“This is awesome!” Rose said, still drinking in the details – the old-fashioned coat and hat stand, the shelf of well-worn recipe books, the painted sign on the back wall saying “Everything changes when you dare to dream.”
“Merci. Thank you,” the woman said, smiling at Rose. “Please, won’t you take a seat?” She nodded at one of the tables.
Rose sat down.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please.” Rose scanned the chalkboard on the wall behind the counter. “Could I get a hot chocolate, please – with cream and marshmallows?”
“Of course. And to eat?”
As Rose started reading the list of cakes she literally started to drool. The combinations were fantastical – like something Willie Wonka might have conjured up: Chocolate and Cherry Cola, Coconut and Lime, Coffee Bean Surprise, Lemon and Raspberry, Orange and Salted Caramel…
“Do you need some time to decide?” the woman asked.
Rose nodded as she continued to read: Honey Popcorn, Irish Coffee, Pear and Chocolate…
“No problem. I make your drink. I’m Francesca, by the way.”
Rose smiled. “I’m Rose.” Every time she breathed in, another delicious aroma flooded her nostrils. Cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry… The warmth of the shop started seeping into her bones. All of a sudden she felt very, very tired.
“Well, in that case, you must have one of my favourite creations – the Rose Red.”
Rose looked at her and laughed. “I guess I must.”
Sky glanced up from her book and over at her dad. It was about the hundredth time she’d done this since she’d started trying to read, as if she wanted to imprint the image on her brain while she still could. Liam was sitting cross-legged in his usual spot, at the end of the bench seat closest to the front of the boat. He was reading from his battered copy of The Bhagavad Gita. Every so often he would smile – a quiet, calm smile. He was smiling now. Sky felt a twinge of pain so sharp it almost made her gasp. What would happen once they’d moved into that huge house? Would she even see her dad? She’d only been there once, briefly, about a month ago, to meet Savannah and Rose. It had felt more like a museum than a home, with its five floors of echoey rooms, and pieces of furniture so delicate and beautiful they looked as if they should be in display cases. Their entire houseboat could fit inside the hallway, and it was so tatty in contrast. But Sky wouldn’t have swapped it for anything because it was home. It was where she and Liam had come when her mum had died. It had been their refuge and their fresh start. It had healed them, just as Liam had said it would, living so close to the water and the wildlife. Mother Nature had rocked their sorrow away.
Sky looked at the logs glowing and crackling in the stove and the thick rug they’d bought in Nepal draped over the window to keep out the draft. She took in the piles of books on the floor and the shrine to Buddha beneath the porthole and her dad’s guitar, Bess, propped against the fold-up table. That guitar had been everywhere with them – India, Peru, Thailand, Ireland – but it was so battered and worn, she couldn’t imagine Savannah allowing it over her pristine doorstep. She couldn’t imagine Savannah allowing any of their things over her pristine doorstep.
“Here, Sky, listen to this: ‘It is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else’s life with perfection.’ ”
Sky felt that twinge of pain again. Would Liam still read quotes to her when they were living in Savannah’s house? Or would he start reading them to Savannah instead? She didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d be remotely interested in the books her dad liked to read. She grimaced as a nightmarish image popped into her mind: Savannah reclining on a chaise longue as she made Liam read quotes to her about celebrity weddings from HELLO! magazine.
“What do you reckon?” Liam said.
“It’s lovely,” Sky replied flatly.
“You remember that.” Liam looked at her seriously. “Better to live your own life imperfectly than live it by some eejit’s idea of perfection.”
That’s what I’m trying to do, Sky felt like saying. You’re the one who wants me to change everything. Feeling dangerously close to tears, she leaned down and picked up her bag. She’d feel better after reading her vintage postcards. First the one from Ernie. She let her fingertips trace the faded scrawl. It felt so weird to think it had been written in a First World War trench. She imagined gunfire and smoke, and his hand trembling as it had written the words “in the pink”.
“What’s that you’ve got?” Liam asked.
“Some old postcards. I bought them at a vintage shop in Brick Lane this afternoon. They’re really cool. Here – take a look.” Sky passed the card to Liam. She picked up the next one. It had a picture of a full moon on the front. It looked really new. She turned it over. “Oh!”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Sky frowned as she studied it. The other side was printed, as if it were an advert. Are you a Moonlight Dreamer? she began to read.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Sat 17th October 12:40
Subject: Moonlight Dreamers
Hello,
You gave me a postcard today and it asked some questions. Here are my answers:
Yes, I am a girl aged between 14 and 16.
Yes, I’m sick of being told how to look, what to do and where to go.
Yes, I do feel trapped in a world of fakes – especially when I’m at school. And I wasn’t sure what an imbecile was at first, but I thought it sounded great so I looked it up, and yes, my world is full of them too.
And yes, I do dream of a world of freedom and adventure – and romance.
