Fairy Dust Read online

  Gwyneth Rees is half Welsh and half English and grew up in Scotland. She went to Glasgow University and qualified as a doctor in 1990. She is a child and adolescent psychiatrist but has now stopped practising so that she can write full-time. She is the author of Mermaid Magic, Fairy Dust, Fairy Treasure, Fairy Dreams, Cosmo and the Magic Sneeze, Cosmo and the Great Witch Escape and, for older readers, The Mum Hunt, The Mum Detective, My Mum’s from Planet Pluto and The Making of May. She lives in London with her two cats.

  The Mum Hunt won the Younger Novel category of the Red House Children’s Book Award 2004.

  Visit www.gwynethrees.com

  Books by Gwyneth Rees

  Mermaid Magic

  Fairy Dust

  Fairy Treasure

  Fairy Dreams

  Fairy Gold

  Cosmo and the Magic Sneeze

  Cosmo and the Great Witch Escape

  For older readers

  The Mum Hunt

  The Mum Detective

  The Mum Surprise (World Book Day 2006)

  My Mum’s from Planet Pluto

  The Making of May

  Illustrated by Annabel Hudson

  MACMILLAN CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  First published 2003 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  This electronic edition published 2008 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-0-330-47080-3 in Adobe Reader format

  ISBN 978-0-330-47081-0 in Adobe Digital Editions format

  ISBN 978-0-330-47082-7 in Microsoft Reader format

  ISBN 978-0-330-47083-4 in Mobipocket format

  Copyright © Gwyneth Rees 2003

  Illustrations copyright © Annabel Hudson 2003

  The right of Gwyneth Rees and Annabel Hudson to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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  To Cameron MacPherson Christie and the wee man of Caroy Cottage

  Rosie MacLeod ran down the lane to Thistle Cottage while her mother, Maggie, went to collect the key from Miss MacPhee, the old lady who lived next door. Over the hedge she could see across the fields to Loch Shee. It was a beautiful day and the loch was a clear blue colour.

  The front door of Thistle Cottage was painted light blue and there was a massive knocker on it in the shape of a pixie’s head. Rosie peered in at the window. Something was moving on top of the big oak table in the kitchen. What was it? She pressed her nose against the glass in order to see more closely.

  Just then her mother’s car rolled in down the driveway. ‘Miss MacPhee says to watch out for the fairies!’ her mother laughed as she climbed out of the car. ‘I’d forgotten how some of the old island people believed in them. You’ll fit in very well here, Rosie.’

  Rosie had seen fairies once when she was sick in bed with chickenpox. Her mother had said that her mind was playing tricks because she had a fever and, no matter how hard she tried, Rosie hadn’t been able to convince her mother that the fairies were real.

  ‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ Mum said, slipping the key into the lock and turning it. ‘Miss MacPhee says she had a cleaner in yesterday so it should be spick and span.’

  ‘I thought I saw something moving around in the kitchen just now,’ Rosie said.

  ‘Yikes! I hope we haven’t got mice,’ her mum grimaced. ‘If we have, we’ll need to borrow Miss MacPhee’s cat. She’s got an enormous ginger tom called Angus and she says the fairies are always pestering him and pulling his tail. Really, Rosie, I think Miss MacPhee is a little . . . you know . . .’ She made a circle with one finger at the side of her head to indicate crazy.

  Rosie sighed. Just because her mother had never seen a fairy, she didn’t believe that anyone had.

  After they had unloaded the car, her mum went upstairs to put the sheets on their beds while Rosie made sandwiches for supper.

  That cleaner didn’t do a very good job, she thought. There were crumbs and little blobs of red jam all over the table, which was strange since Miss MacPhee had said that nobody had rented out this cottage since last summer.

  In a way, Rosie felt like they were just renting out this cottage for the summer too. She had to keep reminding herself that they were here to stay. Rosie couldn’t believe that her mum and dad had split up. And now Dad was all alone in London while Rosie and her mother had moved up here to the Isle of Skye in Scotland. It seemed like she would hardly ever see Dad from now on. When Rosie had said that to her mum before they’d come here, her mother had said that they never saw him anyway because he spent all his time at work. Rosie hadn’t said anything else because her mother had looked as though she was about to start crying. Her mum cried a lot lately.

  Rosie’s mother was Scottish and Rosie knew that she had only moved down to England in the first place because Rosie’s dad, James, worked as a lawyer in London. He worked very hard and he often didn’t have time to do things with Rosie and her mum. That was one of the things her parents had argued about a lot.

  After tea, Rosie stood her photograph of her father on the little dressing table in her room. Then she went down to the hall to fetch the rest of her things. had surprised her mother by insisting they bring her old, wooden, dolls’ cot with them. She hardly ever played with her dolls any more, but the cot was special because her dad had built it for her when she was very little and her mum had made the covers for it. Rosie didn’t care if the yellow paint was flaking off in places and one of the covers was ripped. She still hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.

  Rosie put the cot down underneath the window and sat down on her bed. She suddenly felt very tired. Maybe she would wait until tomorrow to put everything away.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll like it here, darling,’ Mum said when Rosie went into her bedroom to say goodnight.

