Dad sighed, and then reached out and patted my hand. ‘I think you’re away with the fairies half the time, Violet. You’re such a dreamy girl. Still, it’s good for you that you’ve got this Jasmine. Your mother and I have been worried about you not having any friends. I know you went around with those little dumpy girls but you didn’t seem that happy in their company.’
‘I’m not friends with them any more. I just want to be friends with Jasmine.’
‘Well, I should be a bit cautious. Strikes me it’s best to have lots of friends. Then if one or t’other lets you down you’ve always got half a dozen other mates. Like all my lads at work or the Masons or the guys at the golf club.’ Dad smiled smugly as he showed off his own popularity. ‘Still, this friendship with Jasmine is a start. You need to branch out more. You don’t want to moulder at home and just tag after Will.’
I glanced at Dad. He was staring straight ahead, watching the road.
‘Don’t you want Will and me to be friends, Dad?’ I said softly.
He didn’t answer, humming along to some old pop tune on Radio 2. Maybe he hadn’t heard me. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t heard me.
‘Of course I want you two to get on together,’ Dad suddenly blurted out. ‘It’s just I don’t like the way Will bosses you about and encourages you to join in all his silly games.’
‘What games?’ I said, a pulse beating in my forehead. Ghostly bats flew straight in my face.
‘Silly looks, sighs, dumb insolence, all that nonsense,’ said Dad.
I breathed out slowly. ‘He’s going through a stage,’ I said.
‘He’s always been in some bloody stage,’ said Dad, through clenched teeth.
‘Why don’t you like him, Dad?’ I said.
‘What? What do you mean? Of course I like him. He’s my son.’
‘Is it because he’s adopted?’
‘For God’s sake, Violet, don’t start all that. And don’t you dare bring this up with your mother. She scarcely slept for weeks after my bloody mother let the cat out of the bag.’
‘But why didn’t you tell Will before? It must have been so awful for him finding out like that.’
‘He was the one acting awful as far as I remember, refusing to say thank you for his present. Wasn’t that how it all started, Will being bloody-minded and selfish, as always? I know your gran winds people up. Dear God, she winds me up enough. But Will didn’t have to be downright rude to her. What was it he said? Smelly old bag? How dare he!’
‘I know he was rude. But I just don’t understand. How could you and Mum keep it a secret all these years?’
‘It wasn’t really a secret, as such. We were going to tell him as soon as he was old enough to understand. But by that time – well, your mother thought of him as her son and it would have been so painful for her. She wasn’t well, not for a long time, after—’ Dad swerved suddenly to avoid a bike. ‘Good God, where did he come from? Look, Violet, I don’t want to talk about it any more, especially not when I’m driving. I don’t want to kill us both.’
‘But Dad—’
‘The subject’s closed!’ Dad said sharply.
We didn’t say another word until we got to Jasmine’s flat.
Dear C.D.,
I wonder what you were like when you were a little boy? I know you must have loved drawing right from when you could first hold a pencil. Did your parents encourage you? I wonder about your father – maybe he wouldn’t have liked seeing you hunched up over a drawing pad, creating your own private fairy world? Did he nag you to go out and play football like the other little boys?
He must be so proud of you now though.
With love from
Violet
XXX
From The Book of Fairy Poetry by Casper Dream
The Elf King
The king of elfs, and the little fairy queen
Gamboll’d on heaths, and danc’d on every green.
Nine
JASMINE CAME TO the door in a velvet patchwork dressing gown and threw her arms round me in delighted surprise.
‘How lovely you’re here so early. We’re still having breakfast. Come and have some.’
I had a second breakfast with Jasmine and Jonathan. He was so different from my dad, from anyone else’s dad. He was this cool thin fantastic guy with longish tousled fair hair, in jeans and a grey T-shirt. Will’s kind of clothes, but less rumpled and saggy, probably an expensive designer version. There was nothing remotely saggy about Jonathan. His T-shirt was tight fitting, with very short sleeves, showing off his carefully toned muscles and flat stomach.
‘Hi, Violet. Wonderful name!’ he said, as if I was wonderful too. ‘I’ve heard so much about you already. You and Jasmine are obviously great friends.
