Molly and Pim and the Millions of Stars (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

An Angel

While lining up outside the school hall, for assembly the next day, Molly tugged
on Ellen's hand and whispered, ‘Mama and I have a problem. We officially have the
world's nastiest neighbours. Ernest Grimshaw looks like a large puffer fish and he
wants to kill the Gentleman with an axe. And his wife thinks we stole her clay turtle,
and they're constantly shouting things over the fence. Mama thinks we should grow
a tree and block them out.'

Ellen's nose twitched like a rabbit's. ‘That's silly. It will take forever.'

Molly didn't want to tell Ellen that her mama intended to use a potion to make it
grow fast. She wished Ellen hadn't said it was silly, though.

‘I think we should move the house,' she said.

‘But you can't just move a house,' Ellen shrugged. She did think about things in
a relentlessly practical way.

Molly began to regret starting the conversation. Weren't best friends supposed to
be understanding? Weren't you supposed to tell them something if it was on your
mind? But telling Ellen made the situation seem hopeless.

‘Nothing is impossible, just hard,' said Molly, plucking a piece of buddleia and
shoving it soothingly under her nose. ‘If the Egyptians built pyramids by hand, surely
we can move a house?'

Ellen frowned. ‘Easier to just ignore the neighbours, I reckon. How old are they?
Maybe they'll soon be shoved off to a retirement home anyway?'

Molly gave a limp nod. ‘I guess so.' She didn't
believe it, though. No one was shoving
those Grimshaws anywhere.

After assembly, a strange thing happened. Hoisted up alongside the flag was a papier-mâché
angel, with peach pips for eyes and yellow-tipped cockatoo feathers on its wings.
No one usually noticed the flag, but everyone noticed the angel. And the angel seemed
to know it was much more remarkable than an old flag. The kids laughed. The teachers
frowned, except for the art teacher, who hid her grin behind her hand. Who had put
it there?

Sinclair Jones threw a plum at it, but it missed. Molly and Ellen watched the commotion
from beneath the loquat tree. A competition had sprung up as a result of Sinclair
Jones's plum. Kids threw shoes, tennis balls, stones, seed pods and one of the older
boys even tried a can of baked beans, which missed, but smashed on the ground, spilling
its guts very satisfyingly. The happy shouts caused Miss Ward to come clucking and
calling for a stop to the game.

Though it had taken a hit or two, the angel held fast.

Molly watched Pim Wilder, who hadn't joined in on the throwing, but then again Pim
rarely joined in. He sat on a low brick wall, leaning back, arms crossed, with the
usual dark gleam in his eyes and a small mysterious case slung over his shoulder.

‘Bet I know who made that angel,' said Molly, aiming her gaze directly at Pim Wilder.

Ellen looked over at him and nodded. ‘But why do you think he made it and how did
he get it up there?'

Molly shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe it's like a sort of talisman, something that brings
you good luck or wards off evil spirits.'

‘Do you believe in that kind of thing?' Ellen tossed her plaits behind her shoulders
one at a time. Molly rubbed at her own hair, which was short, dark and curly and
wouldn't go into plaits as it was too disobedient. But she couldn't quite find a
finished sort of answer.

‘Well, I don't believe, but I don't not believe either. And I like not knowing better
than knowing.'

Before Ellen could decide whether she agreed or not, Pim Wilder got up off the wall
and glided, as if drawn by other forces, to the base of the flagpole. Molly and Ellen
watched him. Pim was tall and he usually moved in fits and starts. When he walked
or ran, his arms and legs were flung forward, as if he wasn't sure of the length
of his own limbs. But now he moved without one fit or start, more as if he was in
a royal procession, and, once arrived, he stood quite still. He craned his head upward
and took a camera out of the case. He lifted it to his eye. It was an old-fashioned
type of camera that needed focusing, and as he took the photo he looked as if he
knew exactly what he was doing.

Either he hadn't even noticed that Molly and Ellen were still there, or he didn't
care.