I really liked the quote on the card. At first I wasn’t sure what it meant, but then I thought about how I feel when I dream – and I dream a lot, trust me! – and I think that the writer is actually being ironic when he or she says that seeing the dawn before the rest of the world is a punishment. Isn’t there a saying “to see the light”, and doesn’t it mean to understand something? As in, one day I hope people will see the light and realize that what you wear is not who you are. I think dreaming helps us to make sense of stuff and work things out. And I think that’s a really good thing. Maybe the writer should have put the word punishment in speech marks to make it clear that they were joking. Anyway, I really like the quote, so I think I must be a Moonlight Dreamer. What happens now? Do you let me know for sure?
Yours sincerely,
Lakshmi Girl
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Sat 17th October 12:41
Subject: Re: Moonlight Dreamers
PS: If this is some weird kind of advert for a clothes sale, please don’t email me back. Thank you.
Chapter Ten
Amber looked at her inbox. She blinked and looked again. It was still there. An actual email about the Moonlight Dreamers. Nervousness fluttered in her stomach. Now that someone else had typed those words, her dream had gone from drifting like a dandelion seed inside her head to something real. It had taken root in someone else. This was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Who was it from? It must have been the vintage postcard girl. Amber looked at the time the email had been sent, and frowned. It was too early to have been the vintage postcard girl; she hadn’t come into the shop by then. So it must have been the dead pigeon girl. Amber reread the email. She really liked the girl’s interpretation of the quote. She also thought that Wilde was being his usual sarcastic self when he said that to see dawn before everyone else was a punishment. She read to the end and frowned. What did happen now? She’d been so focused on getting someone interested in her idea that she hadn’t really given the rest of it much thought.
“Amber, honey!” Daniel called from downstairs. “I’m just popping out to get the Sunday papers before I go to the airport.”
“OK!” Amber called back, her stomach
instinctively tightening. He was going to the airport to collect Gerald, which meant that there were only a few hours of peace and quiet left. She refocused on the computer screen. “What happens now?” What did she want to happen now? What had she been hoping for when she’d come up with the idea in the first place? She got up from her desk and went over to her favourite thinking place – her bed. Amber considered her bed to be one of her greatest achievements – a monumental feat in comfort creation – from the feather-soft patchwork quilt to the warm-as-toast woven blankets and the huge family of cushions, each one lovingly hand-picked from Spitalfields Market. Before she lay down, she flicked through her record collection for her Ray Charles LP. When she’d asked for a vintage record player last Christmas, Daniel had laughed his head off. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer an iPod?” he’d asked. But Amber genuinely preferred old things – it didn’t matter whether they were furniture, music or clothes. Second-hand things had an air of mystery about them, a secret history, and they were one of a kind. Much as Amber hated to admit it, this was the one and only area in which she saw eye-to-eye with Gerald. “We are living in the era of cheaply produced tat,” he liked to say. “Reigned over by Ronald Bloody McDonald!”
As Amber gently placed the needle upon the vinyl, the record crackled into life. She threw herself onto her bed and snuggled into her nest of cushions. What happens now? She closed her eyes. A vision of her and a group of girls popped into her head. It was dark and they were seated in a circle, hunching forward as if confiding their deepest secrets. Amber imagined the kind of conversation they would have – a deep conversation. A meaningful conversation. Nothing like the kind of trivial chat the other girls had at school, which consisted mainly of bitching about celebrities and one another. The Moonlight Dreamers would talk about their dreams and how they were going to achieve them – how they were going to help one another achieve them. That was it! Amber opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. She slowly began to smile.
Sky wasn’t really sure which was worse – the fact that she’d been dragged across London to spend Sunday “bonding” with that woman and her daughter or the fact that they’d come to the Tate Modern. She stared blankly at the “work of art” in front of her. It was called “The Goat”. It was actually an ironing board someone had spray-painted silver. That was it – and yet it was on display in one of the top art galleries in London. It seemed symbolic somehow of the whole stupid sham of an outing. With every second of so-called bonding Sky hated Savannah more. She hated the way she was so self-aware the whole time, constantly looking around to see if anyone had noticed her – therefore ensuring that everyone did. She hated the way Savannah giggled at every word her dad said, like some kind of lovestruck teenager. She hated the way she dressed like a teenager, in her high-cropped hoodie and low slung jeans. And she hated her stupid American accent and the way every sentence she uttered ended with an uplift that made it sound as if she was constantly asking questions.
“Wow,” Savannah said breathlessly as she came to stand beside Sky. “Isn’t it awesome?”
Sky stared at her. Surely she couldn’t be talking about the ironing board? But Savannah was gazing straight at it, batting her stupid long eyelashes. Maybe she was being sarcastic.
“It just blows my mind how some people have that kind of creative vision, you know?” She looked at Sky, wide-eyed. “I mean, to look at an ironing board and to see – to see” – she squinted at the title card – “a goat.”
“Oh, for chrissakes,” Rose muttered behind them.
Sky turned round to face her. There was no denying that Rose was stunningly beautiful. She had Savannah’s high cheekbones and huge green eyes. But unlike Savannah, Rose looked more natural. Her skin was dewy rather than spraytanned, and her face was make-up free. She looked even more pissed off than Sky felt.
“This place is a joke,” she muttered, before wandering off.
“Rose!” Savannah sighed.
“All right, girls, step away from the ironing board.” Liam came bounding towards them, grinning broadly. Sky shook her head in despair. How could he be so happy? How could he not see what a stupid idea this was?
