The Land of Neverendings Page 9

  And then the journey home was maddeningly slow because the lashing rain had brought the traffic to a standstill.

  ‘Ugh, this weather!’ Mum peered anxiously through the spaces made by the windscreen wipers (the regular swish-swish-swish was like Holly’s breathing machine). ‘That meadow will be a sea of mud by now. It’s a good thing they finished before it started.’

  ‘Hmm – sorry?’

  ‘You’re miles away! I was telling you about the burnt tree – the workmen appeared in the wildlife meadow this morning and dug up the whole thing, roots and all.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It looks a mess, and horribly empty. I miss that lovely tree. They’ll plant something else, of course; it won’t always be like the Somme.’

  There was a queue of cars waiting at the roundabout. They slowed to a crawl and the rain came down in torrents.

  ‘Oh, this rain!’ Mum suddenly chuckled, and added, ‘This pibbly-pobbly rain!’

  When Emily was four, Bluey had made up a song –

  The rain! The rain!

  The pibbly-pobbly rain!

  It’s such a nasty day

  We can’t go out to play!

  This was the first time Mum had referred to Bluey and his world since Holly died. Emily caught her breath, waiting for the memory to shatter into sadness, but her mother went on smiling.

  ‘You were such a funny little thing – always making up songs and stories. Do you remember when Dad accidentally said the rain was “pibbly-pobbly” to his boss?’ They both laughed, and Mum was still cheerful when they got home.

  ‘Ruth’s shut today; the new boiler’s being fitted and I don’t know if her heating’s back yet – would you be an angel and check that she’s all right?’

  ‘OK.’ This was the perfect opportunity to bring Ruth up to speed. Emily hurried out of the car and through the downpour, and started gabbling about Martha’s dream as soon as Ruth opened her back door.

  ‘Slow down – take a breath and count to ten.’ Ruth firmly pushed her into the kitchen and made her sit down at the table. ‘So your friend had a dream about a dirty rag doll?’

  ‘Yes, and I think I know that doll in the hard world!’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Ruth. ‘Is she one of yours?’

  ‘No – she used to belong to Maze when we were at nursery school. I suddenly remembered her when Martha described her mad face and red wool plaits. Her name’s Prison Wendy.’

  ‘It’s what?’

  ‘Prizzy for short. She was very naughty and always being sent to prison.’

  Ruth snorted with laughter. ‘But toys don’t have prisons!’

  ‘It wasn’t a toys’ prison.’ Emily hadn’t thought about Maze’s dirty rag doll for years, and now the memories were rushing back. ‘It was an old shoebox on the top shelf. Maze’s mother used to put Prison Wendy in the box when our games with her got too rowdy – when Maze made her climb up the chimney or spill the painting water. I think she must’ve been quite a posh rag doll once. But then she got so sooty and smelly that they put her in the washing machine and her face wore off. So Maze drew her a new face with a mad wonky smile.’

  ‘Poor old Prison Wendy!’ Ruth was still chuckling. ‘Do you know where she is now?’

  ‘No,’ Emily said. ‘I know she’s not in Maze’s bedroom. I haven’t seen her since I was little.’ How come Martha was seeing toys from Smockeroon? She thought she’d been dreaming, with no idea that she was seeing a real place.

  I must find a way to tell her.

  A sudden movement under the table made them both jump.

  Hugo’s voice floated up at them. ‘… one barrel of Tudbury’s Drinking Syrup, and two boxes of plain chocolate eggs. And please deliver it to The Sycamores.’

  Emily bent down and saw Daniel’s cardboard box, with the furry head of the penguin sticking out of the flap. ‘Hi, Hugo.’ She pulled the box out into the middle of the floor. ‘What are you doing here?’

  It was very funny to see Hugo’s frown of annoyance.

  ‘Not again! Can’t a penguin pop out to the sweet shop without being whisked off Hardside?’ He was wearing a hat made of purple velvet, in the shape of a saucepan – the gold-painted handle stuck out jauntily on one side.

  Emily lifted him out of the box and put him on the table. ‘Was it the broken door again?’

  ‘I don’t know what it was – I thought I was in Pointed End!’

  The cardboard box on the floor trembled and out popped the head of Smiffy, wearing an orange velvet-covered saucepan with a silver handle.

