The Land of Neverendings

by Kate Saunders

  ‘OK, Hugo.’ Smiffy, the only non-penguin in the group, was fiddling with half of an old Weetabix packet that had been painted to look like a radio.

  ‘EXCUSE ME!’ yelled Sister Pretty, running to the end of Emily’s bed. ‘What are you doing here? This is an outrage! Go away at once – that frightful toad is making everybody so rude.’

  The penguins saw her and broke out in a noisy storm of honks and shrieks.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Hugo. ‘This is the ballroom of the Penguin Society, and you are interrupting our dancing club.’

  The Barbie nun stamped her foot. ‘Nonsense! We’ve slipped into Emily’s bedroom again – and you are interrupting our group therapy for the scribbled!’

  ‘Emily’s bedroom?’ Hugo looked around furiously. ‘Oh, labels! I booked that ballroom until six!’

  ‘HOW DARE YOU SWEAR AT ME!’ shrieked Sister Pretty. ‘It’s that wretched broken door at the bottom of your garden – I thought this was the Bratz-and-Barbies Social Club!’

  ‘Excuse me.’ Emily was suddenly gripped by a new and amazing idea. ‘If the broken door leads into my bedroom, does that mean I could get into Smockeroon from this side?’

  ‘Alive human beings can’t come in, except in their imagination,’ said Sister Pretty, kindly but firmly. ‘It’s just not possible.’

  ‘OK. Can you show me how you get back to Smockeroon?’ Maybe she did not need John’s spell after all; Sister Pretty said it was impossible, but she was only a plastic doll.

  ‘Through the little tent, dear, where the light’s coming from.’ ‘Oh.’ The striped tent was tiny – far too small for a human to get into. But it’s worth a try. The rabbit hole wasn’t too small for Alice.

  She watched the toys carefully, waiting for the moment they all decided to leave. It happened at the end of the dance. The penguins bowed to each other and then neatly hopped into the striped tent. Sister Pretty and her self-help group jumped off the bed to stand at the end of the queue.

  Emily knelt down on the rug behind the toys. From her crouching position, she saw the tent-flaps and the calm white light that shone, bright and steady, from the inside. The queue was moving fast. If she kept close she could get her head into the tent before the toys disappeared, and that might be enough.

  Let this work! Why shouldn’t it work?

  Alice found a bottle that said ‘Drink Me’ and it made her shrink – please let me find something like that!

  She dived after the last toy, and for one breathless moment her eyes were dazzled by a great burst of light—

  And then it was morning, and Emily woke up to find herself stretched face down on the rug, one hand reaching out at nothing.

  *

  ‘You’re not at primary school now,’ Mrs Lewis said. ‘This is where education gets serious. I expect mature behaviour and hard work. I know you all think the exams are far away in the distant future, but the preparation starts here. And this lot of homework is shoddy and slapdash and a general disgrace.’

  Mrs Lewis was so old that her hair was white, and so tough that even the headmistress seemed slightly scared of her. There was no question of writing anything in the Bluey book during one of her classes. She was the sort of teacher who could see your thoughts.

  ‘Some of you haven’t made any effort at all. You obviously haven’t been paying the slightest bit of attention in class (Maze Miller, for God’s sake STOP TALKING). Well, I’m warning all you daydreamers (yes, Amber Frost and Emily Harding, I do mean you), there’ll be no more drifting off during my lessons, thank you very much. And no more whispering or giggling, Martha Bishop.’

  ‘Mrs Lewis is such a witch,’ Martha said afterwards. ‘I wasn’t giggling – it’s just the way my face looks. It’s not my fault I was born with a giggly looking face.’

  Martha had plumped down beside Emily at lunch. She had decided she was Emily’s friend, refusing to be put off by her long silences or her obsessive scribbling in the Bluey book, and Emily had found it impossible not to like her.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be at the hospital fair on Saturday,’ Martha said. ‘I looked everywhere for you. But my mum said I shouldn’t be surprised that you weren’t there. She said it probably made you too sad because of your sister.’

  This was a bit tactless, but Emily didn’t mind – Martha’s squirrel chatter was never painful.