CHAPTER 6

Feelings that Creep and Skitter

Molly found it hard to concentrate at school. Her mama was building a dark, box-like
bedroom for the Gentleman, with curtained windows, so that he wouldn't notice the
dawn arriving and wouldn't crow till they let him out, after Mr Grimshaw was awake.
Maybe her mama would focus on that and forget about her potions and the fast-growing
oak tree. Molly was worried about this witchy interference, and now that she felt
Ellen didn't understand her worries, she had to keep them locked up inside her head.

Molly's mama was waiting for her after school. She was flushed with excitement and
a plan that they would ride home via the gardens so they could hunt for the right
acorn for the tree-growing potion. Molly's hopes fell. Not only had her mama remembered,
but she also wanted to drag Molly along with her. The last thing Molly wanted was
to be seen with her mama in the gardens examining acorns.

‘Can't I just go home and you go on your own?' she pleaded.

Her mama tilted her head and gave Molly a look of curious concern. ‘You don't have
to come if you don't want to,' she said softly, sweeping an unruly lock of hair from
her eyes. Then she smiled at Molly.

Molly sometimes suspected her mama's gentle smiles radiated their own magic, as Molly
instantly felt that she should go. She heaved a big grouchy sigh, ‘Okay, I'll come,
but I'm not looking at acorns: I'll just wait while you do it.'

The gardens were large with avenues of oaks and elms all the way round the outside.
There was a small lake and a few flowerbeds, but mostly it was a sprawling lawn of
all sorts of trees. The largest of all was a sweeping English oak, which had been
planted by a duke more than a hundred years ago.

It was to that tree that Molly and her mama headed. They had just got off the bike
to push it over the grass, when Molly noticed Pim Wilder. He was squatting at the
base of a large tree examining something. He frowned slightly, but his eyes were
bright, and he stared at the thing in his hand with such intensity that Molly wanted
to run over to see what it was. But she also wanted to hurry past in case he saw
her and asked what she was doing there with her odd mama on a yellow bike.

Molly watched as Pim prodded and pushed the thing with his fingers and then stood
up and stared into the leafy canopy of the tree. He was still holding what seemed
to be a ball of dirt in his open palm. Molly craned her neck to look closer, and
Pim Wilder suddenly turned around. He stared straight at her. She quickly looked
away, but his eye had caught hers.

Pim looked at Molly without the least bit of surprise or interest. Then he lifted
his head in a slight gesture of recognition, and a flicker of amusement passed across
his eyes. Molly blushed as she pushed the bike onwards.

She was perplexed. She didn't want Pim to see her, as his manner was unusual. But
to have him notice her and show no interest had embarrassed her. The truth was that
she found Pim interesting. Molly didn't like to admit this, even to herself, but
now it seemed well and truly proven, not only to Molly but to Pim as well.

But why wasn't Molly interesting to him? He probably thought she was only interested
in girlish things, which wasn't true. She stomped ahead, way past Pim. In her head,
she began to compose a list of all the very great things she was interested in. Tree
houses, for one. She liked dogs too. And songs. And table tennis. Trampolines and
stilts and handstands. Caravans. And anything mysterious. These were worthy things.
Pim had got her wrong.

Molly watched her mama picking up acorns and examining them. The funny thing was,
there was something about her mama's complete absorption in the task that was exactly
like the way Pim had been at the base of his tree. Molly shook her head. This was
all very confusing.

She called out to her mama, ‘Can we go now? I'm hungry.'

Her mama looked up with surprise and then grinned. ‘Of course. I think I've found
the one I need.'

Molly didn't want to ask how her mama could tell one acorn from another, because
she knew the answer would be something she didn't want to hear. So they got on their
bike and rode along the gravel path all the way home. Neither of them spoke. Molly's
mama hummed as she rode, busily thinking out her new potion. Molly was wondering
about Pim Wilder and his mysterious ball of dirt.

That night Molly's mama stayed up all night, reading her books on plants, scribbling
notes and making drawings in her red notebook, pounding leaves and roots, extracting
drops of plant essence and dropping them onto copper chloride plates of crystallised
salts, boiling others, or soaking them in vodka. She was making a potion stronger
than any she had ever made before.