Fairy Dreams 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, Cosmo and the Magic Sneeze, Cosmo and the Great Witch Escape and, for older readers, The Mum Hunt, winner of the Younger Novel category of the Red House Children’s Book Award 2004, The Mum Detective and My Mum’s from Planet Pluto. She lives in London with her two cats.

  Visit www.gwynethrees.com

  Other books by Gwyneth Rees

  Mermaid Magic

  Fairy Dust

  Fairy Treasure

  Fairy Gold

  Cosmo and the Magic Sneeze

  Cosmo and the Great Witch Escape

  For older readers

  The Mum Hunt

  The Mum Detective

  My Mum’s from Planet Pluto

  The Making of May

  Look out for

  Fairy Rescue

  MACMILLAN CHILDREN’S BOOKS

  First published 2005 by Macmillan Children’s Books

  This electronic edition published 2007 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 978-0-330-47076-6 PDF

  ISBN 978-0-330-47077-3 EPUB

  Copyright © Gwyneth Rees 2005

  The right of Gwyneth Rees to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her 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.

  Visit www.panmacmillan.com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  For my grandma, Hester Ivy Dawson, with much love

  Evie had always thought that fairies, if they lived anywhere, lived at the bottom of your garden. That’s what her grandmother had always told her and today, when Evie mentioned throwing out her old doll’s house, Grandma immediately suggested that she bring it over on her next visit so they could set it up at the bottom of the garden for the fairies to play in.

  ‘Fairies are just like little girls,’ Grandma told her. ‘They like to play at houses and doctors-and-nurses and things like that.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Evie asked. She had never seen a fairy herself and her mother had always told her that there was no such thing whenever she’d asked her about them.

  ‘I once saw two fairies down by the bottom flower bed. One was lying down and crying out that her wing was hurting, and when I went over to speak to her to see if I could help, she sat up and beamed at me and said not to worry because they were just playing. She was the patient and her friend was the nurse. The nurse one was bandaging up her wing with a white petal that had fallen from one of the flowers.’

  Evie loved to hear her grandmother talk about the fairies, but she had learned a long time ago that she must never mention Grandma’s stories to her mother. For some reason Mum got very cross whenever fairies were mentioned and she always told Grandma off if she caught her telling Evie about them.

  So Evie was glad that her mother wasn’t with them today as she went for a walk with Grandma to the church near her grandmother’s house. It was the summer holidays and Evie and her mum had been staying with Grandma for the past week. It took three hours for them to drive to where Grandma lived, and Mum had asked her mother more than once if she’d like to come and live nearer to them, but Grandma had always refused. She was fiercely independent and very fit for an old lady because she went for walks in the countryside every day. She didn’t want to leave her home and all her friends who lived in the same village as she did.

  It wasn’t a Sunday so the church itself was closed, but Grandma wanted to show Evie a special gravestone that she often talked about.

  ‘We used to call her the white lady,’ she explained as they reached the gates of the graveyard. ‘When I was a little girl I used to come here with my friends to look at her.’

  Grandma had lived in the area all her life and had attended this church when she was young. Now the church had houses around it and a car park next to it, but Evie knew that when Grandma was a girl the church had stood on its own in the middle of the fields and you’d had to walk across the fields to get to it – unless you’d had a horse and then you might have ridden.

  Grandma led Evie round a path to the back of the church and down into the oldest part of the graveyard, which was less well tended and very overgrown around some of the gravestones.

  ‘There she is!’ Grandma said, pointing to a very old, very dirty marble statue of an angel which must once have been white. One of her arms had broken off and her left wing was cracked. ‘We used to come to see her after church every Sunday.’

  ‘Whose grave is it?’ Evie asked, trying not to show that she was a little disappointed by the state of the statue.

  ‘Nobody my family was ever rich enough to hobnob with!’ Grandma said, smiling. ‘My lot are in the next row. Let’s go and say hello to them.’ She stepped high over some stinging nettles to reach the gravestone of her grandparents and of a child in the family who had died young. Next to it was the grave of Grandma’s mother and father and her older brother, who had been killed in the Second World War.

  Grandma was eighty-two years old now, but she never seemed that old to Evie. Grandma always said that she didn’t mind being old – so long as she still felt fit enough to run for a bus if she wanted to. Evie’s mother said that Grandma had better watch out that she didn’t get run over by a bus, the way she was always dashing across the road to catch them.

  ‘Shall we go and see Grandad’s grave now?’ Evie asked, wishing she’d brought some flowers to put on it. Her grandad had died before she was born, but she felt like she knew him because of everything Grandma had told her about him.

  Grandad’s grave was in the newer part of the graveyard, and when they got there they saw that there were daisy chains sitting on the top of all the headstones like crowns. The daisies looked bigger and brighter than ordinary ones. ‘Who’s put those there?’ Evie asked in surprise.