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Ruth. ‘The saucepan hats are Pointed End’s latest fashion statement?’

  ‘Hello, Ruth,’ said Smiffy. ‘Yes, that’s right. Don’t they look stylish?’

  Both toys looked so proud that Ruth and Emily quickly said, ‘Yes – very stylish,’ and did their best not to laugh.

  ‘I’ve come to fetch Hugo,’ Smiffy said. ‘It’s time to make the German lodger’s tea – the cuckoo in the clock sent me a text.’

  ‘A text!’ snapped Hugo. ‘Of all the cheek! He’s just taking advantage because we can’t tell the time ourselves – I’ve a good mind to complain to the Sturvey!’

  Emily asked, ‘Has the Sturvey replied to your message yet?’

  ‘No,’ said Smiffy. ‘It’s very strange. Normally he gets right back to you.’

  So the Sturvey is a ‘he’; does that mean he’s a toy?

  ‘Does he call you back? Do you speak to him?’

  Hugo and Smiffy looked puzzled.

  ‘Nobody speaks to the Sturvey,’ said Hugo. ‘Normally, when you leave a message, things just get put right.’

  ‘But things aren’t being put right at the moment,’ said Smiffy. ‘We’re not the only toys being kept waiting. The stuffed hippos next door asked for a playground extension weeks ago, and nothing’s happened yet.’

  ‘Maybe he – or it – is extra busy at the moment,’ said Ruth.

  ‘We’ll keep on trying,’ said Hugo. ‘Come on, Smiffy – we’d better make the German lodger’s tea.’

  He suddenly scuttled across the table and took a headlong dive into the cardboard box. Smiffy shouted, ‘Wait for me!’ – there was a flash of light and the box closed on two ordinary stuffed toys.

  Emily was disappointed. ‘I thought Hugo was going to explain more about the Sturvey!’

  ‘No he wasn’t,’ Ruth said. ‘He bolted back to Smockeroon because he has no idea who the Sturvey is and he’s too vain to admit it – I know that penguin, don’t forget.’ She had stopped smiling. ‘I wish I knew exactly why this is happening to us. I wonder if it’s my fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Ruth said, ‘I didn’t put Hugo and Smiffy in Danny’s coffin. When it came to the point, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it – I couldn’t bear to lose them too. But I worried about it afterwards.’ Tears trembled in her eyes. ‘I worried that he was lonely without them.’

  ‘He’s not lonely.’ Emily put her small, nail-bitten hand on top of Ruth’s plump one. ‘Hugo and Smiffy said they see him all the time.’

  The cat flap in the kitchen door sprang open, and Podge poured through it with an angry yowl.

  ‘What’s up, old boy?’ Ruth bent down to stroke his striped head. ‘Have those squirrels been bothering you?’

  The cat flap opened again. For one second Emily thought some wild animal was coming after the cowardly old pet. But the muddy creature that climbed through the flap was smaller than a squirrel, and it had four little wheels and a tail.

  It spoke in a voice like rough sandpaper. ‘Come on, you two – it’s nice and warm in here.’

  Thirteen

  THE NEW LODGERS

  EVEN IF YOU WERE USED to toys moving and talking, it was a very weird sight. Emily and Ruth stared, transfixed, as two more muddy toys clambered through the cat flap. The one with the sandpaper voice was a wooden donkey on wheels and he had been joined by a clanky metallic monkey and a small grubby be
ar.

  The three little figures carefully wiped their feet (or wheels) on the doormat.

  ‘Good grief!’ whispered Ruth. ‘It’s them!’

  ‘Sorry?’ Emily didn’t understand why Ruth was so excited. ‘Who?’

  Ruth made a dive at one of the piles of books on the table and pulled out the biography of John Staples. ‘Don’t you recognise them?’ She opened it at the black-and-white photograph of the three toys that had belonged to the Staples children – Blokey the tin monkey, Mokey the wooden donkey and Figinda Faraway, the small plush bear.

  ‘Of course!’ Emily knelt down to look at the famous Edwardian toys more closely. They were nothing like modern toys, which were mostly either soft and cuddly or battery-operated. Under the dirt, these three antiques were small and wizened, with odd little faces that were vivid with personality. ‘But where did they come from?’