‘Yes, we are,’ I said happily.
‘She’s a lovely girl, my daughter, isn’t she?’ said Jonathan.
‘Dad!’ said Jasmine, rolling her eyes. ‘Shut up!’
Jonathan didn’t seem to mind at all. He just pulled a funny face, miming zipping his mouth – though he talked non stop throughout breakfast. He told some slightly silly joke and I laughed obediently, but Jasmine put her head on one side and said, ‘Come again, Dad? That’s meant to be funny ?’ Jonathan pretended to be upset, hanging his head, and Jasmine laughed and ruffled his fair hair, calling him a poor old love.
She talked a lot too, telling him all about school, going on about Marnie and Terry, and she swore, a real fourletter word, but Jonathan didn’t turn a hair. I imagined telling my dad to shut up, ticking him off for making stupid jokes, ruffling his hair, swearing straight in his face. It was impossible. I simply wouldn’t dare.
I didn’t dare say much to Jonathan either because I was so shy. He was very patient, asking me stuff about my family. I answered monosyllabically and he tactfully changed the subject. He talked about me instead, asking me what I liked to do most.
‘I sew,’ I said. I’d sewn Jasmine a present but I felt too shy to give it to her straight away, especially in front of her father.
‘What sort of sewing? My girlfriend Georgia does tapestry.’
‘I just sew . . . small stuff. And I look at books a lot.’
‘Fantastic! I hope you turn my Jas into a bookworm, Violet. She’s a shocker. I’d read all of Shakespeare and most of Dickens when I was her age but she can barely stagger through Harry Potter. What’s your favourite book, Violet? You look like a girl who’d like a little gothic passion. Have you read Jane Eyre?’
I had read Jane Eyre, and loved it too, but I didn’t want to say so in case it looked as if I was ganging up on Jasmine. She didn’t seem to mind particularly.
‘You’re just trying to impress Violet, Dad. I bet you haven’t read Jane Eyre. You’ve just read the stupid telly script.’
‘It was an excellent script and I was a superbly sexy Rochester,’ said Jonathan, striking a dark and glowering pose.
‘You, sexy, Dad?’ said Jasmine laughing. ‘Not with your hair dyed black and those ridiculous tight breeches.’
‘I was sexy with nobs on, saucebox,’ said Jonathan. ‘The girls playing Jane Eyre and Blanche Ingram thought so. I had my work cut out keeping them both happy.’
‘Oh God, we’re boasting now,’ said Jasmine, pouring me another cup of coffee from the cafetière.
We had Nescafé at home, with Gold Blend for visitors, and breakfast was cornflakes and toast. Jasmine and Jonathan had croissants and pink grapefruit juice and a bowl of cherries. I ate them too, savouring each mouthful, wishing I could be part of their family for ever.
Then Jonathan started reading the Stage newspaper and Jasmine took my hand and led me off to her room. When we were on our own I took a deep breath and then produced her present from my jacket pocket.
‘A present!’ said Jasmine, clasping the little pink tissue parcel and untying the green silk ribbon.
‘Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing much. You’ll probably think it’s stupid,’ I said anxiously. I wanted to sn
atch the parcel back. How could I have been so childish? Jasmine seemed light years older than me. She wouldn’t want my silly little gift. She’d raise her eyebrows and laugh at me.
‘Look, it’s daft. Please, give it back to me,’ I said, reaching for the parcel.
‘No! It’s mine. Hands off,’ said Jasmine, opening it up. Her fingernails were the same pearly-pink shade as the tissue paper. She edged it wide open and then looked, silently.
I’d made her a fairy. I’d stayed up late sewing her the last three nights. I’d refined my usual pattern, making the basic shape extra slender, separating the fingers and pointing the toes. It made stuffing her very tricky. I had to use a pin to get the kapok right down to the end. The first time she looked a little lumpy so I scraped her out and started again. The face caused me trouble too. I didn’t want to stylize the features. No little black French knot eyes and simple backstitch smiley mouth for this doll. I painted a face very carefully and then filled in the tiny eyes and mouth with satin stitch. I plaited silky fair embroidery thread, sewed them onto the soft little scalp, dozens and dozens of them, and then gently teased them out into fluffy curls.
