“Like this afternoon?” I asked sympathetically.
“Worse,” said Grayson, but with all due respect to him, I didn’t think that was possible. The muffins had just gone into the oven when the door opened and the Boker came in, dressed from head to foot in discreet shades of beige and ocher. And with her nostrils distended in rage.
“Please leave the kitchen, Miss Whistlehooper,” she had said to Lottie without ceremony or even a greeting, ignoring me entirely as usual. “And take that delinquent girl with you. I have something serious to say to my grandson.”
But Lottie and I couldn’t leave the kitchen because we had to time the baking muffins, so Grayson and his grandmother went next door into the living room, which she called the salon. That suited her rank better, anyway. Luckily she uttered her serious remarks loud enough for us to hear them easily in the kitchen. At least, if we kept perfectly quiet and put our ears as close to the door as possible.
The Boker was furious with Grayson for “committing the unforgivable folly” of breaking so suddenly with “a wonderful girl like Emily.” As if she (the Boker) didn’t have enough on her mind with Ernest’s stupid midlife crisis, now Grayson had to behave childishly too. “Dear boy, you must consider my heart,” she complained. “God knows I’m not as young as I was, and since Saturday and that … that … engagement,” she said, almost spitting out the word, “I haven’t had a wink of sleep.”
Which seemed to me a remarkable achievement, considering that Saturday was days ago. And the Boker didn’t seem particularly tired, in fact the opposite. She continued her lamentation with much vigor. Emily was all that a young man like Grayson could wish for: clever, pretty, from a good family, and above all very ambitious. “With a girl like Emily beside you, you’re sure to succeed in life,” she cried. “She’ll always make sure that you stay on the right track.” She dismissed Grayson’s objections that he was only seventeen and was planning to decide on his own life, by pointing out that his grandfather had been eighteen when he met her, and it had been the making of him, so he, Grayson, had better stop making trouble. Grayson had no answer to that, and a little later the Boker marched out of the house in high dudgeon.
“Granny can really be rather … interfering sometimes,” said Grayson unhappily, stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Well, I think it was mean of Florence to tell tales.” I sat down on the floor beside Grayson and leaned back against Mia’s door.
“She didn’t,” replied Grayson. Only now did he make his book on genetics disappear. “That’s the creepiest thing of all: Granny reads Secrecy’s blog. And in my dream she spat at me for failing the biology test.”
“Oh. That sounds really bad. But not as bad as my dream,” I said, looking down the corridor. The milky white light in it seemed brighter than usual. “Guess what: I woke from a horrible nightmare, and I was so relieved that I was lying in my bed safe and sound. Or rather, Mia’s bed. Then, after a while, I realized that I wasn’t awake at all. I’d only been dreaming that I woke from my dream, if you see what I mean.”
Grayson slowly shook his head. “Er … no, not entirely.”
“It was a dream about dreaming a dream, so to speak.” I pulled my nightgown down over my knees and admired the lace at the hem. This was the first time I’d worn it, and it wasn’t really my style, but when I saw it in December while I was out shopping with Mom in those little vintage boutiques near Covent Garden, it had been love at first sight. Sleeping Beauty must have been kissed awake in a gown like that: creamy white with lace, and a border of little embroidered roses. I wondered whether I ought to imagine something more practical, but it was simply too pretty for me to do that.
Grayson ran his hand through his hair. “A dream of a dream in a dream? Sounds complicated.”
“It is. But doesn’t it show how versatile this dream business is? We can never really know whether we’re awake or asleep. Maybe we’re not real at all; we just exist in a dream.”
“Stop that at once,” said Grayson. “You’re making my flesh creep. Oh, hi, Henry. Have you ever dreamed of a dream in a dream?”
As usual, Henry had approached without a sound. I’d have liked a little longer to prepare myself to look at him casually. All things considered, my effort might not be entirely perfect, but it was a good shot. Anyway, I was glad that the new nightgown looked so good. Even if I felt a little overdressed in it.
