by Anna James
‘She’s still sad?’ Anne asked gently.
‘Yes,’ Tilly said. ‘And she basically stays here all the time. She hasn’t gone into any stories since we said goodbye to my dad, and she won’t even talk to me about it either. It’s like we’re strangers.’
‘Well, it must be ever so peculiar to go from having a newborn daughter one day and then, suddenly, the next time you see her, she’s eleven and a whole proper person with her own dreams and memories and desires,’ Anne said. ‘It’s one of those ideas that sounds like it might be quite romantic if you read it in a book but when it happens to one of your bosom friends, you can’t help but worry it’s a little confusing and tragic.’
‘I mean, I’m not sure I’d go quite as far as tragic,’ Tilly said, bristling. ‘At least she’s back now. You shouldn’t feel sorry for me.’
‘I don’t at all,’ Anne said earnestly. ‘How could I feel sorry for someone who lives in a bookshop and has two grandparents, and one whole mother to love her, and is going to Paris in the snow! Why I would never trade Green Gables for anything, but I would not be so sad to have your lot in life.’
‘I suppose so,’ Tilly said, trying to feel as lucky as she knew she was, really.
The sound of the kitchen door banging made her jump, and she looked up to see Grandma heading her way.
‘Are you all right, love?’ she asked, sitting next to Tilly on the sofa, a book under one arm.
‘Anne’s just gone,’ Tilly said. ‘We were just chatting. And she had green hair.’
‘Ah, the green hair incident. I wish I could have seen it. It’s good to have friends you can talk things through with, you know,’ Grandma said. ‘I’m glad you have Anne, and Oskar. He takes in more than I think you sometimes realise. It will be lovely for you both to visit Paris and his family. Now, I wanted to share something with you before you go.’
Grandma placed the book she was carrying gently on her lap. ‘I thought you might like to have a look at this – it’s my book of fairy tales back from when I was working in the Underlibrary – it’s where I used to start from when I was mapping them.’
The book was very old and battered, with slips of paper marking certain yellowed pages and a few corners turned down. Tilly carefully opened the front cover and saw an intricately decorated contents page of familiar stories.
‘France is in some ways the home of fairy tales, certainly those in the Western tradition that are most familiar to us. Many of them were first written down in France, even if they originated elsewhere,’ Grandma explained. ‘It’s too dangerous to bookwander there at the moment, but if you’re keen, maybe we could go together once everything’s settled down?’
‘Yes, please,’ Tilly said, as she turned through the pages. ‘You said … You said there was a difference of opinion and that’s why you stopped working in fairy tales?’
‘Well, yes,’ Grandma said, a little hesitantly. ‘When I was the Cartographer I worked with another librarian, who used to be a close friend, and our job was to try and create a map of how fairy tales fitted together, and to research why the usual rules don’t apply there. We wandered together many times, exploring the stories and the fairytale lands. It really is a fascinating place. But once we started to get somewhere with our research, the next stage was to use what we’d learned to make fairy tales safer for bookwanderers, and to share our maps. However, my friend got what I can only describe as cold feet about the whole project. Through our time inside the stories, she decided that we shouldn’t be trying to make them safer, and their danger was what made them special. She believed that we were trying to impose order on something wild and beautiful. And to be honest, I agree with her to a certain point, but she started seeing conspiracy theories everywhere and ended up being forced to … Well, she ended up leaving the Underlibrary.’
‘Why does nobody seem to be able to agree on how bookwandering should work?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, it’s all very complicated, more so than you realise,’ Grandma said. ‘Sometimes I feel that we should do away with the Underlibrary all together and let people just wander as they like, but then I think about Bea falling in love with your father and wanting to stay in A Little Princess, and then I think we need some rules and organisation. I’m not sure we’ll ever know the right answers to every question. We’re all just doing our best.’
‘Mr Underwood isn’t,’ Tilly said firmly.