  ‘The fairies, I expect.’ Grandma chuckled. ‘They probably did it to cheer the place up a bit. I don’t know what your grandad would say if he could see it, though – he never believed in them!’

  ‘Lots of people don’t believe in fairies, do they?’ Evie said as she gazed in awe at all the decorated graves. ‘Like Mum.’

  Grandma sighed. ‘It doesn’t suit your mother to believe in fairies so she’s convinced herself that she doesn’t when really . . .’ She broke off, frowning.

  ‘I do believe in fairies,’
Evie said quickly. ‘But it’s not as though I’ve ever actually seen one.’

  ‘Just because you haven’t seen one yet doesn’t mean you won’t,’ Grandma said firmly. ‘I didn’t see my first fairy until I was forty years old.’

  ‘Forty?’ Evie gasped.

  ‘That’s right. I believed in them my whole life, mind. But I didn’t see one until the day after I discovered I was going to have a baby. Your grandad and I had tried for years to have children, but we’d never been blessed. And then I found out I was expecting, just as I had completely given up hope. I think I’d more or less given up hope of ever seeing a fairy too – but that day I remember thinking that anything was possible! And that’s when I saw her. It was in this graveyard. She was called Buttercup. She had bright yellow hair and she was dressed in yellow – just like a buttercup herself! She made me a buttercup bracelet that lasted for months – right up until your mother was born.’

  ‘Do you think there are fairies watching us now?’ Evie started to look around in case one should suddenly appear.

  ‘There might be. I wish I knew where to take you to see one, Evie, but I’m afraid I don’t. Fairies don’t like to be found, you see. They like to be the ones who find you.’ She looked at Evie’s disappointed face and seemed to make up her mind about something. ‘There’s one trick you can use to try to get them to visit you. Your mother made me promise not to tell you, but I don’t see where the harm is . . .’ She lowered her voice as if she thought a fairy might be eavesdropping. ‘Chocolate! All fairies love it! The ones round here seem to be especially partial to violet creams.’

  ‘The kind Mum gives you every Christmas?’ Evie asked, surprised. Every year Mum went to London just before Christmas and bought Grandma a big box of violet and rose creams from a very expensive shop. Old ladies’ chocolates, Evie’s mother called them. She said they were too sweet and too perfumed for her liking but that Grandma had always loved them.

  ‘That’s right. I always save the violet ones for the fairies. I leave them on my window ledge at night and they’re always gone in the morning.’

  Evie dreaded to think what her mother would say if she could hear this. Those chocolates cost a fortune. Evie turned to look again at the daisy chain looped around her grandfather’s gravestone. It seemed to be sparkling.

  ‘It’s the fairy dust they use that makes it sparkle like that,’ Grandma said, following Evie’s gaze. ‘You’ll have to ask them to decorate my grave like that when I’m buried here, Evie – if you’ve met any fairies by then!’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Evie said, frowning. ‘You’re not going to die.’

  ‘Of course I am. Everybody has to die sooner or later. Of course, I’d prefer it to be later, but I’d rather die while I’m still able to do everything for myself, than live to be a hundred, confined to my bed. Wouldn’t you?’

  Evie didn’t reply. She understood what Grandma was saying – but she still wanted her to live to be a hundred if at all possible.

  They made their way back to the house, where Evie’s mother was busy packing. They were staying for tea first before heading home that evening.

  Evie loved having tea at Grandma’s because her grandmother baked lots of cakes whenever she knew they were coming to stay. Evie’s favourite was Grandma’s ginger cake and her second favourite was the jam tarts. Grandma liked lemon-curd tarts the best, but Evie thought they were a bit too sweet. Today, because they were leaving, Grandma insisted on giving them the rest of the ginger cake to take home with them. She also produced a chocolate cake with butter-cream icing, which she had been keeping to send home with them as a present.

  As soon as Mum went off to the kitchen to top up the teapot, Evie asked her grandmother, ‘Do fairies like chocolate cake as well as chocolate? If I leave some of that on my window sill when I go to bed, do you think they’ll come and get it?’

  ‘The birds will come and get it!’ Evie’s mother said sharply. She had come back for the milk jug, which needed filling up too. ‘Honestly, Evie, you’re nine years old now. The other children will make fun of you if you talk like that when you go back to school.’ She glared at Grandma as if she thought that it would be all her fault if Evie was teased.

  Before Evie could protest that she was sure they wouldn’t, Grandma intervened. ‘I know you don’t like it when I say this, my dear, but you always did worry far too much about what other people think.’

  ‘And you never worried enough!’ Evie’s mother retorted. Evie was surprised by how emotional Mum sounded as she added, ‘You certainly never worried what the other children thought about me when I was Evie’s age!’ She put the teapot down on the table, having clearly changed her mind about wanting another cup. ‘Come on, Evie. We have to go now.’