“Everything okay here?” asked Henry.
“We’ve only just arrived,” Grayson told him.
Henry got down on the floor with us. “Have you checked that the air’s clear in Mia’s dream?”
“Er … no. What do you mean?” Grayson looked at him in confusion.
Henry sighed and stood up again. “I mean, someone could have walked into the dream before you arrived.” He was making for the door. “I’ll take a quick look.”
“Wait!” I cried, jumping up myself. “You can’t just walk in like that. It’s Mia’s dream—and you don’t have anything of hers. Besides, I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to.”
Henry let go of the door handle. “But how else are we to find out if there’s anyone in there?”
“We could simply wait,” suggested Grayson. “An intruder would have to come out again sometime, and then we’d catch him.”
Henry frowned. “Anyone in there is probably too clever to be caught in the doorway like that. And it could be too late by then.”
Deep down inside, I felt that he was right, but an obstinate part of me wouldn’t admit it. “I mean, seriously, she could simply be having vivid dreams, and if she were sleepwalking, I’d be awake by now. We’ve been tying our ankles together with a jump rope.”
Henry, who had been avoiding my gaze, suddenly looked at me. The corners of his mouth turned up, and a very familiar glint came into his eyes. “With a jump rope?” he asked, amused. “You know, Liv, sometimes I really miss—” He broke off and bit his lower lip. “Maybe it would be best if you go in on your own and make sure she’s all right.” He cleared his throat. “If she is, you can come and tell us. If not—”
“Then I’ll come and tell you too,” I said. My heart was beating a little faster, not so much because of Mia’s dream as because I would have loved to know what exactly Henry sometimes missed. But I could hardly ask him that. Not in front of Grayson.
I turned to the door and cautiously pushed the handle down. It wasn’t locked. And there was no one guarding it, not even Mom. I didn’t understand Mia’s unconscious mind—surely she must sense danger looming ahead.
“See you soon,” said Henry. “And, Liv…”
I looked over my shoulder.
“Be careful. If only because of the new nightgown. Which really suits you.”
I managed not to smile, closed the door from inside, and looked around me. I was in a cottage garden, and it was summer. Mia’s door fitted perfectly into the cottage itself. The picket fence had blue sweet peas climbing over it, while marigolds and herbs bordered a little garden path that led to a large orchard of fruit trees. Beyond the fence, sheep were grazing in the sun. It was an idyllic scene. I was glad to think that Mia had such lovely dreams. I heard her laughing somewhere, and I was about to run over and reassure myself that all was well, but for safety’s sake, I turned into a dragonfly in case some intruder really had slipped in. Although the dragonfly reminded me painfully of B’s dream, it made me small enough not to attract attention, but large enough to avoid being snapped up and eaten by one of the many birds twittering for all they were worth in this garden. I flew cautiously along a washing line with picturesque white laundry pegged out to dry, and came to an apple tree with a large swing hanging from it. The kind of swing we’d always dreamed of having.
Mia was sitting on its wide seat. And beside her—so was I.
For some reason, I was wearing the smoky blue ball gown I’d worn to the Frognal Academy Autumn Ball, and I must say it really suited me. In fact, Mia and I made a pleasant sight, sitting side by si
de on the swing, laughing. I settled on a leaf and watched us, feeling touched.
“If you had to make a list of the most embarrassing moments in my life, what would you put first?” asked Dream-Liv.
“That’s difficult,” said Mia. “There are so many of them.”
That made us both giggle, and I tossed my hair back over my shoulders. Feeling slightly ashamed of myself, I noticed—or the dragonfly-me noticed—how silly that looked.
“Well, I guess top of the list would be that time in Hyderabad when you suddenly wet yourself on the bus.” Mia dangled her legs. “You wrapped a beach towel around you so that no one would notice.…”
“Oh yes, that was really embarrassing,” said Liv-on-the-swing, and a diabolical grin flashed over her face.