‘Well, no,’ Grandma admitted. ‘What he’s doing isn’t for the best, I don’t think. But I am sure he believes it is. And if you can understand why someone is doing something it’s always a good start, even if you want to stop them. You heard what Amelia said: there’s something going on behind the scenes here, something motivating Melville Underwood beyond mere power. We’ll discuss with Amelia and Seb and see what we can uncover.’
‘And what about Chalk?’ Tilly said. ‘He’s just getting away with what he did to Mum. Don’t you think he should be punished in some way?’
‘Do you?’ Grandma asked.
‘Yes!’ Tilly said. ‘It’s not fair, otherwise.’
‘Well, I am sure that Melville is trying to find him and bring him to justice – whatever that might mean,’ Grandma said. ‘Melville is a very clever man, regardless of any of his less appealing characteristics, and getting Chalk back into his own story would be excellent for his reputation. I imagine Melville would love to have that success to mark the beginning of his career as Librarian. Chalk can’t cause any damage to our family, wherever he is, and you’ll be safe in Paris, away from this for a while. Don’t do any bookwandering, just to be on the safe side, and you’ll be back here before you know it.’
‘What do you mean, don’t do any bookwandering?’ Tilly asked, shocked. ‘None at all?’
Grandma frowned. ‘Surely you see that given the situation it’s best that you don’t go into any books while you’re far from home?’
‘I thought you said that Chalk couldn’t hurt us?’ Tilly said.
‘Well, no,’ Grandma said. ‘But it’s a time to stay safe, Tilly – and stay away from any regular bookwandering dangers. It’s only for a short time, while everything settles down. Now, you’d better check you have everything for your trip.’
Grandma stood up, and left the book of fairy tales on the sofa. And a few minutes later Tilly slipped it inside her backpack that was waiting by the door. If people were going to keep secrets from her, then she was going to do a little research of her own.
Grandad was talking through the arrangements for meeting Oskar’s father, Gabriel, at the other end, for what felt like the tenth time that morning, before the taxi arrived to take them to St Pancras station to catch the Eurostar.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Tilly said, wanting to stop talking about leaving and get on with it. ‘How much can go wrong on a train in two and half hours?’
Grandad raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve seen you two make more mischief in ten minutes than most people could make in a lifetime.’
‘Fair,’ Oskar said, sounding quite proud.
‘Is Mum coming to say goodbye?’ Tilly asked quietly.
‘Ah, my love, I don’t think so,’ Grandad said. ‘You know how tired she gets since she got back. You said goodbye last night, didn’t you?’
Tilly shrugged helplessly. A goodbye last night didn’t make it better that her own mother hadn’t bothered to come downstairs to see her off.
‘You’ll be back before you know it,’ Grandad said, picking up the bags. ‘And we’ve got a proper Pages & Co. Christmas planned for when you’re home. You and your mum can speak all the time while you’re away – I know she’ll want to talk to you every day and hear about what you’re up to.’
Tilly didn’t say anything, but picked up her bag and went outside to the waiting car. Then, just as she was settling into her seat, the bookshop door swung open and Bea rushed out, snuggled into a fleecy blue dressing gown and flannel pyjamas.
‘Tilly,’ she said, sounding slightly out of breath. ‘
I’m so glad I caught you.’ She stopped and looked at Tilly, and the delicate, precious thread of their relationship hung between them. ‘I’m going to miss you,’ Bea said, and wrapped her up in a huge, self-conscious hug. ‘Happy Christmas,’ she whispered into Tilly’s ear. ‘I love you very much.’
Tilly’s heart instantly felt lighter, and she happily waved at her mum out of the taxi window, until she was just a fuzzy shape on the horizon, waving in the middle of the road.
he taxi pulled up at St Pancras station, and Tilly, Oskar and Grandad walked through the airy, glass-ceilinged building that echoed with someone bashing out Christmas carols on a slightly out-of-tune public piano. They made their way through throngs of Tube-map-clutching tourists and festive travellers to the busy queues at the Eurostar entrance. Grandad helped them find their seats on the train, and tracked down the steward tasked with keeping an eye on Tilly and Oskar on the journey to Paris. After a good five minutes of fussing and checking to make sure they were still in possession of the various documents, currencies and phone numbers they needed, the steward intervened and took Grandad gently by the elbow.