  ‘That was a very long walk,’ the monkey said (in a voice that creaked and scraped like a rusty hinge). ‘Humans’ doormats are extremely prickly! Now, who’s in charge of this cafe?’

  The donkey raised his head to look at Ruth and Emily. ‘The old fat one, I should think.’

  ‘Can you hear me, fat old lady?’ called the monkey. ‘We’d like three mugs of Biggins’ Mixture. Any flavour except lemon-and-lime.’

  ‘Fat old lady!’ Ruth burst out laughing. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I think you must’ve made a mistake – this isn’t a cafe.’

  ‘You’re not in Smockeroon,’ Emily said, as kindly as she could. ‘This is the hard world.’

  ‘Oh, we know that,’ the donkey said cheerfully. ‘We were blown back here all of a sudden, when the diggers uncovered our trunk this morning.’

  ‘Diggers?’

  ‘Don’t you see?’ Ruth was half excited and half laughing. ‘Where else would John have buried them? They were under the tree – and when the tree surgeons ripped out the roots—’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain what they’re doing here.’ Emily carefully picked up the three toys and put them on the table. They were very light and she shivered to feel them wriggling in her fingers. ‘Why aren’t they just dumb toys?’

  ‘I think the rules must’ve changed,’ said Figinda Faraway. ‘It was rather peculiar.’

  ‘We were in our house, in the very deepest part of Smockeroon,’ said Blokey the monkey. ‘So deep that nobody can leave – when things are normal, anyway. All of a sudden there was a flash of white light, and then I found myself holding a Hardside permit from the Sturvey. We sent the request more than fifty years ago and it got turned down because we were in too deep. But the law must’ve changed.’

  ‘We can’t ask him about it,’ said Mokey the donkey. ‘Nobody’s seen him for ages.’

  ‘Have you ever seen him?’ Emily asked eagerly.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Blokey, nodding his little tin head. ‘He lived next door to us at one time. But he has a very important government job, and that keeps him very busy.’

  ‘Is he a toy?’

  ‘He’s a bear,’ said Figinda Faraway solemnly. ‘The most imagined bear in all the world, packed with imagination! And he has very elegant manners.’

  So the Sturvey was not a government building, nor was he a wizard. He was just an old bear, according to these toys.

  ‘John said we could come,’ Mokey put in creakily. ‘If we promised to be good.’

  ‘John Staples?’ Ruth was pale with mingled amazement and fear. ‘Good grief!’

  Emily knew why she was scared. It was one thing to meet modern, living toys like Hugo and Smiffy and Notty – but these three toys had come from the land of the dead. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘That was the diggers,’ said the tin monkey. ‘Everything suddenly went dark and cold, and I was the first to realise that we’d somehow come back into the hard world, where we haven’t been for years. And I said to the others, “Mark my words, we’re back in the trunk!”’

  ‘In the trunk where he put us,’ said Mokey. ‘To save us from being burned.’

  Ruth asked, ‘Did you try to go back to Smockeroon – or are you trapped here?’

  The three old toys looked puzzled.

  ‘Trapped? Good gracious, no!’ Figinda Faraway said briskly. ‘Naturally we went straight back to Smockeroon, but we couldn’t get to our bit.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ said Ruth. ‘Your bit?’

  ‘My dear fat lady, try to keep up! We live in the very deepest part of Smockeroon, which is sometimes called the Land of Neverendings, and sometimes the Enchanted Forest. It’s where all the imagination goes.’

  And the dead people.

  Holly and Danny.

  It was unbearably exciting to think that these toys had come from that mysterious region – where Christopher Robin still played with Winnie-the-Pooh, though the real Christopher Robin had died an old man and the real Pooh lived in a glass case in New York.

  ‘And when we tried to go home,’ Figinda Faraway went on, ‘we were in a different part of Smockeroon. The modern part, where all the toys can come and go from the Hardside because their owners are still alive. It’s a very attractive place, once you get used to the noise.’

  ‘We’ve decided to stay at a boarding house we saw in the newspaper,’ Blokey said cheerfully. ‘It’s called The Sycamores. I’ll send them a telegram to say we’ve arrived.’

