He smiled and again for a moment disappeared to the back of the cave. Shortly he returned clutching a large roll of paper. As Paris continued to prepare breakfast Titus rolled out the paper on the cave floor, dropping a stone on each corner to keep it flat.
Paris served up the eggs and came and sat beside him. She could see a faded map of the world and on it were little green crosses. There were clusters of crosses in some places, like North America and Asia. There were a few in England, Scotland and Wales. “What’s this all about?” she asked Titus.
He smoothed out the map, then looked at her, grinning. Those huge white teeth almost lit up the cave, “Who needs machines that fly in the sky when you have this?”
Paris didn’t understand. She was looking down at a rather crude map of the world, some parts had faded so much that you needed a good understanding of geography to know what the blurry bits were. The standard of the drawing was pretty bad.
Italy looked like a plant pot. Australia looked like a fried egg and the continent of Africa reminded Paris of an old man with a long beard. Whoever had drawn this map had the most basic of drawing skills, and she knew a thing or two about drawing.
“Can you see where you live?” asked Titus, scanning the map. “Yes, here,” said Paris pointing to a splodge that was hopefully England. “Good,” said Titus, “let’s get ready to go. Make sure you bring all your things.”
Paris gathered her belongings, there were not many. Then she stopped, stood in the middle of the cave and looked at Titus, frowning and asked, “How is this going to work? How can you get me home? We must be miles from anywhere?”
Titus just smiled, “Take my hand, all will be OK.”
Paris’s hand and most of her lower arm disappeared into Titus’s huge hand as he gently led her towards the back of the cave. The light dimmed as they walked deeper into the cave. The walls got narrower and the ceiling got lower. Titus ducked and was almost down to Paris’s height when he suddenly said, “Stop! We wait here for a moment.”
Paris could smell the dampness of the cave; it was sweet and quite pleasant. As they stood in almost complete darkness, a mist started to flow around their feet. It became thick very quickly and started to rise. In no time it was around her waist.
“What’s going on?” Paris was feeling a little panicky.
Titus pulled her closer to him, “It’s OK; all will be fine.”
In an instant the mist was all around them. Paris could see nothing other than what was now thick fog. As she breathed in she thought she could taste coconut with a hint of honey; that was unexpected and not at all comforting unfortunately. She wanted to run back to the light, and then suddenly the fog cleared. Up ahead was the dim light of an exit. They made their way towards it and came out into the most welcoming of sunshine. Paris sighed with relief. They were back outside thankfully, but things were very different. There was no snow, no pine forest or even a pine tree, stranger still it was warm. This was not Switzerland. It was flat, no mountains, the land was covered in grass, lilac coloured heather and spikey gorse, nothing more than ankle height.
“Where are we?” asked Paris, feeling very confused.
“This is your home,” Titus stated matter-of-factly.
“No, how can that be?” said Paris in disbelief.
“Well, it’s the place you pointed out on the map. The caves, you see, are all connected. All those crosses on the map that you said weren’t drawn very well; each green cross is a cave. I can travel to any one of them, anywhere in the world, so long as it’s on my map.”
For Paris this was just another example of the magic of Titus. She accepted his explanation without question. Extraordinary was becoming the norm and it was best not to think too hard about it.
15
They were on the moorland of Dartmoor in the West Country of England. The cave they had emerged from was the nearest that Titus could bring Paris to her home in London, about 180 miles away. His people had access to an ancient network of interconnected caves that they could travel through in an instant. He couldn’t explain how it all worked, it just happened. It was also a secret closely guarded from man.
Ahead of the pair of special travellers was a village. It looked a bit lonely nestled in the vast flat space of the moors. Titus pointed towards it, “They will help you home,” he said.
Paris looked at Titus. He was holding back beckoning her to continue.
“You’re not coming, are you?”
“No, I can’t get too close to your people. I know you’ll be safe and before you know it you’ll be home with your family.”