‘Sir, the train needs to leave now,’ he said, closing the door firmly. ‘I promise we’ll take good care of them.’ And with a train whistle and a last wave to Grandad, they were on their way.
‘Do you mind if I read?’ Tilly asked straight away, pulling Grandma’s stolen, or secretly borrowed – as Tilly preferred to think of it – fairytale book out of her backpack.
‘Oh. Sure,’ Oskar said. ‘Cool. I might go and explore, see if there’s a café. Do you want anything?’
‘I’m okay, thank you,’ Tilly said, without looking up. Oskar shrugged and set off, wobbling along the aisle with the rhythm of the moving train.
Tilly ran a careful finger down the contents page, keeping an eye out for anything that might tell her a little more about Grandma as a young woman mapping fairy tales. But there was nothing written in the book, and none of the slips of paper functioning as bookmarks said anything on them. With nothing else to go on, she chose a story marked with a page corner turned down, and settled back in her seat to read. It was ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and Tilly was on high alert for anything that seemed different from how she remembered the story, when a strange, sticky, sweet smell wafted towards her. Assuming it was Oskar back with some snacks, she glanced up, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She looked around, searching for the source of the smell, and was surprised to see, through the window, that the train was running through a deep, dark forest. Tilly was sure that there weren’t any forests of this size within a twenty-minute train ride of north London, and yet there it was. The trees seemed to crowd in on every side, as if they were trying to reach inside the train with their spindly branches.
Tilly sat back, confused. She put the book on the table in front of her and bent down to fish her phone out of her bag so she could look at the maps app, but an insistent tapping noise startled her. She sat upright and saw trees pressing in unnaturally closely, their branches and leaves scratching and scraping at the train windows as it rushed by. Tilly looked around, searching for signs of worry among the other passengers, but everyone else was absorbed in their phones or books, or snoozing. Her breathing started to quicken in panic as the darkness closed in, casting the whole train into shadow, and yet still no one else seemed to react. A cracking noise like boots on a frozen lake echoed in Tilly’s ears, and she shrank back as a tree branch that suddenly seemed conscious and full of intent snaked its way through the window, as if the glass just wasn’t there, and curled its way up and across the ceiling of the train. More and more branches followed it, filling the train with treacherous ropes of bark. Leaves thrashed in the air as if caught in a hurricane. Tilly watched in terror as a sinuous branch crept under her feet and across the aisle towards an elderly man sleeping with his mouth slightly ajar. It slithered up his side and across his eyes, and Tilly felt as though she were trapped inside a horror film as the branch seemed to be making for his open mouth.
‘Stop!’ she shouted, panicked. ‘Wake up!’ She flung herself across the seats on to the sleeping man, trying to grab at the branch before it suffocated him.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he spluttered, self-consciously wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.
‘I was stopping the trees!’ she said, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, the trees were nowhere to be seen. They had simply vanished, and wintery sun was spilling through the windows. The man was looking at her with concern.
‘What trees?’ he said. ‘Are your parents around?’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Tilly said, face burning with embarrassment, as she retreated across the aisle to her seat. ‘I just thought … I just saw … I’m so sorry, please just pretend I didn’t do that.’
The man glanced around, looking for parents, or a guard, but evidently decided it wasn’t worth the effort of complaining about her to someone.
‘Just stay on your seat,’ he said sternly, before leaning his head back and promptly falling asleep again.
Tilly pressed her face against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the forest, but it was nowhere to be seen. Her tummy did a flip-flop of nervousness. She knew enough to realise that whatever it was she had just seen, it was not supposed to have happened.
‘Hey, you’ve dropped this,’ Oskar said, reaching down and picking up Grandma’s fairytale book, which had fallen awkwardly on the train floor in Tilly’s panic, crushing the page she had been reading. She turned it over, trying to smooth the page down and went pale as she noticed what was on the other side. An intricate black-and-white drawing of a deep, dark forest teased at the edges of the picture, as if it were trying to escape.
