The Land of Neverendings Page 12

  ‘Background?’

  ‘Deep Smockeroon: you can only see it in the distance, and Ruth thinks humans can’t get there unless they’re dead.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Martha, catching her breath. ‘But you won’t be allowed to go that deep. You’ll just have to keep reminding yourself to stay near The Sycamores.’

  ‘I’ll play it safe, I promise.’

  ‘OK,’ Martha said slowly. ‘I’m up for it.’

  ‘Thanks – and I swear you won’t be in any danger.’

  ‘Actually, I’d love to be part of this. I’m already part of it, thanks to Pippa!’ Martha was smiling again. ‘So … when do we make our witch’s brew? Now?’

  ‘We have to wait till my parents are out of the way,’ said Emily, coming down to earth a little as she faced the practicalities. ‘And they’re always hanging about in the kitchen. Could we do it at your house?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Martha. ‘Our kitchen’s never empty. And my mum doesn’t like me messing about with her saucepans.’

  ‘Oh.’ This was frustrating; how could they cast their spell without making the parents suspicious? ‘I can’t believe it’s so complicated when we only need a few minutes!’ Emily, sitting on her bed, slumped crossly against the wall.

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Martha’s face lit up suddenly. ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea!’ She was sitting at the desk in the swivel chair, and she spun round in it gleefully. ‘We can do it at my sleepover!’

  ‘What – in front of everybody?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Martha stopped spinning and became businesslike. ‘We’re holding the party in our barn, the one that’s used as a wedding venue – and it’s got a little kitchen!’

  ‘But there’ll be crowds of people—’ began Emily.

  ‘We’ll wait till the disco, when it’s dark. Or when everyone else is asleep – don’t you see?’ She spun round again, until her face was an excited blur. ‘Perfect!’

  ‘Yes, but someone’s bound to come crashing in while we’re waiting for the saucepan to heat up! It takes a lot longer than you think.’

  ‘We won’t need a saucepan,’ Martha sang out happily. ‘There isn’t a stove – just a microwave!’

  ‘But that won’t work!’

  Martha stopped her spinning again. ‘Why not? The spell just says to heat the water. It doesn’t specify how.’

  *

  By Saturday afternoon – the day of the sleepover – Emily was seething with impatience to try the spell again. Would it work with a microwave? She would have liked to experiment with heating the water, to see how long it would take. But her mother would never allow her to play about with boiling water. And the toys had been dismayingly quiet since Pippa’s inconvenient appearance at school, even the three old Staples toys.

  ‘I haven’t heard a single thing for days,’ Ruth had said yesterday. ‘Maybe they’ve found the Sturvey and it’s all over?’

  Emily had pretended to think this was good news, but was secretly worried; what if she had missed her chance to get to Smockeroon? While she was packing her rucksack, she took special care with the tiny plastic bag that contained the stuff they would need to make the potion – ten blades of grass, meticulously measured, and a needle she had swiped from her mother’s sewing box. She had also raided the medicine drawer for a sticking plaster, to use after she had pricked her thumb.

  ‘Em, are you ready?’ Dad called upstairs. ‘You said you wanted to be early.’

  ‘Just a sec!’ Emily zipped up her backpack and suddenly caught her reflection in the mirror – still in jeans and sweatshirt, her hair in a total mess.

  She was going to a party.

  I can’t turn up like this!

  She hadn’t thought about clothes since Holly died. For a few minutes she blundered around her room in a panic, until she remembered the only dress she owned that still fitted – stretchy purple velvet, one of her birthday presents. It was crumpled into a corner of the wardrobe, but it was clean and the creases quickly fell out. She ripped off the jeans and sweatshirt, pulled on a pair of black school tights and hastily wriggled her way into the dress.

  ‘Emily!’

  ‘I’m coming!’

  Her black school shoes were boring, and made her feet look gigantic, but her only other shoes were trainers. She dragged a brush though her long hair and dared to look in the mirror again. For one scalding second, she saw a purple idiot with a weird pointed nose and feet like two tugboats – but when she had taken a couple of breaths, she could see that she looked fine. Nice, even.

  ‘Em! What’re you doing up there?’

  ‘I’m getting dressed!’