“And you’ll be on your own again,” said Paris looking sad. In fact she was feeling ultra sad and saw some sadness in Titus’s face too. She snuggled in for a cuddle. Titus’s soft fur and sweet smell were reassuring.
He took one of the coloured marbles from his leather satchel; it was the purple one.
“Take this,” he said quietly, “and as you approach the village I’d like you to place it under that big tree ahead.” He was pointing to a large oak tree.
“OK,” said Paris.
Titus took her hand and gently kissed it. “Goodbye,” he said “and stay safe.”
Paris reluctantly pulled her hand away, had one more hug and began to walk the short distance to the outskirts of the village.
She arrived at the oak tree and looked behind her as she placed the marble gently at its base.
There was no sign of Titus; he was probably already back in the safety of his cave. She carried on walking towards the village. As she walked she started to feel a bit dizzy. For a moment everything went hazy, but the feeling passed as quickly as it came.
It had been an amazing twelve hours. Paris arrived home back in London in a police car, all the way from Dartmoor. Everyone was so relieved to hear the news that she was safe and well, but everyone had so many questions too that Paris just couldn’t answer.
The very nice policewoman who sat with her all the way home, had asked Paris about what had happened since the crash six days ago. The last thing Paris could remember was the helicopter crash. The next thing she could remember was wandering into the little village of Narrowcombe in Dartmoor earlier that morning.
The purple marble made her completely forget her time with Titus; he thought that was best! In the village she came across a lady walking her dog. That lady was Poppy Tucker who ran the local general store.
Poppy noticed a young girl walking down the High Street appearing rather dazed and confused. It was early and not many people were out and about at that time. Poppy was always up early and usually the first in the High Street along with her dog, Basil. Every day she enjoyed a bit of fresh air before opening up her store at 7 am sharp, never later, not in 24 years.
The girl looked perfectly normal to Poppy, apart from her expression. That told Poppy she needed to act. She was always ready to get involved and be a ‘Good Samaritan’. Some villagers called her ‘nosey’. She preferred the word ‘caring’. Poppy took Paris back to her flat above the general store. For the first time in twelve years she opened her store late, 7:31 am to be precise, while she sat with Paris until the police arrived.
Back home, mum, dad and Albie were eagerly waiting on the doorstep as the police car pulled up. Paris was eagerly peering out of the window, so excited about being reunited with her family. It was late evening and after big hugs in the street, and mum showing off her plaster cast, they made their way indoors, sat down and just talked and talked. There were tears of joy and sadness, especially when mum described those first hours after Paris disappeared. She had been distraught ever since.
“Can’t you remember anything darling, anything at all?” asked dad.“Not even how you ended up in Dartmoor of all places?”
“No dad, nothing, I can’t remember anything, not one little thing.”She started to cry. Mum cuddled her. “Don’t worry darling, it’ll all come back to you I’m sure.”
Albie hadn’t said much since his sister’s return. H
e spread his cape from time to time, just to remind everyone that he was still here too. He listened intently to the conversation and then offered an explanation, one that brought a smile to the rest of the family and for the first time since they were reunited, a return to normality.
“There is one reason why you can’t remember,” Albie said casually.
“Go on Albie, tell us,” said dad, smiling with anticipation.
“Well Paris, I think you must have been rescued by a superhero who wants to stay secret, so he made you forget. I’ve seen that in Superman 2, Lois Lane couldn’t remember anything after a special kiss from Superman.”Albie went slightly red, talking about kissing!
Everyone laughed, without a clue as to how close Albie was to the truth. The family settled in for a light supper of roast chicken and salad, Paris’s favourite, before an early night all round.
16
Over supper they talked about the helicopter crash and how lucky they had all been. Dad had seen pictures of the wreck, how no one was seriously hurt was a miracle. Mum tapped her plaster cast, “If this is the worst that happened, then I can stick this for a few more weeks.”
Paris’s dad looked closely at his daughter, so glad to have her back, but very worried about what had happened to her since that terrible night. He was going to get her help. He had a good friend, a doctor, and he would speak to him in the morning.