  ‘Oh, it was so funny – I won a prize in the raffle, a six-pack of beer! Everyone laughed when I went up to get it, and I had to sell it to my uncle. My mum said I had to spend the money at the fair because it was for charity – so I bought a very sweet little bear from the toy stall.’

  ‘A bear?’

  ‘I know, I know, I’m far too old for soft toys! But it was that or bath salts. And there was just something about this bear.’ Martha opened her backpack and Emily saw a small teddy bear with pale yellow fur. ‘Her name’s Pippa.’

  ‘But that’s— I mean—’ Emily had to stop herself blurting it out, but she had met Pippa before.

  ‘I had a really silly dream about her last night,’ Martha said. ‘All I can remember is something about sewing.’

  ‘Seams,’ said Emily.

  ‘Yes, that’s it – seams.’

  Martha didn’t have a clue that she’d bought herself one of the famous Seam-Rite Girls.

  Nine

  EXPERIMENT

  ‘IT’S MY BIRTHDAY IN TWO WEEKS TIME, at the beginning of half-term,’ said Martha the next day, during lunch. ‘And I’ll be having a sleepover. It always has to be a sleepover – our house is in the middle of nowhere.’

  Martha lived on a farm a few miles outside Bottleton, where the real countryside began.

  ‘I hope you can come, by the way.’

  ‘I don’t know. I think so.’ Emily realised this sounded rude and quickly added, ‘Thanks.’ She had been thinking about Pippa, and how odd it was that Martha owned the little yellow Seam-Rite bear.

  ‘I’ll draw a map to show how you get there. I’ll be asking quite a few people from my old primary school, but don’t worry that you won’t know anyone – the Ambers are coming.

  ‘I love sleepovers,’ said Amber Frost.

  ‘I love parties full stop,’ said Amber Jones.

  The Ambers often appeared alongside Martha, and Emily was starting to notice them properly and enjoy their company. They shared a first name, but they were very different. Amber Frost was tall and skinny, with short brown hair that stood up in tufts and thick glasses, and a general air of dreaminess (she was the other daydreamer targeted by Mrs Lewis in her anti-daydreamer campaign). Amber Jones was short and stocky and lively, with pink cheeks and sparky dark eyes.

  ‘And in case you’re wondering about birthday presents,’ Martha said, ‘I genuinely like book tokens.’

  ‘Book tokens? Seriously?’ Amber Jones pulled a face. ‘Wouldn’t you rather get chocolate, or make-up, or something?’

  ‘Seriously! I like to collect loads of book tokens for my birthday and for Christmas, and then I splurge the lot in one mad spending spree at the bookshop – last year I needed two plastic bags.’

  It was the tail end of lunch break and they were in the classroom, gathered around Martha’s desk which was beside the radiator.

  Emily had eaten her lunch at the same table as Maze, Summer and their show-offy gang, for the simple reason that all the other tables were full – and her former best friend had actually turned her back, as if Emily had done something wrong. She tried to remember what Ruth had said about people being frightened of too much sadness, but it had still been horrible, and she had run off to the empty classroom to cry.

  But then Martha and the Ambers had appeared, too full of the birthday sleepover to notice anything else. And as the classroom filled up, everyone started talking about the play. They were about to have another rehearsal. To her slight surprise, Emily was enjoying the experience of playing Alice – maybe because they had so much in common. When Alice fell down the rabbit hole and came out
in Wonderland, Emily imagined how she would feel if she ever managed to get to Smockeroon, and Ms Robinson said she was ‘very convincing’.

  ‘I’ve learned all my lines,’ Martha said. ‘Not very hard, when all I say is, “I’m late!”’

  ‘I think I know mine,’ said Amber Frost, who was playing the Caterpillar. She nudged Emily. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m getting there,’ Emily said. (In fact she was word-perfect; it was easy to learn a few lines when her time wasn’t taken up with Holly and Maze.)

  ‘This whole Alice thing is doing my head in,’ Martha said, with one of her trademark giggles. ‘Last night, I had this ridiculous dream that I was at a weird tea party – but instead of the Dormouse and the Mad Hatter, it was the little yellow bear I got at the hospital fair. How mad is that?’

