of their burrows. Easter is when things get warmer and lighter, and it was also when the first and last battle between the elves and the rabbits happened.’
‘Oh, so what was the Easter Bunny called before?’
‘Seven-four-nine,’ said Columbus. ‘Rabbits tend to call themselves numbers rather than names. They are a very mathematical species.’
‘Right,’ I said, ‘I see.’ But I didn’t really. There were still questions inside my head. For instance: if the Easter Bunny and his Rabbit Army wanted to be everywhere, why didn’t they ever want to be in Elfhelm? Was the threat from the rabbits over? Was the Easter Bunny even still alive?
When I got home that evening I asked Father Christmas about the Easter Bunny.
‘Oh,’ he said, as we made paper chains, ‘the Rabbit War was way before I arrived here. Way before I was even born. There are some very, very old elves who remember what life was like in the Land of Hills and Holes. Father Topo is one of them. He was six at the time, when the elves had to retreat here. He said it wasn’t so special and most elves didn’t really miss it. It was a very flat place. No woods. No hills. Nothing except rabbit holes . . .’
An hour later, we were around the table, eating cherry pie.
I was still curious about rabbits. ‘If it’s so boring, how do we know the rabbits won’t come here and take Elfhelm too?’
Father Christmas smiled that reassuring smile of his. His eyes twinkled. ‘Because it was three hundred years ago. And in all that time there hasn’t been so much as a single bunny hop near Elfhelm. Whatever the rabbits are up to, they are up to it a long way away, and so there is no need to worry about anything at all. Nothing’s changed.’
That reassured me. But my face must have still looked glum, because Mary said, ‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’
I sighed. I had always thought it best not to complain too much about life here, as there was no doubt that it was a lot better than life in Creeper’s Workhouse in London. But Mary’s stare was the kind of stare that made you have to tell the truth, so I came straight out with it.
‘School,’ I said. ‘School’s the matter.’
Mary’s head tilted in sympathy. ‘What’s wrong at school?’
‘Everything,’ I said. ‘All year it’s been a bit tricky. I’m just not good at elf subjects. They don’t make any sense to me. And I’ll never get the hang of elf mathematics . . .’
Father Christmas nodded. ‘Ah, yes. Elf mathematics does take some getting used to. I couldn’t believe it when I learned that the five times table here is an actual table – made of wood, with five legs. And long division is just normal division that you write down really slowly. But don’t worry. Everyone finds it hard.’
‘But they don’t,’ I said, picturing in my mind Twinkle’s hand shooting up faster than a star. ‘And it’s not just maths either. I find it all hard. I am the least cheerful singer the school has ever known, even when I really try. And Laughing Even When Times Are Tough is a really stupid subject to begin with. I mean, why should people laugh when times are tough? If times are tough, I think it is perfectly normal not to smile. You shouldn’t have to smile at everything, should you?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Father Christmas. ‘I daren’t ask about the spickle dancing.’
‘It’s terrible. Humans just aren’t made for spickle dancing.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Mary.
‘I mean, I’m fine with the footwork but it’s the hovering in the air. That’s just impossible.’
Father Christmas winced as if a firework had just gone off. ‘Don’t say that word.’
I must have been in a very bad mood because all of a sudden I was saying it, over and over. ‘Impossible. Impossible. Impossible. Impossible.’
‘Amelia,’ said Mary, ‘you know there is no swearing in the house.’
‘But impossible shouldn’t even be a swear word. Some things simply are impossible. For an ordinary normal human being spickle dancing simply is impossible. And Practical Drimwickery is impossible. And on some Monday mornings even Happiness is impossible.’
‘Happiness is never impossible,’ said Father Christmas. ‘Nothing is impossible. An impossibility is just a—’
‘I know. I know. An impossibility is just a possibility you don’t understand yet. I have heard it a hundred times. But what about walking on the ceiling? That’s impossible. What about flying to the stars? That’s impossible.’
‘It isn’t, actually,’ muttered Father Christmas. ‘It isn’t impossible. It’s just not the right thing to do. And that’s a very big difference.’
‘Listen,’ said Mary. ‘I know how difficult it is, fitting in. I’ve been taking drimwickery classes for months and I’m getting nowhere, but I’m going to keep trying. There must be some subjects you enjoy?’
I thought. Captain Soot rubbed his head against my leg, as if to comfort me.
‘Yes, there is one. Writing. I like writing. I like it a lot. When I write, I feel free.’
‘Well, there you go. That’s good,’ said Father Christmas. ‘And what about sleigh riding. You like sleigh riding, surely? You are brilliant at sleigh riding.’
And then I told them what I had been too ashamed to tell them. ‘They don’t let me do that.’
‘What?’ asked Mary and Father Christmas both at once.
‘Because this is my first year at the school. And because I am a human. They said I had to wait six months until I could start flying sleighs. Nearly a year now has passed. But it’s okay. They might be right. Maybe Father Vodol was right, at your wedding. Maybe I don’t belong here.’
‘What a load of old butterscotch!’ said Mary, whose cheeks were even redder than usual. ‘You belong here as much as I do. Or as much as anyone, in fact. The likes of us, Amelia, were always made to feel like we were a burden. Send us off to the workhouse! Out of sight! But you are a good person, Amelia, and goodness belongs anywhere in this world. You remember that!’
‘Mary’s right,’ agreed Father Christmas. ‘And Father Vodol is a hateful elf who should be ignored. You have just as much right to fly a sleigh as any elf child has. Don’t worry! I’ll have a word with the school. And with Kip at the School of Sleighcraft. I’ll put an end to this silliness. But only on one condition . . .’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘That you try not to say the word impossible in this house again.’
I laughed. Mary laughed. Even Captain Soot seemed to laugh. ‘All right. It’s a deal.’
