Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter (22 page)

“Martin, please let’s not do this,” Annie said. “We said everything that needed to be said yesterday.”

Mr. Fairweather looked at Robyn, then back at Annie, then at the rest of us. “No, we didn’t,” he said.

“Dad, please.” Robyn reached out for her dad’s hand, but he pulled it away.

“I need to say this now,” he said. “Don’t stop me, or I may never manage it again.”

Then he looked Annie in the eye. He just stood there in silence for what felt like ages. Then in a voice so quiet we wouldn’t have heard it if a twig had snapped at the same time, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“Martin, I —”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I was wrong. I was terribly, terribly wrong. I did so many bad things in the last year. I can hardly remember what I’ve done. It’s as though it was someone else. Someone else who came in and took over while I was lost. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And then he started to cry. Silently at first, his shoulders hunched and shaking. Tears snaked down his cheeks. Soon he was moaning and holding himself as though in the most terrible distress you could imagine.

“Dad.” Robyn ran into his arms, and this time he didn’t stop her. He held her close, as though she was all that could keep him upright, as though he would fall beyond reach if he let her go.

Eventually, he loosened his grip and wiped the back of his palm across his eyes. He looked back at Annie. “I treated you badly. I’m truly sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Annie reached out and softly touched his arm. “Martin, I can forgive you easily enough. But the important thing is that you forgive yourself — and learn to live again. You know she would have wanted you to.”

He nodded, and the lump in his neck bobbed up and down.

We stood in silence a few moments longer. The colors continued to spill from the tree, dancing in and out of the forest, flowing gently in long, rhythmic sweeps, gradually slowing down, coming to rest in a circle around the five of us.

Finally, the colors began to fade away, seeping into the grass. Raindrops tinkled from branches as the sun poked out from behind a cloud. A faint glow of sunlight opened up, peering shyly through the trees.

“Look!” Robyn pointed above us. A perfect arc was emerging. A rainbow, arching over the whole forest, as though holding us all together, keeping us safe.

Annie turned to Daisy. “It’s FGRainbow2359 — the assignment is over.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, knowing in the back of my mind what she was about to say — and praying I was wrong.

“It’s Daisy’s new supervisor,” Annie said. “It means she has to go.”

“But I don’t want her to!” I said. I sounded like a baby — but I didn’t care. Why did she have to leave?

Daisy swallowed. “I don’t want to go, either,” she said sadly. She came over to me, and I hugged her tight.

“She’ll be fine,” Annie said. “Really. I’ll make sure of it.”

“She really has to go?” I asked.

Annie nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding out a hand for Daisy.

Daisy gave me one more squeeze, then she went over to Robyn. “Look after Philippa, won’t you?” she said. “Don’t forget about her. I know she’ll be going home again soon, but don’t desert her like Charlotte did, or forget about her. She’s really special.”

Robyn nodded. “I know she is,” she said. Then she smiled at Daisy. “And so are you. I can understand why she’d want you as her best friend.”

Daisy blushed. “Well, I guess I’ve learned that having best friends isn’t just about keeping them to yourself,” she said. “It’s about learning to share.”

Robyn reached out to give Daisy a hug. “Thank you for everything,” she said. “And don’t worry,” she added, smiling at me. “I’m not planning on deserting Philippa. We’ll make sure we keep in touch — I promise.”

“Come on, now,” Annie said. “It’s time.”

“Annie,” I said, my throat clogged up and burning.

Annie turned. “What is it?”

“Will I ever see Daisy again?”

Annie smiled. “I can’t give you any answers for certain,” she said. “But I can tell you this: when someone saves a fairy’s wings, the favor is never forgotten.”

And with that, she and Daisy walked toward the rainbow. Robyn and her dad stood together, their arms tightly around each other. I stood beside them as we watched Annie and Daisy walk away from us.

The sun shone so brightly through the rainbow I had to shield my eyes. When I opened them again, Daisy had disappeared.

Robyn and her dad were on either side of me. “I can’t bear it,” I said as they held on to me. It felt as though all the sunshine had gone out of my life, as though it would never come back.

And then I remembered Robyn saying exactly the same thing, earlier — that she couldn’t bear it. That was when I realized I
could
bear it. Of
course
I could. It was just a good-bye. It was just a step along a journey, not the end of it. It was a parting, not an ending.

“You’ll find a way,” Mr. Fairweather said. “You’ll be OK.”

“I guess,” I said.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s close the shop for the afternoon and get your parents. I’ll take you all out for some coffee.”

Robyn looked at her dad as though he’d suggested we go and climb Mount Everest.

“I have to start living again,” he said. “Annie’s right. Your mother would never have wanted me to hide away in the shop, half-dead myself. It’s going to be different from now on.”

Then we turned and started walking back to the village. Mr. Fairweather walked ahead, while Robyn and I walked arm in arm, dodging puddles all the way along the path.

We came to a huge puddle right ahead of us. It ran all the way across the path, like a river, running from one side to the next.

If there’s a river ahead of you, you can’t get to the other side by pretending it’s not there. You have to cross it. It’s the only way.

I looked at Robyn. She smiled back at me. And then, without a thought for how cold or wet our feet were getting, we linked arms and sploshed our way through the puddle, all the way to the other side.

“I think you’ll see her again soon,” Robyn said, her boots squelching with every step.