  Emily remembered her best necklace; the long string of blue glass beads that Holly had liked for the clinking noise they made. She put this on, and the matching bracelet. As an afterthought, just on the point of running downstairs, she grabbed the Bluey book from her beside table. This would be the first time she’d spent a night away from home since Holly died, and she didn’t feel right about leaving it behind.

  Dad stopped mid shout when he saw Emily, and whistled instead. ‘You’re gorgeous!’

  ‘You look lovely!’ Mum hugged her. ‘Have a great time.’

  *

  The farm where Martha lived was a few miles outside Barkstone, at the end of a long country lane. Dad winced as the car rattled over the cattle grids, and said it was a good thing there was a map on the back of the invitation.

  They were early, but the big muddy yard in front of the shabby farmhouse was already filling up with cars, girls and parents. Three muddy dogs circled about eagerly, trying to cover the guests with paw marks.

  ‘Hi, Emily – you look fantastic!’ Martha (in a bright pink dress and matching lipstick) jumped out of the chaos to hug her, and hissed into her ear, ‘Did you bring it – are we still on?’

  ‘Yes,’ Emily whispered back. ‘I’ll be waiting for your sign.’

  They exchanged secret gleeful smiles, and then Emily said, in a normal voice, ‘Happy birthday and I love your dress.’

  The Ambers arrived, along with several other girls from school, and there was more hugging. The party had started. Nothing could happen until darkness had fallen and everyone else was distracted, so Emily shoved the spellbinding to the back of her mind; there was no reason why she couldn’t enjoy herself in the meantime.

  By the time Dad drove away, she had remembered the feeling of having fun – shouting, dancing, eating, laughing. It was ages since she’d been to a sleepover and Martha’s family had pulled out all the stops with this one. They were all going to sleep together in the barn that had been turned into an enormous party room and wedding venue. There was karaoke and a disco with Uncle Mike (fully clothed) as DJ.

  When the disco was at its height, Martha – wildly excited – tugged at Emily’s sleeve and the two of them wove through the crowd of thrashing, dancing bodies. It was easy, in the confusion of flashing disco lights, to sneak into the tiny kitchen at the back of the barn. They couldn’t see each other properly, or hear each other through the thump-thump-thump of the music, until Martha had switched on the light and closed the door.

  ‘OK, I’ve got all the stuff.’ Emily fished the tiny plastic bag out of her sleeve. ‘Nobody will miss us, will they?’

  ‘No – Mum’s not bringing in my cake until the end of ‘The Birdie Song’. Hurry up!’

  The cramped space contained only a small metal sink, a couple of cupboards and the microwave. The plastic measuring jug, containing precisely one pint of water, was already waiting inside the microwave for its first blast of heat.

  It was a tricky operation. Martha leaned close to the glass door, watching the jug of water. The first bubbles appeared; they took the jug out of the microwave just long enough for Emily to drop in the blades of grass and stab the needle into her thumb (it hurt a lot) for a drop of blood. Together, they chanted, ‘To Smockeroon! Smockeroon! Smockeroon!’

  ‘It’ll be cool enough for you to drink by the time we go to sl
eep,’ said Martha. ‘I wish I could drink it too. I know, I know, you don’t need to say it again – but I hope I get to see something!’

  They went back to the party. Uncle Mike finished the disco and Martha’s mother brought in a magnificent pink-and-silver birthday cake, decked with sparklers and so huge it had to be wheeled on a trolley.

  Emily sang ‘Happy Birthday’ with everyone else and did her best to ignore her prickling impatience to find out if their microwaved potion worked.

  Finally, well after midnight, the party guests began to climb into their sleeping bags, and Emily darted back to the tiny kitchen; the water in the jug was still warm and there was no way she could carry it back to her sleeping place on the floor beside Martha, so she kept the spoonful of mixture in her mouth and didn’t swallow it until she was lying down. She put her arms by her side, and muttered the rhyme, ‘Magic mountain, rivers deep …’

  ‘If something happens and I’m still asleep,’ Martha gabbled into her ear, ‘wake me up – pinch me as hard as you like!’

  Martha’s mother handed out mugs of hot chocolate and turned off the main lights.

