took a deep breath. ‘I’m seeing characters from my favourite books,’ she announced.
Oskar slowly looked up at her, as though he wasn’t sure whether she was having him on. ‘Tilly—’
‘No, don’t look like that,’ Tilly interrupted. ‘I swear, I was reading my mum’s old copy of Anne of Green Gables when a girl called Anne with red hair turned up in the bookshop. And then I read Alice in Wonderland and a girl called Alice wearing a big blue dress appeared! Oh! And I think my grandad might have been talking to Sherlock Holmes as well, and then my grandma was talking to someone she said reminded her of my mum like—’
‘Your grandparents think they’re seeing book characters too?’ Oskar said nervously.
‘Oh no. Well, I don’t know, I haven’t asked them. I need to do some more investigating first.’
‘Was it your mum’s copy of Alice in Wonderland as well?’ Oskar asked after a pause.
‘Yes, from the box of her old books,’ Tilly explained impatiently.
‘And my mum gave you that photo of her yesterday, didn’t she?’ he went on.
‘Yes. And …?’
‘Well, don’t take this the wrong way,’ Oskar said quietly, ‘but do you think maybe it’s just been a bit of a weird time with all this stuff about your mum coming up, with the books and the photo, and, um, maybe the characters aren’t actually in the shop, you’re just imagining them a bit harder than usual. I mean, I definitely had an imaginary friend when I was little – he was called Xavier and he was from Newcastle and he was ginger – but anyway you don’t need to be embarrassed with me. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have my mum around.’
Tilly’s face flushed hot. ‘You don’t believe me?’
‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just …’
‘I should have known you wouldn’t understand,’ she said, standing up.
‘Why?’
‘Because no one ever does.’
‘Sorry,’ Oskar said, sounding as embarrassed as she felt, ‘it’s just … You know that you’re not really talking to fictional characters, don’t you?’
Tilly grabbed what was left of her pop cake and walked out without saying goodbye.
‘Oh! How curious,’ Alice said. ‘You’re just the same as before.’
They both stared at Tilly.
‘Why wouldn’t I be the same? I don’t know why you’re so surprised. I should be more surprised that you two know each other,’ Tilly said, and Anne and Alice exchanged another look as if seeing each other properly for the first time.
‘Have we met?’ Alice said, peering into Anne’s face.
‘How can you not know if you know each other?’ Tilly said. ‘That doesn’t make any kind of sense.’
‘A bit of nonsense never hurt anyone, did it, carrot-top?’ Alice said cheerfully, yanking one of Anne’s plaits.
‘How dare you!’ Anne said. ‘It’s not carrot-coloured at all! It is auburn!’
‘I only meant it affectionately,’ Alice insisted. ‘Your hair is lovely and carroty. One of my very great friends has hair that is a similar colour, only most of the time he hides it under a hat. I don’t know why you are so touchy about people pointing out what is, after all, a fact that cannot really be denied.’
‘But it is ever so thoughtless to point out other people’s faults,’ Anne said. ‘I would hardly come up to you and inform you that you are quite rude and, if we’re being brutally honest, that I think you’ve shrunk since you’ve been here.’
‘Well, I am not in charge of that,’ Alice said crossly. ‘I cannot help any of it.’
‘And I am not in charge of the colour of my hair,’ Anne retorted.
‘I don’t think you would be Anne at all if you didn’t have red hair,’ Tilly offered.
‘But when it comes down to it I am not so attached to being Anne,’ Anne replied. ‘If, when I was born, I had had beautiful hair as dark as a raven, or blonde hair –’ she glanced resentfully at Alice – ‘then maybe my parents would have been moved to call me something altogether more elegant. Like Ermintrude. Or Cordelia.’
‘I do not agree at all,’ Alice said. ‘Sometimes I feel that my Alice-ness is the only thing I ever know to be true, even when everything around me is acting very strangely indeed. What do you think, Tilly?’ And both girls turned to look at her, waiting for an answer.
‘Oh, I don’t really know. I’m not entirely sure what Tilly-ness is, to be honest, or if I have any of it, or if I’d still have it if I were called something different.’
‘But Matilda Pages is such a wonderful name to have,’ Anne said. ‘It would be a waste if you didn’t think about it just a little. It is a name made for adventuring. It’s a name to be shouted at the head of an army or whispered in magical forests, don’t you think? A name for brave deeds!’
‘Be brave, be curious, be kind …’ Tilly said quietly.
‘Why, exactly!’ Anne said. ‘I knew you understood really.’
‘I just need an adventure to find me,’ Tilly said.
‘Why, you can’t wait for adventure to find you, Matilda,’ Anne said. ‘You must go and find adventure, and shake it firmly by the hand as you set out towards the horizon together.’
‘I agree,’ Alice said. ‘That is the first sensible thing you’ve said. And not to mention you have a whole bookshop with your name to it, Matilda – does it belong to your parents?’
‘My parents died when I was a baby,’ Tilly said, using the same words she always did when someone asked about them. ‘It belongs to my grandparents.’
‘Why, I am an orphan too,’ Anne said solemnly. Tilly felt a skinny hand take hers and looked down to see Anne’s fingers intertwined with her own. ‘It is not something Alice will understand. It is a difficult thing to bear even if you are surrounded by people who are endlessly
