Читать книгу Pages & Co: Tilly and the Bookwanderers - Anna James, Anna James - Страница 12

fter a lunch of creamy leek and potato soup with chunks of home-made bread and salty butter, Tilly headed out to find Jack, ready to beg or steal something sweet. But before she made it to Jack’s café at the back of the ground floor she was struck on the forehead by a jelly bean. Turning in the direction it had come from, she saw a girl in a full-skirted blue dress sitting on the stairs, lazily throwing jelly beans towards the nearest bookcase.

‘Did I hit you? I’m sorry, I was aiming for the cat. Does it have a name? Do you think it likes sweets?’

Tilly stared at her and the girl widened her eyes in impatience.

‘The cat? What’s it called? My cat is called Dinah.’

‘She’s called Al—’ The girl looked directly at her and Tilly felt that little itch in her brain. ‘Alice? She’s called Alice?’

‘You don’t seem very sure about it,’ the girl said, peering at Tilly. ‘But never mind that, because my name is Alice too. How curious.’

‘Alice,’ Tilly repeated.

‘Yes … Al-ice …’ she said again slowly. ‘And … what … is … your … na—’

‘Matilda,’ Tilly interrupted.

‘Whatever your name is, there is always time for good manners; it’s very rude to interrupt.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alice. Um, would you like a cup of tea maybe?’

‘Nice to meet you, Matilda,’ Alice replied, and bobbed a neat curtsy. Tilly tried to copy, but just ended up doing a small, awkward bow. ‘And thank you, but no thank you. I don’t tend to eat or drink in new places until I’ve thoroughly got my bearings.’ Alice looked Tilly up and down. ‘We both seem to be around the same size, though, which is a good sign. Trouble always starts when you are out of proportion with who you are talking to.’

‘Are you looking for a book?’ Tilly asked.

‘Not especially, although I’m never averse to finding a book along my way; they can come in handy sometimes, except you never know what’s inside until it’s too late, in my experience.’ She sighed extravagantly. ‘Do you know, someone once told me that explanations take such a dreadfully long time that one should focus on adventures, and I’ve rather come around to their way of thinking. So, if you’ll excuse me …’ And with that Alice skipped towards the back of the bookshop, passing a round little man with a very neat moustache who was coming the other way. The little man gave no indication of having seen her, but gave a neat bow in Tilly’s direction.

‘Excusez-moi, mademoiselle.’

Tilly’s head spun, but as she turned round to watch the man leaving she found herself face to face with the red-headed girl from that morning. They stared at each other.

‘You,’ the girl said, sounding surprised.

‘You!’ Tilly said. ‘You’re back! You seem so familiar to me from somewhere; what school do you go to?’

The girl tilted her head to one side and stared hard at Tilly. ‘I go to school in Avonlea,’ she said. ‘Near my home at Green Gables.’

‘And your name is Anne …’ Tilly said slowly.

‘With an “e”,’ Anne reminded her.

‘Anne, with an “e”, from Green Gables. Anne of Green Gables?’

The girl nodded, still openly staring at Tilly. ‘But who are you?’

‘I’m Tilly! With a “y”. From here!’

‘But you remember me. And, now I am here, I remember you,’ Anne said in wonder.

‘As I said, we literally met this morning,’ Tilly repeated. ‘But how can you be Anne of Green Gables? She’s not a real person.’

‘Well, I’m absolutely really here,’ she said, reaching out and touching Tilly gently on the arm.

‘Is this a joke?’ Tilly said, looking behind her as if she would see hidden cameras somewhere, or wondering if it was part of some elaborate set-up by Grandad to entertain her during the holidays. ‘You’re from a story?’

‘Why, yes,’ Anne replied happily, not seeming at all perturbed by this fact, and settling herself on the stairs.

‘You’re real. But you’re not real. You’re from a book. But you’re here,’ Tilly said, feeling like her brain wasn’t quite keeping up with what was happening in front of her.

‘Well, why on earth does being from a book mean I’m not real?’ asked Anne. ‘I’m as real as you or this shop, or Julius Caesar or the Lady of Shalott. You can touch my hair, if you’d like, and you will see it is ever so real – to my eternal frustration.’ Tilly had to admit that Anne’s physical presence was undeniable.

‘Right,’ Tilly said, sitting down next to Anne, determined to try to wrap some logic round what seemed to be happening. ‘Well, what were you doing in Green Gables before you came here? How did you get out?’

‘I was sitting in the orchard, imagining all the places I might visit when I am older. And then I was here!’

‘But how?’ Tilly was almost bursting with frustration.

‘I don’t know, I just was. I think it is rather marvellous. If you like, I can invent a thrilling story about how I got here with magic spells and a glittering portal. Maybe some kind of benevolent but cursed princess living in a tower who writes poetry and is only allowed a single glass of water each day—’

Tilly interrupted her before she got even more carried away. ‘But how will you get back? Won’t there be gaps in your book spoiling your story somehow, you being here?’

‘I’ll just go back after I am here. And I don’t think it can spoil my story; I rather think only I can spoil my own story.’

Tilly sighed and put her head on her knees, and then thought of something.

‘Did you see the other girl that was here?’ she asked. ‘Alice?’ But when she raised her head Anne was no longer there.