Oskar laid out a carton of orange juice and a greasy cardboard sleeve containing a microwaved cheese toastie cut in half. ‘I thought we could share,’ he said, pushing half the toastie towards Tilly. ‘I got an extra straw for the juice too. Hey,’ he looked at her closely. ‘Are you okay? You look really pale – are you travel sick? Do you want some water instead?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ Tilly said, not quite ready to share with Oskar what had happened. She was tired of always having strange confusing things happen to her, and for once she didn’t want to think about it at all. She gingerly picked up the sandwich, trying to avoid burning her fingers on the cheese. ‘I just thought I saw something weird out the window, but it was a trick of the light, I guess.’
‘Okay,’ Oskar said, sounding unconvinced as he poked two straws through the top of the juice carton. ‘Hang on.’ He reached forward and picked something out of Tilly’s fringe. ‘You’ve got a leaf in your hair!’
‘Weird,’ Tilly said, trying to sound surprised as she took the dry leaf from Oskar’s hand, and crumbled it under her fingers.
Two and a half hours later the Eurostar pulled into the Gare du Nord in Paris. Tilly and Oskar dragged their cases out on to a platform in a large station full of intricate green ironwork.
‘There!’ Oskar shouted, elbowing Tilly harder than he had meant to. He pointed at a man standing at the other end of the platform. ‘Let’s go!’
When the man spotted them, his face broke into a wide grin and he met them halfway down the platform, scooping Oskar up into a bear hug.
‘And you must be Matilda,’ he said in perfect English with a broad French accent. He was a tall man with dark hair and stubble, wearing slim-cut trousers and brogues, and an elegant black coat. ‘I am Oskar’s father, Gabriel.’
‘Hi,’ Tilly said, feeling overwhelmingly shy. ‘I’m Tilly, really, not Matilda. Well, I am Matilda. But everyone calls me Tilly.’
‘Welcome, Tilly,’ Gabriel said, smiling. ‘We are so glad you are here.’
‘Thank you for having me,’ she said politely.
‘It’s our absolute pleasure,’ Gabriel said. ‘It’s so wonderful you could come with Oskar – he and Mary both talk about you so much. Let’s get you home and
have some lunch. On y va!’
They travelled via the Paris Metro, which was nearly but not quite like the London Underground, to a stop only fifteen minutes away. There they climbed up a steep set of stairs and emerged on to the streets of Paris, which curled around Tilly like something out of a story themselves, all frost and magic and romance. They were standing on a narrow street resting under a fine layer of snow, and the air was prickly fresh around them. A green metal sign arched over their heads with the name of the station in elaborate black writing, and cafés squeezed up next to each other along the other side of the road. Despite the cold, several of them still had chairs and tables on the street hiding under snow-laden striped canopies, and an elegant French couple sat drinking hot chocolate outside one of them.
They followed the narrow road to its end and turned into a small, frosty square. Pale-stone buildings were wrapped with dark vines that would turn into purple wisteria in the summer. They headed towards one corner of the square and to a big old-fashioned wooden door that opened on to a flight of stone steps.
‘No lift, I’m afraid,’ Gabriel said. ‘But we’re only on the second floor, so not too bad. Welcome, Tilly, and welcome home, Oskar – let’s go inside and get warm.’
They climbed the stairs to a periwinkle-blue door that opened off a small landing. As Gabriel opened the door the delicious smell of festive spices of nutmeg and clove filled the air, and behind that was the distinct pine-smell of a real Christmas tree. Tilly could hear Handel’s Messiah playing from another room, as Gabriel ushered them in.
‘Come in, come in,’ Oskar said excitedly, leading her through the hallway and depositing his shoes on top of an existing heap underneath a mirror. Tilly copied him, trying to add her shoes sort-of neatly, and Gabriel took her coat and scarf, hanging them on two of a series of hooks on the opposite wall.