A sparrow flew up from somewhere and looked at me with its head on one side, as if wondering whether I’d fit into its beak, but I took no notice. It could have been a dangerous bird of prey for all I cared; I didn’t mind. Because something had just become clear to me—something that altered the situation considerably.
That grin—it wasn’t my grin. Any more than those were my eyes looking all around the garden and coming back to Mia.
The person on the swing beside her wasn’t someone she had dreamed up.
She was just someone making herself out to be me.
I realized I was having difficulty in keeping my balance. The longer my dragonfly eyes stared at the Liv in the ball gown, the less like me she looked. What I’d been most afraid of had actually happened. But who on earth was she? Who was sitting there beside my little sister, asking her questions?
The false Liv bent over to Mia, giggling. “And the second-most embarrassing moment?”
The silly giggle was too much for me. With a single furious beat of my wings, I shot past the hungry sparrow and stopped behind the nearest apple tree. There, in the shelter of its sturdy trunk, I changed shape again.
When I stepped out of the shadows and went over to the swing, Mia and the fake Liv looked at me in surprise.
“Sherlock Holmes!” cried Mia, and Liv said, “Benedict Cumberbatch.”
They were both right. I was Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes. “Hey, Watson,” I said.
“Hey,” Mia whispered back, delighted. The false Liv must think that Mia had dreamed Sherlock here because she’d been feeling a little bored. Fake-Liv smiled, obviously amused.
I looked her up and down. “And who’s this supposed to be?” I asked. Normally I’d have been enjoying this, particularly since I was doing very well with Benedict Cumberbatch’s deep voice, but right now I was too angry. Who the hell was this in front of me?
“This is my sister, Liv.” Mia beamed at me.
I gave her a typical Sherlock look. “She does look like your sister—almost enough like her to take people in.” Wow, my voice was so sexy.
“What’s all this?” asked Dream-Liv, flabbergasted.
“Oh, come on!” I was getting more and more sure of myself. “I saw it a mile off. The artificial tilt of your head, that stupid giggle, the affected way you toss your hair back—the real Liv is light-years cooler than you.”
“And you’re nothing but a totally overestimated late starter of an actor with no noticeable talent,” said Dream-Liv, annoyed. “I’ll never understand what women see in you. You look like a fish. If it wasn’t for that voice, not a soul would think anything of you.”
“But, Liv!” Mia was staring at her pretended dream-sister in horror. “You’re his greatest fan.”
“Very true,” I said, returning to my own form.
Dream-Liv and Mia were both left gasping for air.
“Take a good look and then tell me which of us is the real Liv,” I said. In my own voice again, unfortunately.
“Well, I’ve been sitting here all this time,” said Dream-Liv with a confused smile. “Whereas you were Benedict Cumberbatch just now.”
“That’s true,” murmured Mia.
“Okay,” I said. “Then let’s settle it once and for all. Show us what your poor bruised bum looked like after the skiing trip in Switzerland, Liv!”
The false Liv began to laugh. It wasn’t my laugh, and while she was laughing, she changed shape. Her hair grew longer and wavier, and took on a darker golden shade of blond, her complexion was pure alabaster, and her eye color mutated from an ordinary blue to a definitely extraordinary turquoise.
I could hardly take in what I was seeing. Would we never learn to see through her mask of innocence? At least Henry hadn’t done any better at it than me. He had believed her.
“Anabel,” I said, hoping my voice sounded as acid as I felt. “What was it you said? I for one have nothing to do with it?”
Anabel slid off the swing and stationed herself in front of me. She was still wearing my ball gown. I’m sorry to say that she looked even better in it than I did.
“Of course I have something to do with it,” she said, and as usual, her gentle voice made me shiver. “Who else?”
Yes, who else? Mia seemed only mildly surprised by what was going on in her dream. She looked interested rather than shocked.
“But…” I stared at Anabel. How had she done it? How had she made her way into Mia’s dream? “You’re locked up in that hospital. Miles from London. How did you get your hands on something belonging to Mia?”