I turned to watch the last bit of the rainbow as it began to fade, saw the light and the colors and the sunshine and the forest — all of them for what they were. The magic and beauty of everything.

Smiling, drenched, and cold, I turned to my new friend. “Do you know what?” I said. “I think so, too.”

And with that, I looked back up at the sky one more time. As I watched, the rainbow glowed a moment longer, then threw one last hint of light through a break in the clouds — and was gone.

Once again, I can’t claim to have written this book all by myself. Many usual suspects and a few new ones have helped along the way. Special thanks to:

Nancy Green for the elder tree;

Karen McCarthy for the fairies in the woods;

Mom, Dad, Caroline, Lee, and Min for those all-important final tweaks;

And Mary Hoffman, for her generous support and tortoisey encouragement.

And with extra, extra special thanks to the following:

Linda Chapman, for being utterly in tune with me, the story, and the characters;

Judith Elliott, for being the most fantastic editor, for making me chop out the deadwood, and for helping me join the dots;

Catherine Clarke, for always being there with advice, support, ideas, encouragement, time, effort, and friendship;

And Laura Tonge, for talking about fairies all year, whether over dinner when I had to make notes on a serviette, at seven o’clock on a rainy morning when I’d run out of ideas, or about a hundred times in between.

“Are we almost there?” I asked for the twenty-fifth time.

Dad gave me the same response he’d given me twenty-four times already. “Almost!” he said, smiling at me in the rearview mirror and giving Mom a nudge in case she hadn’t noticed his funny reply.

I sighed and got back to reading my book.

But then I noticed something outside the window. “Wait!” I sat up a bit straighter. “I recognize this road.” I leaned forward and looked through the front windshield. “It’s the woods!” I said. “We
are
almost there!”

“I told you we were,” Dad replied.

“To be fair, you also said we were almost there when we hadn’t quite reached the end of our street,” Mom added.

But we were this time. We were on the outskirts of Ravenleigh. I felt a jiggle of excitement go through me. We were nearly at Robyn’s house!

Robyn and I sat in her room above the bookstore her dad owns and caught up on all our news.

I couldn’t help comparing it with what had happened when I’d gone to visit Charlotte the first time after she’d moved away. We’d spent a week not knowing what to say to each other. With Robyn, you couldn’t shut us up if you tried! I don’t know how we still had so much to talk about — but we did, and I wasn’t complaining.

I checked my watch. Nearly six o’clock. “I’d better get going,” I said reluctantly. Mom had told me to be back for dinner. “See you in the morning?” I asked as I headed down the stairs.

“Definitely! I’ll come over as soon as I’m up.”

“Great.”

I was about to turn to walk through the shop to go out when something moving across the floor caught my eye. A mouse! It ran across the shop floor and right over to my feet!

I screamed and ran back to the stairs. The mouse followed me. I stumbled halfway up the stairs and the mouse tried to follow, but the steps were too steep and it kept falling back onto the floor.

It stood at the bottom of the steps looking up at me with tiny green eyes.

“I’ve never seen a mouse with green eyes,” Robyn said. She’d heard me scream and was looking down from the top of the stairs.

“Me neither,” I replied, although at this moment, I didn’t care what color its eyes were; I just wanted it to stop chasing me.

“It likes you,” Robyn said with a laugh.

“Well, I don’t like it!” I replied. “Make it go away!”

“Look, it’s got something in its mouth,” she said, bending down and reaching out toward it.

“Don’t touch it!” I screamed. Just then, the mouse dropped whatever was in its mouth, looked up at me once again, and scampered away.

I cautiously made my way down the steps as Robyn was examining what the mouse had left behind. It was a torn, crumpled-up piece of paper covered in mouse spit.

“Nice,” I said.

Robyn laughed. She dropped the paper into the trash as we headed through the shop. “See you in the morning,” she said at the door.

“Can’t wait!” And with that, I waved to her and to her dad, who was busily chatting with a customer. And then I headed back to the house for an evening of moussaka and Monopoly with my parents.

The next morning, Robyn was at the door before Mom and Dad had even woken up. Which isn’t that amazing, really. When Mom and Dad are on vacation, you don’t really get much more than snores and grunts out of them before lunchtime.

“Come on, let’s go out,” Robyn said. I scrawled a quick note, propped it up on the kitchen table, and followed Robyn outside.

We wandered around the village, talking and looking in shopwindows. We paused outside Potluck, the pottery shop owned by Robyn’s friend Annie. She used to be Robyn’s mom’s best friend, but Robyn’s mom had died just over a year ago, and Annie and Robyn’s dad hadn’t seen eye to eye since then. They’d made up last time we were here, though.

“How are things?” I asked nervously.

“Fine,” Robyn said with a smile. “She and Dad are totally cool now. She comes over for dinner every Friday, and I’m allowed to see her whenever I want. She and Dad even go out walking together on the weekends sometimes.”

“I’m so glad,” I said. The shop was closed, but we stood looking at all the plates and bowls and animals in the window.

I was admiring a particularly handsome dragon when someone suddenly barged into me out of nowhere, knocking me forward so hard, I almost bumped into the window.

“Hey!” I spun around and came face-to-face with a woman staring into my eyes in a way that really creeped me out. She was hunched over, with an enormous multicolored shawl looped over her shoulders and over the top of her head, a tiny little face that you could hardly see because the shawl was spread halfway across it, and a pair of beady bright green eyes boring straight into mine.