  Rosie didn’t reply. She was watching her mother hanging up her clothes in the small old-fashioned wardrobe. It made her think about the modern mirror-fronted wardrobe in her parents’ bedroom at home and how her dad had always complained about how much space her mother’s clothes took up compared to his. ‘Dad will have too much room for all his stuff now,’ she said.

  Her mum nodded. ‘I expect he’ll be pleased about that.’

  Rosie didn’t say anything, but she didn’t think he would.

  ‘What will we do tomorrow?’ she asked her mother because, for some reason, the idea of tomorrow scared her a bit now that they were so far away from everything and everyone she was used to.

  Her mother gave her shoulders a squeeze. ‘We’ll go exploring,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fun!’

  Rosie went to bed feeling a bit happier and it didn’t take her long to fall asleep.

  The room was lit by moonlight when Rosie woke up again a few hours later. She was very sleepy and she thought at first that she must be dreaming.
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  It was a wonderful dream! There, flying above her bed, was a tiny fairy girl. The fairy was keeping a safe distance away from her but was peering at her curiously just the same.

  And Rosie suddenly felt wide awake!

  She lay very still, holding her breath. She knew how easy it was to frighten fairies away if you let them know you had seen them. This fairy had piercing blue eyes and gold hair caught up in a big bushy ponytail on top of her head. She wore a little silk bodice and a skirt made out of white flower petals. Her wings, fragile as insect wings, fluttered behind her.

  Just then, a cross little Scottish voice sounded from the corner of the room. ‘Och, it’s just plain mean of Flora to rent out my cottage!’

  Rosie saw that the voice belonged to a little man the same size as the fairy. He also had wings and he hovered beside the top shelf in the little alcove in the wall, where he was packing things into a matchbox. He was dressed in a pleated tartan kilt and matching tartan socks which almost reached his kilt. In between, Rosie could just make out a pair of pink, hairy knees. On his top half, he wore a smart little black velvet jacket, with long sleeves and tiny pearl buttons, over a white shirt and tartan tie. On his head sat a tartan bonnet with a miniature thistle stuck in it, his red hair poking out underneath. eyes were bright green and his face looked like the kind of face Rosie had always imagined on a cheeky elf or pixie.

  The matchbox he was packing wasn’t closed properly and a tartan sock and a pair of white long johns were poking out of one end.

  ‘Shush! You’ll wake her,’ the fairy whispered. ‘She’s got such a nice face – look!’

  ‘I thought you’d come here to help me pack, Snowdrop – not to look at her!’ the little man grumbled, flying over to take a closer look at Rosie who quickly pretended to be asleep. It wasn’t that she was scared of fairies, but she had never seen a fairy man before and this one certainly didn’t seem very friendly.

  ‘Look!’ Snowdrop said excitedly. ‘She’s got some wonderful toys. I’d love to come here to play.’

  ‘Children may still look sweet but they’re not as much fun as they were in the old days,’ the little man said gloomily. ‘All they’re interested in now are their computers and their video games. They never want to play with us any more.’ He flew back to his shelf. ‘Now – are you helping me with this or not?’

  They flew over Rosie, carrying the matchbox between them, as they headed for the open window.

  And by the time Rosie had plucked up the courage to introduce herself, they were gone.

  The next morning Rosie woke up with the sun streaming through her window, half sure that she had dreamed the whole thing. She knew that her mother would certainly think that if she told her about it.

  Rosie looked out of her window at the sparkling blue loch which her mother had told her eventually joined up with the sea. Her mum had also said there were seals and sometimes even dolphins who swam into the loch and loved to show off to any humans who happened to be on the shore. Rosie couldn’t wait to go down to the rocky loch-side and explore.

  But her mother hadn’t slept very well and she wanted to rest for a while longer. ‘Why don’t you go and have a look round by yourself?’ she suggested, sleepily.

  So Rosie went back into her room and started to look for her shoes, which she’d kicked off the night before. As she knelt down to look under the bed she saw something small and red lying on the carpet. She picked it up. It was a tiny tartan sock.

  She hadn’t been dreaming after all!

  She nearly ran straight back into her mother’s room to tell her everything, but she stopped herself when she imagined what her mum might say. She put the sock in her pocket and went outside. It was a lovely warm day and Rosie skipped up the lane feeling happy. At the top of the driveway she went to unlatch the big farm gate. Then she decided it would be more fun to climb over it. The gate was painted black and as Rosie perched on the top with one leg on either side, she let herself imagine that she was riding a jet-black, wild pony.

  ‘Giddy-up!’ she told the gate and she swung one leg over to join the other so that she was riding side-saddle like a proper lady. There was no one here to see her so she could act as silly as she liked!

  Then she noticed a large ginger cat sitting on the grassy bank. The cat clearly thought that she was very silly indeed, judging by the way he was looking at her. She jumped off the gate and went over to him. ‘Are you Angus?’ she asked. The cat gave a slight purr and immediately lifted his chin up so that she could stroke underneath which made him purr even more. Rosie saw that attached to his collar was a shiny silver bell. ‘I expect that’s to stop you catching too many birds, isn’t it?’ she said.