Albie was keen to show Paris his recent efforts to develop his superpowers. He pulled out from the sideboard drawer three decks of playing cards and set them out separately on the dining table. He scanned them looking most serious.
“Now watch,” he said. He announced the eight of clubs and turned over the top cards on each of the three decks. “Look, I’m close,” he said. Albie pointed to the eight of hearts, “I’ve got the eight right.” He tried again, but this time got nowhere near.
“I like how Albie has increased his odds of getting a prediction right,” said mum looking at him proudly. “Don’t you think Paris? Darling are you are OK?”
Paris was transfixed. Just as she did in the cave, she could see the cards on each deck in her head, and rattled off three cards, the ace of diamonds, five of spades and jack of hearts. Albie turned over the top cards on each deck, Paris was right on all three counts. She went through the rest of the three decks, predicting each card accurately. Albie was in awe of his big sister. Their parents were amazed and slightly worried. After intense shuffling by dad, she predicted the cards for all three decks again.
She could not explain this new found talent and was a bit scared of it. “I wish I could remember what happened to me.” Her mum quickly came and sat next to her and gave Paris a reassuring hug. “Don’t worry darling, you will remember. You’ve had a massive shock; it’ll take a little time.”
It had been a very emotional day for the Palmer family, so an early night all round was called for. Paris and Albie climbed the stairs holding hands; that had never happened before. Albie was in a deep sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Although during the day he was like a whirlwind, when he slept a firecracker could go off nearby and he wouldn’t flinch. As he snuggled into his pillow a little snore started up.
Paris sat on the edge of her bed. She was admiring the daisy chain from Toby; she was so pleased that he had been thinking about her. As she shifted on the bed she felt her sketchbook in her pocket. She pulled it out and flicked through it. To her surprise she found the sketches of Titus, the cave and the scene by the frozen lake. She didn’t remember doing these, but they were in her style, no doubt about it. For now she would keep this to herself. Mum and dad were tired too, but they took some time to reflect on the day over a glass of wine. They were so relieved that Paris was home safe, but they were also worried about what had happened to her, why she couldn’t explain it and this thing with the cards. That was most odd. Before turning in dad made a call to his friend Dr William Clark, a psychologist. He agreed to come over tomorrow and have a chat with Paris.
17
Early the next day there was a knock at the door. The family were tucking into breakfast. Albie made sure the cornflakes were kept well out of mum’s reach, just in case she went into one. Paris herself had two bowls; she had really missed cornflakes.
Dad answered the door expecting to see Dr Clark, but it was Skyla. Paris had texted her last night and couldn’t wait to see her. Skyla dashed in and ran up to her friend for a huge hug, almost tripping on the hallway carpet as she sprinted into the kitchen.
Skyla couldn’t resist the question that everyone had asked Paris since her return. “Where have you been?” Paris responded with what was now her stock answer, “I can’t remember.” There were some tears and then the two friends made an escape from the rest of the family and headed to Paris’s bedroom.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Skyla a little meekly as they sat on Paris’s bed, “But I took the watercolour of Shawn Mendez. Your mum said we could all have a souvenir, I’ll bring it back tomorrow. Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, you can keep it,” said Paris.
For a while the two girls just caught up on news, which was really just Skyla’s news given Paris had no memory of the last six days. For Paris is was a great relief to be with her friend and feel normal. Skyla’s enthusiasm and sheer talking power relaxed Paris no end. It seemed much had happened in the time she was away. Skyla started with the apparent fall out between Molly and Beth at bowling, the day before last. Molly had turned up in this bright yellow boiler suit, though she said it was a Victoria Beckham trouser suit, with an equally bright yellow t-shirt. Beth said she looked like a telly tubby, Laa-Laa to be precise. She made it worse by saying that all Molly needed was a coat hanger in her hair to complete the look.
Skyla was pensive for a moment,“It probably wasn’t a nice thing to say and we all laughed a bit too much. It spoilt the whole day for Molly. She hasn’t texted since,”said Skyla glancing at her phone.