Anabel’s right eyelid twitched. “I have ways and means that you don’t know anything about,” she said.
Had she always been so tall?
“In fact, you know remarkably little for someone who changes shape so perfectly.” She smiled her honey-sweet smile. “My compliments on your Benedict Cumberbatch impersonation. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
No, no, no.
This was all wrong.
Her height. And something else, a tiny detail, I’d seen it only very recently, it was …
“You’re not Anabel,” I said slowly. An icy certainty rose in me, almost choking me. “Your eyelid. When we were talking beside my locker yesterday, it twitched just like that.” For a moment even the twittering of the birds seemed to stop.
“Arthur!” I whispered, and his name echoed almost like a scream in the silence.
“Oh, damn it,” said Anabel in Arthur’s voice. “You really are good.”
27
AND NOW IT was Arthur standing in front of me, beautiful as an angel, and all at once the whole thing seemed to me so logical that I could only wonder how I hadn’t seen through him at once.
“Oh, come on, Liv, you didn’t really think we were friends again, did you?” he asked.
Yes. No. Not directly, but I’d believed there was a truce between us.
“So it was you all the time.” I realized myself how resentful that sounded, and I was annoyed. I quickly added, “By the way, you’ve forgotten to take my ball gown off.”
The fact that for half a second Arthur looked down at himself, taken aback, gave me a brief moment of satisfaction. Of course he wasn’t wearing my dress anymore, but black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that made him look perfect. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a pair of huge black angel’s wings had spread wide on his back.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” he said. “And yes, it was me all the time. It wasn’t particularly difficult to trick your little sister. She’s not a complicated character—the opposite, if anything.”
“Hey!” said Mia indignantly.
“That was a compliment,” Arthur told her. “You’re darned straightforward for a girl. Nice to find there are still some like that.”
Failing to take this as flattery, Mia wrinkled her nose.
“So you’ve been spying on her to provide Secrecy with information?” I was trying hard to sound superior, but not succeeding very well. Especially as I realized that that certainly hadn’t been his only reason.
Arthur smiled at the way my voice shook. “Of course I knew you wouldn’t like the whole school to know your secrets, but that was just a side effect, for fun.”<
br />
“The sleepwalking…”
“The sleepwalking,” Arthur imitated me. “Yes, the sleepwalking—brilliant, don’t you agree? It took me weeks to find out how to get someone to walk in her sleep, and I have to admit that it doesn’t work with everyone. Obviously you need a basic tendency to do it. Luckily your sister has that.” He paused for a moment. The birds were still silent, and a misty veil had come over the sun. “Isn’t it weird to think that she could simply get up one night and hang herself in your garden shed?” said Arthur.
My fingers clenched convulsively. “Arthur, Mia has never harmed you.”
“That’s true, poor thing. She has to suffer just because it’s her bad luck to be your sister.” He looked at me attentively, and now his tone of voice was spiteful. “Smart, brave little Liv who’s wound Grayson and Henry around her little finger. And who’s so good at kung fu…”
“You’re still annoyed with me.”
“Annoyed?” he interrupted. He wasn’t looking amused now, on the contrary. His eyes were sparkling with pure rage. I instinctively took a step back.
“Annoyed?” he repeated. “I might be annoyed if you’d left a scratch on my car. Or if I’d lent you my iPad and you wrecked it. No, I’m not annoyed with you; I never was. I hate you.”
Okay. So now we knew.
“You’ve destroyed my life, Liv Silver. You’ve ruined all my plans. It’s your fault that Anabel and I aren’t together anymore. It’s your fault I’ve lost all my friends. And it’s your fault that chewing still hurts me.”
Arthur almost shouted that last bit. All his self-confidence seemed to have left him, and Mia was so startled that she slipped off the swing and came over to me.
“You—broke—my—damn—jawbone,” Arthur went on a little more quietly, as if he still couldn’t grasp that.
“Really? That was you?” asked Mia. “Secrecy wrote that it was an accident.”