  The Ambers laughed at this, and Emily tried to join in, though her every sense prickled with alarm.

  So Martha was seeing things from Smockeroon.

  *

  ‘Well, that certainly sounds like Smockeroon,’ Ruth said. ‘The magic must be positively flowing through that broken door. It’s getting everywhere!’

  It was Thursday again and Ruth was in an odd mood, distracted and a bit furtive, as if she were hiding something.

  ‘Have you seen anything else? Has Notty been moving again?’

  ‘No, it’s been pretty quiet today,’ said Ruth. ‘I’ve been doing some more research.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I did find something. It’s rather complicated – hang on, we can’t talk properly until I’ve closed up.’

  She turned the sign on the door from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’ and they went into the kitchen. It was messier than ever. There were more old books piled on the table, and the top of the dresser was covered with what looked like grass from the garden and small clumps of soil.

  ‘You can laugh if you like,’ Ruth said, ‘but the long and short of it is that I’ve been trying to cast a spell.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You know – like a witch.’

  ‘You’ve found John’s spell!’ Emily cried out eagerly. ‘The spell that made him dream about Smockeroon!’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Have you tried it? Did it work?’

  ‘Not so fast – yes, I’ve found the spell, and put together most of the ingredients.’ Ruth sat down at the table, absently opening a large bag of Minstrels. ‘I’ve been trying to find out as much as possible about the Staples children. The stuff that’s available online isn’t enough, and neither are the biographies – but I suddenly remembered that I bought the collected letters of John Staples a couple of years ago. They were in three gigantic volumes and too damp to sell, so I stashed them in the cellar. Last night I went down there – with a torch, and destroying my tights – to fetch the one with the letters he wrote as a child.’

  ‘And the spell was in a letter he wrote to his brother? What was his name?’

  ‘Yes – William. Way ahead of me, as usual.’ Ruth opened a thick book, wafting a strong smell of damp and mould across the table. ‘The ingredients are pretty straightforward – grass and soil from the garden, plus a drop of blood.’

  Emily shivered. ‘Real blood?’

  ‘My blood,’ said Ruth grimly, ‘assuming I’m the chief spellbinder, which is what John called himself.’ She read from the book:

  Take ten five-centimetre blades of grass and one teaspoon of garden soil. Put them in a saucepan with a pint of water. When the water starts to boil, the chief spellbinder must prick his thumb with a needle and squeeze a large drop of blood into the mixture. At that exact moment, the chief spellbinder and the deputy spellbinder must chant in unison – ‘To Smockeroon! Smockeroon! Smockeroon!’

  She added, ‘I haven’t done it yet. The spell needs two people so I waited for you. And quite honestly, I’m still in two minds about going through with it.’

  ‘But we must go through with it!’ This was a huge breakthrough; Emily could not bear to miss any chance to get to Smockeroon. ‘I’ll be the chief whatsit if you don’t like the blood – but we can’t turn back now!’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Ruth was suddenly firm and grown-up. ‘You’re not shedding any blood! That’s my responsibility. But I don’t think it’ll work.’

  ‘You don’t know that. What happens after the blood goes in?’

  ‘You take a teaspoon of the mixture, just before you go to bed. You lie down flat on your back with your arms by your side and recite the rhyme.’ Ruth read it out from the book.

  Magic mountains, valleys deep,

  Let me see you when I sleep!

  Take me to that meadow sweet

  Where my toys and I can meet!’

  They were both quiet for a moment. Emily ran through the rhyme in her mind. ‘Is that all? I expected something more complicated.’

  ‘Me too – but John said it worked.’

  ‘Shall we try it tonight?’

  ‘Not so fast,’ Ruth said. ‘I think I’d better do this alone, at least for the first time.’

  ‘Why?’ This was disappointing when Emily had just got her hopes up. ‘Is the recipe poisonous, or something?’