  ‘But we haven’t finished tea yet!’

  ‘You’ve had enough cakes. You’ll be sick in the car if you eat any more.’

  Evie looked at her grandmother for help, but Grandma was just staring in a frowning sort of way at Evie’s mother as if she couldn’t understand her at all.

  Evie decided it was best not to ask for a piece of chocolate cake to put on her window ledge that night. By the time they got home she was very sleepy and Mum still seemed to be in quite a bad mood. It was great to see her dad again, though, and Evie managed to stay awake long enough to listen to the bedtime story he offered to read to her while Mum unpacked their things. Funnily enough, the story was about a fairy. Mum came in and listened to the end of it.

  ‘Why don’t you like fairies, Mum?’ Evie murmured as her dad closed the book and kissed her goodnight.

  ‘I do like fairies – in stories. That’s where they belong.’

  ‘But Grandma says—’

  ‘I know what Grandma says and she’s wrong.’

  ‘But she says she’s actually seen them!’

  ‘The imagination can be a very powerful thing, Evie,’ her mother said firmly, ‘and your grandmother has always had a more active imagination than most people. You go to sleep now.’ She kissed Evie and turned out her light.

  Evie slept late the next morning and when she woke up she was surprised to hear her father’s voice downstairs. Normally he would have gone to work by this time. She got up to see what was happening.

  Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, still in her dressing gown. Evie could tell that she’d been crying. Dad was standing with his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Evie asked.

  Her mother looked up. ‘Oh, Evie . . .’

  It was Dad who told her. ‘Grandma’s cleaning lady phoned half an hour ago. She went round there at eight o’clock like she always does on a Tuesday and found your grandmother collapsed in her chair. She called an ambulance and then she called us. It seems like Grandma might have had a stroke. They’ve taken her into hospital.’

  Evie knew what a stroke was. She had been with her mum to visit their next-door neighbour after she’d had a stroke last year. The old lady had nearly died and, even though she hadn’t, she couldn’t walk or talk properly afterwards. She’d had to sell her house and go and live in a nursing home where she could be looked after. Evie couldn’t imagine Grandma being like that.

  ‘But we only saw her yesterday,’ Evie said. ‘She was fine then.’

  ‘These things can happen very suddenly, pet,’ Dad told her.

  ‘We don’t know how serious it is yet,’ Mum added. ‘Though apparently she’s unconscious . . .’ Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘Why did I have to be so sharp with her yesterday?’

  ‘I can take today off work and come to the hospital with you,’ Dad offered. ‘I have to go in to the office tomorrow – there’s an important meeting – but at least I can drive you and Evie there today. I’ll leave the car with you and come back on the train.’

  ‘Thanks, darling.’ Evie’s mum wiped her eyes on a piece of kitchen towel. ‘Evie and I can stay at Mum’s house and visit her from there.’ She looked at Evie. ‘Thank goodness it’s the school holidays.�
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  Not only did the school holidays mean that Evie didn’t need to be at school, it also meant that her mum was off work too, since she worked as a school secretary.

  Evie’s dad made a couple of phone calls and went to change out of his work suit into some more comfortable clothes. Evie went to pack her suitcase again – which didn’t take long since it was only half unpacked from the night before. She couldn’t believe that only yesterday she had been chatting to Grandma about fairies. She glanced up at her old doll’s house, which she had put out of the way on top of her wardrobe. Grandma had wanted her to take it with her the next time she visited. She decided to ask Dad if he would put it in the car for her.

  Nobody talked much during the long drive. It was nearly afternoon when they arrived at the hospital and Evie had to stay in the waiting area while her parents went to see her grandmother and speak to the doctor. They were gone for such a long time that she got fidgety and decided to go and have a look in the hospital shop. They were selling chocolates there and among them was a small box of violet creams, which Evie had just enough money to buy.

  When she got back to the waiting area her dad was there. ‘You can come and see Grandma now,’ he said, ‘but you need to know she’s very poorly.’

  Something in his voice made Evie frightened. ‘Is she like Mrs Evans?’ Mrs Evans was the old lady who had lived next door.

  Her father swallowed. ‘We’re not sure yet.’ He looked at the box of chocolates in Evie’s hand. ‘Sweetheart, she can’t eat anything at the moment.’

  ‘I know. I’m going to keep them at home for her. For when she gets better.’ Because Grandma had to get better. She just had to.

  Evie followed her dad down the corridor on to the ward where her grandmother was in a single room on her own. Evie’s mum was sitting by her bed. Grandma was lying with her eyes closed, her soft grey hair looking much the same as normal. Evie could tell that she didn’t have her teeth in and one side of her mouth seemed droopy. Apart from the drip, and another contraption with a syringe that she seemed to be attached to, she just looked like she was sleeping.