  Everyone said they were going to stay awake all night.

  Ten minutes later they were all soundly asleep – including Emily.

  The next thing she knew, someone was shaking her shoulder.

  ‘Emily, wake up! You have to see this!’

  ‘What?’ Emily sat up blearily. ‘The spell—’

  ‘It worked!’

  Emily blinked a couple of times, cross with herself for falling asleep. The still, silent shapes of the other party guests were bathed in a strange white light, soft yet intense; she couldn’t work out where it was coming from, until Martha – in such a state of excitement that she forgot to whisper – cried out, ‘Can’t you see? It’s coming from your bag!’

  Emily’s blue backpack, a few feet away, was filled with the mysterious light; it glowed though the seams and poured out of the zipped pockets, as if someone had tried to bag up the moon.

  ‘Careful – it might be hot.’

  The blue nylon felt slightly warm when Emily dragged it towards her and started pulling out the things inside – washbag, non-party clothes, phone. She touched the secret pocket where she kept the Bluey book; it was hot without being uncomfortable, like bathwater, and when she unzipped it, the sudden rush of light made them both screw up their eyes.

  And then there was a sudden sunburst of magic, multicoloured glitter, and a chorus of toyish voices:

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARTHA!’

  It was an incredible and unforgettable sight. Dozens of pretty toys and dolls in sequinned hats marched two-by-two through the sleeping partygoers, singing loudly:

  We are the Seam-Rite Girls –

  Won’t you join our song?

  Our Seam-Rite cream

  Works like a dream

  And lasts the whole day long!

  The Seam-Rite Girls curtseyed and Emily and Martha clapped.

  ‘Oh, they’re so gorgeous!’ Martha was in ecstasy. ‘But why’s everyone asleep?’

  The bright, glittering light showed that all the other party guests were in such a deep sleep that they did not stir when toys trooped across their bodies.

  Pippa jumped onto the nearby head of Amber Frost. ‘Did you like it? We’ve been practising for days!’

  ‘Thanks, Pips, I loved it,’ said Martha.

  PARP-PARP!

  The rough, blaring sound ripped through the room and several toys screamed.

  And then a rude voice yelled out, ‘How’s that for a novelty fart?’

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, more toys were marching through the party barn – a long, straggling line of very dirty, shabby rag dolls, who were singing in loud, rude voices:

  You are the Seam-Rite bums –

  So stuck-up and so mean!

  You needn’t think you are so great

  Just because you’re clean!

  Some of these rag dolls were bald, some had missing arms or legs, some had leaking stuffing – the Seam-Rite Girls backed away from them in horror.

  And then a voice rang out that stirred up a very old memory.

  ‘Hello Emily!’

  This doll was a bundle of rags – more rags than doll – with two mouldy plaits of red wool and a drawn-on face with a mad, wonky grin.

  ‘Prizzy!’ gasped Emily. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Prison Wendy folded her arms and did the ‘naughty dance’ invented for her by four-year-old Maze.

  ‘Stop doing the dance.’ Emily suddenly remembered how to talk to the famous jailbird. ‘Go away at once!’

  ‘NO!’ yelled Prizzy. ‘We want to be Seam-Rite Girls and they won’t let us!’

  Squeaks of horror rippled through the Seam- Rite toys.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Pippa stamped angrily on the sleeping face of Amber Frost. ‘You’re far too dirty and smelly! Now stop spoiling my human’s party.’

  ‘NO!’ Prizzy turned to face her ragged companions. ‘OK, ladies – you know what to do!’

  With a horrible quickness, the dirty rag dolls suddenly scuttled over the sleeping bags and leapt on top of Pippa.

  ‘HELP!’ screamed the yellow bear. ‘MARTHA – HELP!’

  ‘Stop it – put her down at once!’ Emily made a grab at the filthy, wriggling heap, but they were too quick for her. She had one glimpse of Pippa with a sack over her head—

  And then all the toys vanished, and a lone voice rang out. ‘Make us Seam-Rite Girls – or we’ll turn her into one of us!’

  The barn was dark again. The two girls sat for a moment in silence, shocked and bewildered by what they had just seen.

  Martha whispered, ‘They’ve kidnapped Pippa!’