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Liam frowned as he studied the exhibit card. “The feckin’ goat! Are they having a laugh? The Emperor’s New Clothes, more like.”
Sky couldn’t help a small, smug grin. Her dad could see what a joke the exhibit was straightaway. He didn’t think it showed great creative vision, he thought it was a pile of crap. Proof that he and Savannah were terribly suited, right there. He’d just been blinded by her looks. As soon as he realized what an idiot she was, he’d be out of there in a shot.
“I think it’s cool,” Savannah said, causing Sky to cheer internally. “I mean, to have that kind of vision. To see the artistic potential in an ironing board.” She looked at Sky and grinned. “I have to tell you, any time I lay eyes on an ironing board all I see is boredom and pain!”
Sky looked at Liam for his reaction. But instead of laughing, or saying Savannah was being ridiculous, he smiled and slung his arm round her shoulders. “Well, you know, I’d never really thought about it like that before.”
Oh, please! Sky stomped off before they started necking right in front of her. Rose was standing by the door to the next room, staring at the floor. Sky looked the other way as she tried to sneak past her.
“This is bullshit, isn’t it?” Rose said.
“What?”
“This is bullshit.” Rose shrugged her shoulders. She was wearing a scuffed leather jacket and jeans. She looked a lot more normal than when Sky had last seen her and Rose had been dressed as if she’d just sashayed off a catwalk.
“What is?” Sky asked.
“This place,” Rose replied. “I mean – a silver ironing board!”
Sky laughed and felt herself relax. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been. Just then, a group of German tourists entered the room, clad in brightly coloured coats and clutching their phones.
“Watch this,” Rose whispered as she gazed back to the floor. “Oh. My. God!” she exclaimed loudly.
“What is it?” Sky followed Rose’s gaze. She was looking straight at an air-conditioning vent.
“This is like, incredible. I have to get a picture of it!” Rose pulled out her phone, crouched down in front of the vent and took a photo. One of the Germans walked over. The others looked for a second, then joined him.
Rose looked at Sky and winked. “Have you ever seen anything quite so beautiful and so – so—”
“Artistic?” Sky offered, playing along.
“Yes, exactly. I thought the ironing board was good but this – this is amazing!” Rose took photo after photo of the air vent. “It’s called ‘The Beaver’,” she called to the Germans. They nodded and pulled their own phones out, jostling to take a picture of the air vent.
Sky bit her lip to keep from laughing. Then she heard the clip of Savannah’s heels behind her.
“What’s going on?” Savannah asked. “Honey, what are you doing? It’s an air vent!”
Rose stood up. Sky expected her to be grinning but she looked furious. “I know – and that’s an ironing board, Mother. A freakin’ ironing board!”
Savannah’s face froze. “Rose! That’s enough.” Then she turned to Liam. “I’m so sorry, honey, she’s having a few issues at the moment…”
“My only issue is being forced to come here!” Rose yelled.
The group of Germans fell silent. Then one of them took a picture of Savannah.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Savannah hissed at Rose. She fished in her bag for a huge pair of dark glasses. “Now they’ve recognized me we’ll have to go.”
“Don’t worry!” Rose yelled. “I’m gone.”
Sky cringed as Liam placed his hand protectively on Savannah’s shoulder. For the first time since she’d come into her life, she felt really sorry for Rose.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m bored!”
If there was one phrase Maali dreaded her brother saying it was this – especially when she was the one looking after him. Her mum was down in the shop. Her dad was at a meeting. It was only lunchtime. There were two long hours before her dad would be back. Two long hours of “I’m bored!” if Maali didn’t think of something to do.
“Why don’t you watch Harry Potter?”
“I’ve watched it.”
“Why don’t you watch it again?”
“I’ve watched it again. I want to do something else.”
Maali looked at her laptop and sighed. She’d really been hoping to do some photo editing.
“I want to go out,” Namir said, tugging at her sleeve.
“Out?” Maali looked at the photo of the pigeon. She’d been dying to try it with a sepia filter.
“Yes. Can we go to the park?”
Maali thought of the rusty climbing frames and ramshackle swings at the local park and her heart sank. There was no way she wanted to go there. It was bad enough having to babysit; having to babysit in a cold, grotty park was the worst possible way to spend a Sunday.
“It’s raining,” she said, desperately clutching at any straw she could find.
“No, it’s not!” Namir bounded over to the window and pulled back the curtain. A shaft of sunlight poured in. “Come on, let’s go!” he said, heading to the door.
Sighing, Maali shut down her laptop. Then she had an idea – an idea that sent a tingle down her spine. “I know. Why don’t we go to the farm instead?”
Namir’s dark brown eyes grew wide as saucers. “The City Farm?”
“Yes. We can see all the animals.” And maybe Ash, too, her inner voice added in a knowing tone, causing Maali to blush.
Namir started hopping from one foot to the other, the way he always did when he was excited. “Can we see the sheep?”
“Yes, of course.” Something weird was happening inside Maali’s ribcage – something fluttery and pounding all at the same time.
The Moonlight Dreamers Page 5
