Page 23 of The Strawberry Thief
Rosette pulled a face.Why?
‘You know why.’
Her eyes flicked to the window, through which the new shop with its purple door seemed to shine like a beacon. I saw a shadow cross her face – a shadow, and maybe a challenge.
I reached for my everyday magic. ‘What about some chocolate, Rosette? With whipped cream and marshmallows?’
For a moment the shadow lingered, like a threat glimpsed underwater. Then she relaxed and smiled.Okay.
I nodded, and went to fetch her cup, the one that Roux had made for her, leaving Rosette to her drawing, having seemingly forgotten the unpleasant incident. And yet, as I poured out the chocolate, as I added the cream and the sprinkles and the pink-and-white marshmallows (with a handful extra, for Bam), I couldn’t help hearing that voice in my mind, as soft as approaching thunder:
For now.
3
Sunday, March 19
I don’t care. I’m glad I called the wind to tease Madame Montour. Maman says I shouldn’t, that it makes us look different, but guess what? I’m different already,Maman. There’s nothing you can do about that.
I finished my hot chocolate, and picked up my drawing-pad and my pens. I slipped them into my satchel, the pink one from Paris, too small for me now, but powerful because it’s old. Then I went out, and she waved me goodbye. I knew just where I was going.
I didn’t tell Maman, of course. She’s been trying to keep me away from the place. She says it’s because the owner probably needs to settle in. I don’t think she really believes that. I think she’s making an excuse. And there’s something about that new shop, something I need to investigate. It’s not just the lady I saw in the glass, or the windmill in the flowerpot. It isn’t even the purple door, or the name –Les Illuminés. It’s the way Maman is ignoring it – or trying to make me think that she is. It’s the way she keeps looking across the square when she thinks I don’t notice. And there’s a shimmy, a kind of gleam like sunlight reflected from water. The kind of shimmy that used to surround the door of thechocolaterie.
Doesn’t she know what that means? It means that someone in that shop might be likeus. Trying to settle into a place where people don’t welcome strangers. Why doesn’t she go into the shop? Why hasn’t she greeted the owner? Why is she pretending that we’re the same as everyone else? Pretending we’re like Madame Clairmont, who makes people like us feel unwelcome?
Maybe she’s afraid, I thought. After all,Iwas nervous at first. But that’s not how we should behave. We’re not frightened little mice, hiding away in our little house. We’re adventurers. We can call the wind. We shouldn’t be scared ofanything. And maybe the lady in the glass is waiting to see what we’re made of. After all,shewas the one who asked me what I wanted.
And so I waved goodbye to Maman and headed off towards the fields, and when I knew she’d gone indoors, I quietly doubled back across the square to the new shop, and, opening the purple door, I smelt fresh wood, and incense and tea, and heard a little doorbell ring as the door swung shut behind me.
4
Sunday, March 19
For a minute I looked around. The shop was just as I’d seen it before: a coffee machine on a table; some purple armchairs and a rug, then that leather chair, like a hairdresser’s, standing there all polished and chrome. Two of the walls were mirrors, reflecting the same things again and again. And there by the door was a big piece of some kind of woven fabric, neatly framed and under glass, with a pattern of blue leaves and vines and speckled birds and little white flowers, and everything so close and tight that it played with my eyes and made me squint. And the funny thing was, I was almost sure I’d seen that pattern somewhere before …
For a minute I looked at it, trying to work out the design. The leaves looked a bit like strawberry-leaves, and there were strawberries in there too, which made me think of my strawberry wood, grown dark and strange under the glass. But there were so many things in there, so many shapes and colours, that it was hard to focus. And the pattern kept repeating, so that it looked like the birds were moving; chasing each other through the leaves, and flowers, and briars, and bunches of strawberries. And then the kaleidoscope jumble resolved, and I saw someone there in the doorway between the front of the shop and the back, a doorway that doesn’t have a door, only a curtain of purple beads. It was the lady I’d seen in the glass, and later in the mirrors. But now she was out in the real world, watching me with curious eyes, like one of the birds in the wall-hanging, all speckled and bright-eyed and greedy.
She was tall, with very long hair that was somewhere between silver and blonde, and for a moment I thought she was young, maybe nearly as young as me. Then I saw that she wasold– fifty at least – and that what I’d taken for a printed shirt was her long bare arms, all over tattoos, her fingers heavy with silver rings. I looked down for her shoes, but all I could see was a pair of baggy, long black trousers, with something underneath them thatlookedlike feet, but I could tell weren’t really feet at all.
‘Hello,’ said the lady. ‘And who are you?’
I made a tiny jackdaw sound.
‘You look a bit young to be coming in here,’ said the lady with a smile, and I thought of a magpie again, always greedy for shiny things.
I shrugged and looked around. I still couldn’t tell what kind of a shop it was meant to be. I looked at the framed piece of fabric and made a little enquiring noise.
The magpie lady smiled and said: ‘That’s one of my favourite designs.The Strawberry Thief, by Morris and Co. I found it in an antiques shop.’
The Strawberry Thief!I wanted to explain why that name made me want to jump up and down in surprise and excitement. But without using my shadow-voice, I knew I couldn’t tell her it was a name that I knew from Narcisse, the nickname he had given me. Instead I let Bam go into the mirrors, and watched him dance and chase his tail through all the leaves and reflections. The birds (I thought they were thrushes) chased him back and forth, looking so funny that I laughed.
The lady lifted an eyebrow. There was a diamond stud in it that flashed and twinkled as she moved. ‘Who’s your little friend?’ she said.
‘BAM!’ I said.You can see him?
She smiled. ‘I see things. I’m an artist.’
So am I!I jumped up and down to indicate my approval. My pink satchel, slung across my back, jumped up and down with me.