The costume was a problem. I wanted it white and gold, with a hint of pink, but I didn’t have any material remotely like that in my scrap box. I used white silk in the end, shading it with rouge and sprinkling a little gold glitter here and there. I made the wings out of white feathers with two pale pink and one primrose on the underside, barely showing.
She was the best fairy I’d ever made but when I looked at her in her nest of tissue she was just an embarrassing little toy, lumpy and home-made.
‘A Jasmine Fairy,’ Jasmine whispered, cupping her in her hands.
It was as if she’d breathed life into her. The Jasmine Fairy quivered, ready to fly.
‘Where did you find her?’ said Jasmine.
‘I made her,’ I said.
‘You made her specially for me? Oh Violet, you’re the most perfect friend in all the world.’
‘No I’m not,’ I mumbled, all choked up.
‘She has wings,’ said Jasmine, waving her around.
‘There’s some very fine elastic in the tissue. We can attach her to your lightshade. She’ll look like she’s flying there.’
I helped her get the Jasmine Fairy organized so she drifted above our heads, arms outstretched, dainty feet pointed. I blew on her and she twirled round and round, her wings lifting, her curls waving gently round her shoulders.
‘She is so wonderful. Are you going to make one for you too?’
‘I’ve got lots at home.’
‘Have you made a Violet Fairy? Then they can be friends and fly together. So what can I give you for a present?’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘You’ve got to have something. What have I got?’ Jasmine seized her red and purple outfit from where it was lying crumpled on the floor. ‘How about these? You said you liked them.’
‘They’re yours! And I couldn’t wear that sort of thing, they’d look all wrong on me,’ I said.
‘No they wouldn’t, but I suppose they would be a bit big for you,’ said Jasmine. ‘Choose a perfume bottle then. Or a snow globe? Go on, choose several, I’d love you to have them. Or what about my Indian bangles? You like them, don’t you?’ She started pulling them all off her arms.
‘No, don’t, Jasmine. I couldn’t possibly take them. Well, maybe just one? Not to keep, just to borrow for a bit.’
‘Have them all, Violet. No, I know, half! You know little kids have those FOREVER FRIENDS lockets and break them in half? Well, we’ll each wear half the bangles, OK? You can have all the purple ones to match your name.’
‘Well, if you really don’t mind? But it is just a borrow.’
‘No, it’s a gift,’ said Jasmine. She threaded six brilliant bangles on my left wrist and the other six on her own. I shook my arm experimentally. They jangled a little tune. Jasmine shook her own arm.
‘We sound like a percussion band,’ I said. ‘Oh Jasmine, I love them.’
I loved them especially because it made us look like sisters.
We stayed in Jasmine’s room all morning, lounging on her bed and listening to her music. She told me stories of all the other schools she’d been to while travelling round with Jonathan. She was especially vitriolic about her boarding school.
‘Marnock Heights was an absolute prison of a place, and so old fashioned. Talk about Jolly Hockey Sticks! The gym mistress was a really scary lady with this moustache and she beat me with her horrible hockey stick.’
‘She beat you?’
‘Well, threatened to. I hated it there, it was so awful, and the food was total rubbish too so I stopped eating and this mad matron started giving me lectures about the dangers of anorexia, for God’s sake. If they’d given me a halfway decent meal I’d have fallen on it ravenously, but who wants to eat slimy shepherd’s pie or rice piddly pudding? I kept phoning Miranda, begging her to let me come back home, but all she did was whine about having to pay for the wretched phone calls. So I phoned Jonathan, even though I was mad at him at the time for walking out on Mum and me. He was at the school in a matter of hours, all set to rescue me. The headteacher protested but Jonathan wouldn’t let the old bat wear him down. He didn’t argue, he just switched on the charm. And I packed my bags in double-quick time and then we were out of there.’
Jasmine jumped up, acting it out. ‘It was so sweet of Jonathan too, because he’d just fallen madly in love with this fashion model – you know, Bija, the one with blue hair and the diamond in her teeth? He knew a schoolgirl daughter would disrupt their little love nest but he said he didn’t care. He said I was far more important. Isn’t that fantastic?’