“That is mean,” said Paris holding back a smile, as she was thinking how upset she would feel if someone criticised her clothes.
“We should go and see her and take her some flowers. Not yellow daffodils though,” Paris added quickly. On the mention of flowers Paris reached for her daisy chain. “Look,” she said proudly, “from Toby,”
“I know,” said Skyla, “that was the day I pinched Shawn Mendez, we all came. We brought our old school shirts, we thought your mum would like them.”
Paris smiled. “Wow, I didn’t know you girls were so thoughtful.”
“Well, we’ll want them back now,” said Skyla, winking.
Skyla quickly went on to other news about on and off romances across their group. Tobias Wood had bought Beth the biggest box of chocolates she’d ever seen while Stacey had dumped her boyfriend because he hadn’t texted her for four hours. Skyla left her own news to last, that she and Freddie Smith were off on a date to Nando’s. She went red and looked down at the floor. Paris thought it was hilarious, Skyla usually preferred to talk about sport, rather than boys.
When Skyla eventually started to run out of steam, Paris decided it was time to show off her latest thing, even though she was still a bit scared of it. She rifled through her dressing table until she found a deck of Harry Potter top trump cards, and began to demonstrate what was becoming her routine card trick.
For the first time since she’d arrived, Skyla was speechless, “OMG,” she exclaimed in dramatic eyebrow-raising Skyla fashion. Paris ran through the deck again, of course predicting every Harry Potter card accurately, while explaining how she had no idea how she did it.
Skyla eventually managed a sentence. “You need to be on the telly, I wish you were coming to the camp tomorrow, you’d go down a storm.”
“What camp?” asked Paris with a degree of concern in her voice.
“Summer camp, just a few days, but it’s great. Camping under the stars, real fires, toasted marshmallows and midnight feasts. You know, all that outdoors stuff, plus lots of sport. Mr S
oames from school has arranged it all.”
Paris appeared to be distant, just staring ahead, a rather vacant expression on her face. She started to speak in a very measured way. “Don’t go Skyla, it’s not safe.”
“What do you mean?” Skyla just looked confused, Paris was acting beyond odd. Then in a flash she snapped out of her daze. She looked at Skyla, there was now worry in her eyes.
“I don’t know why Skyla, but I have this feeling that you’ll be in danger if you go off to camp. Please don’t go, just trust me on this.”
Paris was determined to stop Skyla going to camp in any way she could; she was getting anxious about the whole thing. She had no way of explaining it, but Skyla just had to promise.
It was getting a bit tense in Paris’s bedroom. Then both girls jumped, a shout came from downstairs. “Paris, another visitor coming up,” mum’s voice boomed up the stairwell.
“That’ll be Dr Clark,” said Paris, “he’s come to help me remember what happened.”
To their surprise Toby popped his head around the door, “You’re home,” he announced excitedly, as he entered the room and held out his arms for a big hug from Paris.
Somehow over the next fifteen minutes Paris persuaded Skyla not to go to summer camp, and persuade Toby to help make that happen. It was now becoming a bit of a dare. Toby agreed to phone Skyla’s teacher, Mr Soames, on his mobile and impersonate the camp manager, to say that there was no power at the camp and the school visit had to be cancelled. Surprisingly, given he had no rehearsal time, Toby did a remarkably good job. He sounded most authoritative, his impersonation and acting skills were impeccable.
Mum shouted upstairs again. “Paris, Dr Clark is about fifteen minutes away. He’ll want to talk to you on your own.” Toby and Skyla took the hint and left. Toby was feeling pleased with himself. Holding his nerve so well was something to celebrate. Skyla was impressed by his performance, but was equally worried about Paris and why she was so adamant that the trip was such a no-no. After Skyla arrived home, in the afternoon calls had been made to parents and an email went out from the school on ‘parent mail’. Reluctantly, Mr Soames cancelled the trip to camp.
The Artist and The Yeti Page 5
