didn’t know why she was running. She just knew she was afraid. It wasn’t because she was in unfamiliar surroundings. She was afraid of something in this terrifying place and she did not know what it was. Looking behind her, and seeing no one, she darted into a narrow alley, and leant against the wall to get her breath back. It was as if she had stepped into somebody else’s story. She knew their fear but didn’t know what had caused it.
The smell of peaches was stronger again now. She took the lid off the jar and sniffed the cream. The smell was so delicious. It was like eating peach ice cream and drinking peach juice at the same time. She took a little of the cream and smoothed it into her skin. Its softness soothed her body and gave her enough energy to run a hundred miles if she had to.
Something told her that the danger was over – for now at least. She looked around her. The alley was dark and cool. She was standing outside a small shop, which had bundles of cloth displayed in the window. A mirror stood near the doorway and Christina caught a glimpse of herself in it. My God, she thought, what a mess. Her dark curls were wilder than ever. She tried to straighten them with her hand, but it wasn’t much use. Her trousers were creased and there was an ugly stain on her top. Then she remembered how sick she’d been. The nausea returned and her stomach threatened again to discharge all of its contents.
A strange squeaky voice caught her attention. ‘Why don’t you come in, child? There is more to see inside.’
Christina pushed aside the beaded curtain that covered the doorway. The inside of the shop was very dark. A pleasant smell permeated the air, rather like warm spearmint. It calmed her nausea. It took her a minute or two for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Then she could make out that the whole of the inside was filled with bale after bale of luxurious materials – smooth satins, purple and red velvets, delicate black chiffons and sequin-covered silks, all even richer than the ones she had seen in the window.
‘Why don’t you sit down, and then we can better decide what will suit the young lady?’
Christina turned at last to find the speaker. The voice came from a very wrinkled creature and Christina wasn’t sure whether it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was was certainly very old and had a stooped back and a crinkled face. The person or creature wore trousers – very masculine trousers. It was flat-chested. But the voice was high and tinny like that of an old lady. ‘Come child, let me measure you!’ The voice was high-pitched and human. Christina decided this strange person was female and probably quite old. She took out a tape measure from a deep pocket in her trousers, and started measuring Christina.
‘Take off these soiled garments, child,’ said the strange little woman.
Christina hesitated.
‘Come, now, don’t be shy with the tailorette. I have seen many bodies much uglier than yours. And I cannot see which cloth will suit if you wear your own clothes.’ The woman shuffled over to one of the shelves.
Movement seemed painful for her, and Christina could see that her feet were deformed, the foot unnaturally arched and the toes pointing inwards. She pulled off a bale of green silk and one of a slightly darker chiffon.
My God, thought Christina, those were the colours the girl in the mirror was wearing. The panic set in. ‘Wait!’ she shouted. ‘I have no money. You’d better just give me my clothes back and I should get back home.’
‘And how will you do that? Besides, I need no payment, child. Your story will be enough. And if it isn’t, you have a fine chalice there, filled with a rare potion. If you gave me that I would have to give you enough clothes to last you the rest of your life.’
Christina suddenly felt very tired. This was all so confusing and so unreal. It must be some sort of dream and she wondered when she was going to wake up. Tears formed in her eyes and she tried hard to stop them spilling over.
Where am I? she thought. I want to get home!
‘There, there child. Do not fret,’ the strange creature said. ‘You have certainly been called to Ixeria for a purpose. Here, drink this. It will give you strength.’
Ixeria? So that’s where she was. But where was that?
The woman poured some brown liquid into a thick glass tumbler. It didn’t exactly look inviting but Christina was thirsty. She put the glass slowly to her lips and took a sip. It was fantastic. The flavours of all the fruits she could think of, all in one, and cool and refreshing like iced water. Gulping it down, she at once felt she could run and jump.
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br /> ‘Here, take another, but more slowly this time, or you will grow to be a thousand feet tall. And then break in half!’
What? thought Christina. But she sipped the drink slowly this time. It was even more refreshing this way.
‘I’m Mona,’ explained the woman. ‘Daughter of Porzias, weaver of tales, the coverer of nakedness, the gatherer of the golden threads. Tell me your story, and I’ll sew your golden thread into the garments you shall wear here on Ixeria.’
Christina felt like telling Mona everything. Even so, she hesitated. Would it be sensible to give away all of her secrets to a complete stranger?
Mona looked at her sharply.
‘It would be quicker if you told me,’ she said. ‘I’ll know soon enough, even if you don’t. So tell me now and then we can get on to what else we need to do.’
Somehow, Christina knew that Mona was telling the truth. So she told her all about her life up until now, all about her family and their move to Amsterdam. About Greg, the International school, the fight, and the strange happenings at Pandora’s Potions. And Jan, Jan, Jan! And the awful tram journey home, and then running through the streets here. As she talked, Mona offered her fruit and more drinks, but no more of the strong brown liquid. Mona didn’t stop to eat or drink herself, but carried on sewing, pushing and pulling her needle through the cloth. Nor did she say much – just the occasional ‘I see!’, ‘Ah, yes!’, ‘Straight on the nose, yes!’, ‘A fine boy, yes, yes.’ And ‘Yes, parents are like that sometimes!’
Christina, wrapped in a silk shawl, watched the tailorette at work. Occasionally, Mona asked her to thread another needle.
‘Not too long, mind. Or the thread will knot and the work will take longer.’
Christina at last finished her story. ‘Then you called me in here and you know the rest.’ she said.
‘There now!’ Mona held up the green cloth. Out of the green silk, she had made a pair of loose trousers and a simple top with long sleeves. The legs and sleeves were covered in layers of the chiffon, which seemed to float and fly.