  ‘You’re a bit behind the times,’ said Ruth. ‘Telegrams don’t exist nowadays. It’s all mobile phones, even in Smockeroon.’

  ‘I’ve seen Hugo with a phone,’ Emily said, ‘but we don’t know his number.’

  ‘Hang on, we don’t need his number – he’s right here!’ Ruth leaned down to Daniel’s box and triumphantly pulled out Hugo and Smiffy. ‘Wake up, boys! Your new lodgers have just turned up in my …’

  Her voice trailed away as she realised she was talking to a pair of soft toys.

  ‘Why can’t we summon them?’ Emily reached out to stroke Hugo. ‘Aren’t they supposed to come when we call them?’

  ‘I expect they’re too busy,’ Figinda Faraway piped up. ‘Their bodies are here – and that’s normally enough for humans. I mean, normally you don’t expect them to talk, do you?’

  ‘Well – no …’

  ‘The modern part of Smockeroon is simply thrilling! I can’t wait to look around – but we had to come to the hard world first. Look at the state of us!’ She held up the ragged remnants of what had once been a flowered dress and was now falling apart in her paws like a filthy cobweb. ‘We can’t go into refined society like this!’

  ‘You see,’ said Blokey, ‘in the modern part of Smockeroon, toys look the same as they do in the hard world. And in the hard world I find that I’m covered with rust.’

  ‘My paint’s wearing off,’ said Mokey.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ Emily said. ‘You came here because you want us to clean you.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Blokey, with a smile on his painted face. ‘There was just enough light in our trunk to see how shabby and dirty we are.’

  ‘John buried us in the garden,’ said Figinda Faraway. ‘He gave us each a kiss and said he’d see us in Smockeroon.’

  ‘And … did he?’ Emily had a sudden stab of longing for Bluey and Holly. ‘Did he come to see you?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Blokey. ‘He knew we’d never leave him.’

  ‘And every visit drove us in deeper,’ said Figinda Faraway – as if this explained everything. ‘More than a hundred Hard years have passed, so it’s not our fault we’re so filthy. And the long walk through all that mud made it worse.’

  ‘We can get some of the mud off, at least.’ Ruth produced a packet of new J-cloths. She ran them under the hot tap and gave one to Emily, and they carefully cleaned the top layer of mud off the three old toys – it was funny to see the donkey screwing up his painted face while Ruth dabbed at him.

  ‘I need a new dress,’ said Figinda Faraway. ‘Smart but not too formal.’

  Emily suddenly remembered the packet of
little dresses that Mum had bought for Martha’s bear Pippa. ‘Back in a minute!’

  She ran to her house, where her mother was doing some paperwork for her job at the kitchen table, and did not notice when Emily quickly took the little dresses out of the drawer.

  ‘I was just about to call you – supper’s nearly ready.’

  Emily gabbled a quick lie about borrowing the dustpan and brush, and pelted back next door.

  ‘Emily, you’re a genius!’ said Ruth, beaming. ‘Look, Figinda – six new dresses!’

  The small white bear stared at the six new dresses. For a moment Emily was afraid she didn’t like them – but the grubby furry face stretched into a radiant smile.

  ‘Oh, they’re lovely – thank you, Emily! Could I try on the pink one?’

  Ruth gently removed Figinda’s rags and helped her into the pink dress. It fitted perfectly. Emily brought the small mirror from the downstairs toilet and the antique toy admired herself from all angles. (Ruth and Emily had to struggle not to laugh; the little bear looked very funny but they didn’t want to hurt her feelings.) ‘You’ve both been most kind,’ said Mokey. ‘Now we’d like to go back to modern Smockeroon and check in to The Sycamores. I booked by public telephone and spoke to a penguin.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, but that might not be possible—’ began Ruth.

  ‘Hurry up, Smiffy!’ cried a bossy voice under the table. ‘Our new lodgers have arrived.’

  The cardboard box quivered and out jumped Hugo, closely followed by Smiffy – and a cloud of blue glitter when Smiffy dropped a big tray of toys’ cakes on the kitchen floor.

  The three Staples toys went to the edge of the table; when he saw them, the penguin bowed deeply. ‘Welcome!’

  ‘So you’re in charge of The Sycamores,’ said Blokey. ‘How do you do. We’d all love a mug of Biggins’ Mixture.’