  Angus yawned, as if it didn’t bother him in the slightest whether he caught any birds or not. Then he noticed a butterfly fluttering nearby and leaped up to give it an energetic swipe.

  ‘Angus! Where are you?’ a crackly voice called out. ‘Your breakfast is ready.’ And a very old lady with a wrinkly face and grey hair appeared at the top of the lane opposite.

  ‘Hello,’ Rosie said, jumping up. ‘Are you Miss MacPhee?’

  The old lady gave a little start as if Rosie were some sort of goblin rather than a perfectly ordinary child. ‘Hmm . . .’ she said. ‘I suppose you’re the girl. Your mother didn’t tell me she’d be letting you out on your own. I hope you’re not upsetting Angus.’

  ‘Well . . . no . . . I was only stroking him,’ Rosie stammered.

  ‘Good. Now, Angus, I’ve your bacon and eggs all ready for you . . . Yes, I know you only like the yolk . . . There’s no need to look at me like that.’ She started to open the gate, as Angus clearly wasn’t going to join her voluntarily.

  ‘Does your cat really like bacon and eggs?’ Rosie asked, wide-eyed.

  ‘Well, of course he does! I wouldn’t cook it for him if he didn’t,’ Miss MacPhee said impatiently. The old lady swung the gate open and started heading towards Angus. She was thin and a little bent over but she walked quite smartly.

  Rosie remembered what her mother had told her about Miss MacPhee believing in fairies. There was something she badly wanted to know and she couldn’t think who else to ask. ‘I found this in my bedroom,’ she said, pulling the little sock out of her pocket.

  Miss MacPhee glanced at it. ‘It probably belongs to that pesky wee devil who’s been living there all winter making a mess of the place. Every time I go in there I see crumbs and jam and goodness knows what else. He’s been having parties in there if you ask me – trying to impress those fairies!’

  Rosie swallowed. ‘Have you seen the fairies, then?’

  ‘Well, of course I have. How could I live here for nearly eighty years and not see them?’ Miss MacPhee took the sock from Rosie. ‘Oh, yes. This belongs to one of the wee men, all right – you can tell which one if you look at the tartan.’ She held it up and peered at it more closely. ‘Och, it’s no good – I can’t see properly without my glasses.’

  ‘Could we go into the house and get your glasses?’ Rosie asked, shyly. She was longing to know which wee man the sock belonged to.

  ‘Well . . .’ Miss MacPhee looked suspicious. ‘I don’t usually let children into my house, you know . . . One never knows what they might get up to.’

  Rosie sighed. Miss MacPhee was obviously far more used to fairies than she was to children. Rosie put the sock back in her pocket. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen a wee man before,’ she said. ‘Are they a sort of fairy?’

  Miss MacPhee chuckled. ‘Aye, they’re that all right – though they don’t like to be called fairies. That makes them very cross! Wee men only live in Scotland – well, they’d look quite out of place anywhere else – and they like to think they’re cleverer than the fairies. Now that isn’t true but the fairies let them pretend it is, just to keep them happy. And because the fairies make the wee men so happy, they do all sorts of things to help the fairies in return.’

  ‘What sort of things?’ Rosie asked, fascinated. But Mis
s MacPhee had scooped up Angus and was heading back down the lane with him. Rosie desperately wanted to ask one more thing. ‘Miss MacPhee?’ she called out. But apparently Miss MacPhee was a bit deaf when she had her back turned because she didn’t reply.

  Rosie followed her and caught up with her at the front door of her cottage. The door was open and a smell of bacon was coming from the house. Angus immediately struggled out of Miss MacPhee’s arms and disappeared inside.

  ‘Miss MacPhee, do you know how I could get the fairies to come back?’ Rosie asked, breathlessly. ‘There was one called Snowdrop.’

  ‘Snowdrop?’ Miss MacPhee laughed. ‘Well, if you want to tempt that wee madam, the best thing to use is her sweet tooth. She can’t resist chocolate.’

  ‘Chocolate?’ Rosie had never thought about fairies liking chocolate before. ‘But how will I let Snowdrop know I’ve got some for her?’

  ‘You’ve got a window ledge, haven’t you?’ Miss MacPhee answered impatiently. ‘Well, use it! Fairies are always checking to see what folk have left for them on their window ledges.’ And she went inside her house and shut the door.

  Slowly, Rosie walked up the lane and back to Thistle Cottage where her mother was now in the kitchen making breakfast. She waved to Rosie through the window and Rosie waved back.

  Chocolate, she thought. Well, that should be easy enough. Her auntie in London had given her a box of chocolates before she left. She would choose one of the big strawberry creams wrapped in silver foil and leave it with the little sock on her window ledge tonight.

  Then, all she had to do was stay awake and wait for the fairies to come back!

  That evening, Rosie waited until her mother had gone to the door to shake the crumbs off the tablecloth before slipping her hand into the chocolate box which she had been allowed to open after supper. Rosie had already had four chocolates herself, which her mum said was enough for one night or she’d be sick, but this last chocolate wasn’t for her. It was for Snowdrop.