  ‘Oh no, the ingredients are quite safe on their own. It’s the magic element that worries me. We know so little about it. And think how it would look if anything bad happened to you.’ Ruth was as serious as anyone can be while crunching Minstrels. ‘I couldn’t possibly explain it to your parents.’

  ‘They don’t need to know!’

  ‘They’ll know if it all goes wrong,’ said Ruth. ‘Give them a break. They’ve already lost one child.’

  ‘Come on, it’s not going to kill me!’

  ‘Emily, we’ve seen enough to know the “magic” is real. We have to treat this spell with the utmost respect.’

  ‘But it might not work with only one person doing it.’

  ‘Maybe not, and if nothing happens at all we’ll have to think again. But I want to be absolutely sure.’

  ‘Well, OK.’ Though she was annoyed to be left out of the experiment, Emily had to admit that she saw the sense in this; it was horrible to think of Mum and Dad being left behind in their empty house, with only memories of the girls they had loved so much. ‘But you’ll be OK, won’t you?’ She was suddenly worried about Ruth; it was nearly as horrible to think of her empty shop. And Smockeroon no longer seemed such a safe place now that the black toad had broken in.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine,’ said Ruth. ‘I’m a tough old boot.’

  ‘So … what do we do first?’

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ Ruth sighed, but she was smiling. ‘Well, all right, you can start by sorting out those blades of grass, and I’ll sterilize the needle in some boiling water.’

  Emily used her ruler to measure ten five-centimetre blades of grass, which she laid out neatly on a clean plate. Ruth measured out a pint of water and poured it into a saucepan on the stove. She then dropped in the blades of grass and a teaspoon of the nicest-looking soil from the garden.

  ‘Now we wait for it to boil.’

  They had both started to giggle, but only because they were excited.

  It was ages before the first bubbles appeared in the pan. Ruth found her needle and held it in the steam from the electric kettle.

  ‘Here goes – if you’re squeamish, look away now – ouch!’ She drove the needle into the top of her thumb, and they both watched the fat bead of blood falling into the boiling water. Together they chanted, ‘To Smockeroon! Smockeroon! Smockeroon!’

  They had stopped giggling now. In breathless silence, they gazed into the saucepan.

  ‘Well, that’s it,’ said Ruth, ‘our first magic potion is now complete.’

  At last, perilously close to Emily’s mother coming back from work, the spell was finished. Their magic potion looked like nothing more than some faintly dirty water with a few bits of grass floating on the surface.

  Could this dirty water really make Ruth dream about Smockeroon? Emily had a stron
g sense that it could; somehow, it looked powerful.

  ‘Well, one little spoonful won’t hurt me.’ Ruth sniffed the mixture cautiously. ‘Imagine if it works – just imagine!’ Her eyes were bright with hope and longing. ‘One glimpse of him in a dream would be enough!’

  She was silenced by loud knocking on the back door.

  ‘That’s Mum,’ Emily said. ‘Good luck – tell me everything – and please be careful!’

  Ten

  INSIDE THE SYCAMORES

  EMILY COULDN’T RESIST trying out at least part of the spell when she went to bed – just in case some of the magic leaked out from next door. She switched off the lamp and lay on her back with her arms at her sides.

  She whispered the rhyme:

  Magic mountains, valleys deep,

  Let me see you when I sleep!

  Take me to that meadow sweet

  Where the toys and I can meet!

  I can see Holly if I want it hard enough.

  Though she wasn’t aware of falling asleep, Emily woke up in the middle of the night. She was beginning to recognise the particular feeling she got when she saw the toys – a surge of happiness so intense that it was like fear.

  ‘Hugo?’

  She looked for the little tent, but her room was dark and silent.

  ‘Sister Pretty?’

  There were noises downstairs in the sitting room – a mumble of voices, followed by a burst of music. Emily got out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and went out onto the landing. Her parents were fast asleep; she could hear Dad snoring behind their bedroom door. She tiptoed downstairs. Coloured lights spilled into the hall, like the essence of a thousand Christmases.

  The sitting room was filled with dazzling colours, so bright that Emily had to half close her eyes for a few seconds before she could see anything properly.

  The light was coming from the television, which had switched on by itself.