I murmured appreciatively, finding it totally bizarre that a dad could be having an affair with someone incredibly famous and beautiful like Bija. Jasmine told me more and more extraordinary tales about all these parties she’d been to with Jonathan. She said she’d sung a duet with Robbie and borrowed Kylie’s lipstick and read bedtime stories to Brooklyn and Romeo. I drank it all in, sure she was making most of it up now but not caring. I just wanted to hang onto her hand and be whizzed around this extraordinary new world.
She couldn’t really be on singing/borrowing/storytelling terms with all these celebrities. But when Jonathan took us out for lunch we were treated like celebrities. We didn’t go anywhere ultra posh – there isn’t anywhere ultra posh in Kingtown – but I was thrilled to sit with Jasmine and Jonathan in the window at Pizza Express. Three different women in the restaurant come over to ask for Jonathan’s autograph and told him how much they liked the show. Then a teenage boy came over and murmured something in Jasmine’s ear, blushing. I stared, mouth open. Jasmine stayed totally cool. She wrote her name on a crumpled paper napkin with a flourish.
‘He wanted your autograph?’ I said.
‘Yeah, only because he thinks I’m a dancer in the show. Bless!’ said Jasmine complacently.
‘But you’re not!’
‘Not yet. Give me a couple of years!’
‘Over my dead body,’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re going to be a good sensible girl and stay on at school and go to university and get yourself properly educated. I don’t want you staggering across stages or camping it up in front of the camera. I want you to have a serious, fulfilling career. Let’s drink to that.’ He poured a little of his half bottle of white wine into Jasmine’s glass and mine and raised his own glass.
I felt pleasantly sophisticated toasting Jasmine’s future. It wasn’t the first time I’d tried alcohol. I’d shared a can or two of lager secretly with Will and I’d drunk champagne at a wedding, but this was my first legitimate small splash of wine. I sipped it happily. One of Dad’s colleagues went past outside on his way to the station to start his late turn. He did a double take when he saw me. Then he spotted Jonathan and gawped all over again. I smiled back demurely through the glass. It was as if Jonathan and Jasmine and I were on a celebrity chat show on
television with everyone watching us.
Jonathan treated us both so specially too. It wasn’t just the wine, it was the way he talked to us like adults, looking us in the eye and listening to everything we said. He asked our opinions and seemed to take them seriously. It was as if we really mattered to him. I stopped feeling so shy. Maybe the few sips of wine helped a little.
Jasmine told Jonathan I liked Shakespeare. She shuddered as if she were saying slugs and snails. Jonathan told us really funny stories about playing Bottom in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at an open-air theatre. It rained solidly night after night. Bottom’s donkey head started to grow green slime all over its fur and the ears started to droop pathetically. I asked what costumes the fairies wore.
‘Hey, Jonathan, Violet’s made me a little fairy doll,’ said Jasmine.
‘I love fairies,’ said Jonathan.
I looked at him warily, scared he might be sending me up, but he seemed completely genuine.
‘Remember I took you to that special fairy shop, Jas? How old would you have been? About five? Maybe six? We bought you a bright-pink frock with wings and you wouldn’t stop twirling round. You thought you were the bee’s knees.’
‘You bought me a silver wand to go with it and when I went back to Miranda’s she called me her little Sugar Plum Fairy. Then that horrible Mikey, one of the steps, kept calling me the Sugar Bum Fairy, and I got so cross I poked him in the eye with my wand,’ said Jasmine, spluttering with laughter.
‘You watch out for my daughter, Violet,’ said Jonathan. ‘She looks such a sweet little sugar lump but she can be a very bad girl indeed. Fairy Princess turns straight into Wicked Witch. I worked on some new Grimm adaptations a couple of Christmases ago. It was a special kids’ show but the Grimm was very grim and frightened them into fits. The stage set was pretty scary too, very very dark with lots of gnarled old trees with faces, like those Casper Dream fairy books.’
‘Casper Dream!’
‘Yeah, fantastic artist. Do you like his books, Violet?’