  Eighteen

  FIREWORKS

  ‘PIPS IS HERE – but she’s not here.’ Martha prodded the small yellow bear. ‘Even when she’s a normal stuffed toy, her face shows a bit of her personality. Now she just looks empty, as if she’d never been imagined.’

  ‘That’s how we know she was kidnapped,’ said Emily.

  It was the Monday afternoon after the sleepover and the beginning of half-term. Emily had invited Martha for tea and they had dropped into the antique shop to tell Ruth the whole story – including the secret experiment they had done with the potion (it was a great relief to come clean about this).

  ‘And it was definitely Prison Wendy?’ Ruth frowned thoughtfully at the ‘empty’ Pippa on her table beside the till.

  ‘Yes,’ said Emily. ‘I’d know her anywhere. You have to believe us.’

  ‘Oh, I believe you – I don’t understand how it’s possible, that’s all. Let me get it straight. Your old friend wants to be a Seam-Rite Girl, or she’ll make Pippa as dirty as she is?’

  Emily and Martha nodded; they were all very serious. This was yet another sign of the nastiness that had infected Smockeroon.

  ‘What does Prizzy think you can do about it – phone the Seam-Rite factory?’

  Notty’s voice floated down from the shelf. ‘You could send off for an application form. The fact remains, however, that the rules are very strict – clean, pretty toys only.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Emily was surprised to feel a stab of sympathy for Prizzy. ‘Why shouldn’t she be a Seam-Rite Girl, if that’s what she wants? In my stories for Holly, toys could be anything they liked. This goes against the laws of Smockeroon.’

  ‘Blame the toad,’ said Notty. ‘That wretched creature brought all this naughtiness into our peaceful land. I’m sure you heard about the theft at The Sycamores – the whole top floor! Hugo was simply furious. If you haven’t seen him for a few days it because he’s busy rebuilding.’

  ‘Poor old Hugo!’ Ruth shook her head sorrowfully. ‘It hurts so much to think of Danny’s toys being sad. I’d never have told him a story like this. There must be something we can do.’

  Emily asked, ‘Is it partly my fault, because of the potion?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Ruth.
‘But I do wish you hadn’t mucked about with John’s magic. It can’t be safe. Please promise not to do it again.’

  ‘OK.’

  I promise not to do that particular spell again.

  I don’t promise to give up trying to see Holly and Bluey.

  A loud BANG outside brought them back to the hard world; Podge twitched and yowled under the desk.

  ‘Dear old cat!’ Ruth bent down to stroke his head. ‘Firework night starts earlier every year and he hates all the explosions.’

  ‘So do our dogs,’ said Martha. ‘They go berserk and we have to shut them in the boot room. We can only have fireworks that don’t bang.’

  ‘Yes, us too,’ said Emily. ‘Because Holly—’ She nearly said, ‘Because Holly doesn’t like the noise.’

  This time last year, Emily had spent the whole evening of Bonfire Night singing Bluey songs softly into Holly’s ear, and stroking her cheek with Bluey’s paw. Mum had said it really helped.

  ‘It’s awful when the anniversaries come round,’ Ruth said. ‘And you can’t stop thinking, this time last year. It made me so sad that things like fireworks and Christmas could carry on happening when Danny wasn’t there. Time is cruel. It keeps moving me further away from him.’ She was quiet for a few moments. ‘You know, if you want to rescue Pippa, maybe you should find Prison Wendy in the hard world.’

  ‘But she’s at Maze’s,’ said Emily. ‘I’d have to get myself invited to her house.’

  ‘She’ll probably be at the bonfire party on the common,’ said Martha. ‘Her mum always does the cake stall.’

  Barkstone Common was a large, scrubby piece of land on the outskirts of the old village. Every year there was a huge bonfire, spectacular fireworks and delicious food that was sold to raise money for the hospital. Emily had been a few times with Maze and her parents, but for the last few years she had been too worried about Holly to leave home. Now she needed to be there; it could be her one chance to talk to Maze outside school.

  That evening, while they were having supper, Emily said, trying to sound casual, ‘Martha wants me to go to the bonfire thing. Her dad’s doing the barbecue.’