Page 32 of It Always Snows on Mistletoe Square
‘Ooh, yes!’ Angela cries eagerly. ‘I love it when we go outside.’
I glance at Ben. He has popped his handkerchief back in his pocket now and is peering at the pictures and embroideries on the walls. He puts his hand out to touch them.
‘No!’ Estelle calls sharply. ‘You can’t touch anything!’
But Ben’s fingers are already heading towards the frame. Instead of stopping when they reach something solid, they continue through the painting into the wall.
‘Whoah!’ Ben pulls his hand back. ‘That was weird.’
‘We’re not really here,’ Estelle tells him. ‘This is simply a trick of the mind.’
‘It’s like we’re in some really strange, but really lifelike virtual reality game,’ I say, suddenly getting it. ‘Everything seems real around us. But it’s not actually here at all.’
Estelle looks puzzled and looks to Angela for an explanation.
‘Don’t worry, Estelle,’ Angela says. ‘It’s something the young people use today. That’s exactly what it’s like, Elle,’ she says, turning to me. ‘Only without the goggles.’
Ben reaches out towards the wooden bannisters, but, again, when he touches the shiny mahogany, his hand doesn’t stop and simply goes straight through it.
‘Please stop that, Mr Harris,’ Estelle says crossly. ‘Otherwise I will not be able to continue with my story.’
‘Sorry, Estelle. And it’s Ben, remember?’
‘I only address my friends by their Christian names.’ Estelle eyes him sternly over her glasses. ‘Of which you will soon not be one if you keep fiddling with things that do not concern you.’
Ben nods. ‘Sure, I get it. I’ll be good from now on.’
‘I do hope so. This is Elle’s second story and she is not messing about with the past.’
‘To be fair, I didn’t know we could touch things. This story feels even more real than the first one. We didn’t even leave the sitting room for that.’
‘You can’t actually touch anything,’ Ben says. ‘I’ve tried, remember?’
‘I am easing you both in gently,’ Estelle says in the tone of a teacher to a couple of naughty pupils. ‘Story by story. But if you do not abide by the rules, then I’m afraid there will be no further tales of this house.’
‘Sorry, Estelle. We really want to know more, don’t we, Ben?’
Ben nods. ‘Of course we do. Crazy as this is, I’m fascinated. I’ll behave, I promise.’
‘Right then.’ Estelle seems satisfied by our suitably repentant responses. She reaches for the handle on the door. ‘Outside we go.’
‘Wait!’ Ben says as Estelle turns the handle and the door swings open. ‘How come she can do that and we can’t?’
‘Practice,’ Estelle says. ‘And it’s too early to ask you both to walk through a door just yet. That will come later with experience. Now, please, some hush. This next part is very important.’
We follow Estelle out onto the steps, and I can’t help but let out a little gasp by the scene that greets us.
Snow has been falling heavily from the now darkened sky. Huge white flakes are still occasionally floating down, lit by the glow of the gas lamps around the square as they fall. The rest of Mistletoe Square, aside from the blanket of snow, looks exactly the same, though – four rows of houses with a grassed area in the middle surrounded by black railings. In the centre of the little park the bare branches of the trees are covered in snow, along with copious bunches of mistletoe just like they are today. The only differences from the modern-day square and this one, is instead of electric lights shining out of the many Georgian windows, the flicker of candles or small gas lamps light up the panes of glass. And where we’d usually see cars and vans driving around the square looking for somewhere to park, there are horse-drawn carriages instead. They pull up at houses and women in bonnets and long dresses alight, alongside men in top hats and long tail coats.
It’s like we’ve stepped right onto the front of a Victorian-themed Christmas Card.
A man carrying a ladder passes by.
‘You all done, Wilf?’ he calls to his mate down the road.
‘No! Some fella’s nicked me ladder,’ Wilf calls back angrily. ‘I only stopped for a smoke, turned me back for a minute and it was gone.’ He marches purposefully towards the first man. ‘That’s me livelihood, that is.’
The first man looks around and points towards one of the trees in the park. ‘What’s that over there up against that tree?’
