The Kneebone Boy (29 page)

With love and great admiration, Great-aunt Haddie.

So, I guess this story’s ending is what they call “bittersweet.” In other words, things did not turn out the way the way the Hardscrabbles had hoped they would, yet somehow it all came out right anyway. Which I rather suspect is how life works in general.

As the train pulled away from the Snoring-by-the-Sea station, the Hardscrabbles stared out the window, watching as the view retraced their visit. They could see the path they had first walked towards the town. They caught a distant glimpse of the clutter of rooftops and the neighbourhood where they had found Saint George’s shop. Finally they saw the familiar stretch of woods, thick, leafy hummocks that slipped downwards toward the valley.

It was Otto who spied it first. He suddenly leaned across Max and placed a finger on the window.

“Look!” he said.

“What?” Max asked.

“Don’t you see it? Floating above the trees?”

“Do you mean that little cloud thing?” Lucia asked.

Otto shook his head. “It’s not a cloud. It’s fog.” His hand automatically moved to touch his scarf before he remembered it was no longer there. Instead, he touched his neck. His hand lingered there for a moment, as though astonished at the feel of his own bare skin. “It’s a little twist of fog,” he said.

And that’s exactly what it was. They watched it as it playfully tumbled over the treetops, diving down then reappearing a moment later, only to wind through the branches. They watched it until the train sped around a bend and it was lost from view.

So there is your one ghost, which I promised you back in Chapter Eleven.

I think I’m going to end this book here because the Hardscrabbles are all feeling quite wonderful now and in another twenty-four minutes they are going to have an argument over the windowseat on the train, during which things will get ugly.

It’s not that the Hardscrabbles are ungrateful. It’s just that they are no good at this thank-you business, so they have handed the job over to Ellen Potter, who has loads of people she wants to thank and is not embarrassed to get soppy about it. Here she goes:

Thanks forever and always to my husband, Adam, who has been my best friend and champion since we were seventeen years old. Also a million thanks to my dear friend Anne Mazer, who, like Saint George, always hits the target, on and off the page.

I feel especially indebted to my brilliant editor, Jean Feiwel, who understands that a writer’s favorite words are, “Write what you want to write. I trust you.”

Thanks to my extraordinary agent, Alice Tasman, who
is just the sort of grown-up that the Hardscrabbles like best.

I am tremendously grateful to Liz Szabla, Dave Barrett, and Kathryn McKeon, who painstakingly nipped and tucked this manuscript into shape.

There are several people who helped massively with the writing of this book: Thanks to my young advisor and friend, Juwairiyya Asmal-Lee, who is as bold and funny and honest as Lucia Hardscrabble. Thanks to fellow writer and friend Sumayya Lee, who generously vetted this book. Also I am very grateful to Dayna Nye and John Swartz for their updates on gits, lurgies, and all manner of sugary snacks.