Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Bookwanderers. Anna James

Gables. Anne of Green Gables?’

      The girl nodded, still openly staring at Tilly. ‘But who are you?’

      ‘I’m Tilly! With a “y”. From here!’

      ‘But you remember me. And, now I am here, I remember you,’ Anne said in wonder.

      ‘As I said, we literally met this morning,’ Tilly repeated. ‘But how can you be Anne of Green Gables? She’s not a real person.’

      ‘Well, I’m absolutely really here,’ she said, reaching out and touching Tilly gently on the arm.

      ‘Is this a joke?’ Tilly said, looking behind her as if she would see hidden cameras somewhere, or wondering if it was part of some elaborate set-up by Grandad to entertain her during the holidays. ‘You’re from a story?’

      ‘Why, yes,’ Anne replied happily, not seeming at all perturbed by this fact, and settling herself on the stairs.

      ‘You’re real. But you’re not real. You’re from a book. But you’re here,’ Tilly said, feeling like her brain wasn’t quite keeping up with what was happening in front of her.

      ‘Well, why on earth does being from a book mean I’m not real?’ asked Anne. ‘I’m as real as you or this shop, or Julius Caesar or the Lady of Shalott. You can touch my hair, if you’d like, and you will see it is ever so real – to my eternal frustration.’ Tilly had to admit that Anne’s physical presence was undeniable.

      ‘Right,’ Tilly said, sitting down next to Anne, determined to try to wrap some logic round what seemed to be happening. ‘Well, what were you doing in Green Gables before you came here? How did you get out?’

      ‘I was sitting in the orchard, imagining all the places I might visit when I am older. And then I was here!’

      ‘But how?’ Tilly was almost bursting with frustration.

      ‘I don’t know, I just was. I think it is rather marvellous. If you like, I can invent a thrilling story about how I got here with magic spells and a glittering portal. Maybe some kind of benevolent but cursed princess living in a tower who writes poetry and is only allowed a single glass of water each day—’

      Tilly interrupted her before she got even more carried away. ‘But how will you get back? Won’t there be gaps in your book spoiling your story somehow, you being here?’

      ‘I’ll just go back after I am here. And I don’t think it can spoil my story; I rather think only I can spoil my own story.’

      Tilly sighed and put her head on her knees, and then thought of something.

      ‘Did you see the other girl that was here?’ she asked. ‘Alice?’ But when she raised her head Anne was no longer there.

      

      n hour or so later, with a slight smell of burnt sugar in the air, Jack sent Tilly round to Crumbs with some pop cakes. It had taken him a few batches, but he had finally perfected them so that when you bit into one you got a mouthful of lovely sticky honey. As Tilly stepped on to the street the fresh air and streams of people clutching takeaway coffee cups and mobile phones were reassuringly solid and familiar. Pushing open the door to Crumbs, she saw that Oskar was in his usual spot, this time doodling on a notepad.

      ‘What’s that I spy?’ Mary said. ‘Is it an offering from Jack?’

      ‘Yes!’ Tilly replied, holding the cake box up. ‘Pop cakes fresh from the oven! They’re best now while the honey is still a bit warm.’ She opened the box and Mary took one.

      ‘Jack sent enough for Oskar too,’ Tilly said loudly, and he looked up hopefully.

      ‘Let me bring you two some drinks to have with them,’ Mary said, pulling another chair up to the table Oskar was sitting at and nudging Tilly into it.

      ‘What are you drawing?’ Tilly asked him as she took her coat off. Oskar spread his arms over the paper, like he was trying to stop someone copying a test at school.

      ‘Nothing much, only scribbling. Just something to do,’ he said.

      ‘Oh, okay,’ Tilly said, embarrassed at having made him uncomfortable. She messed with the ends of her hair as he painstakingly smoothed a bent corner of paper.

      ‘So, uh, what’s your favourite kind of cake?’ Oskar asked awkwardly after a pause.

      ‘Carrot cake, I think,’ Tilly said, surprised at the line of questioning. ‘What’s yours?’

      ‘Red velvet.’

      ‘I like that too,’ Tilly replied, unsure how the conversation had dried up so much since that morning.

      ‘I like carrot cake too.’

      The silence seemed to solidify around them.

      ‘Anyway, I’m not really very hungry,’ Tilly said, standing up and banging her knee against the table as her coat sleeve got twisted round the back of her chair. ‘I was just bringing the cakes over for your mum. See you in school.’

      ‘Don’t go,’ Oskar said abruptly, watching Tilly untangle herself. She stopped wrestling with her coat. ‘I mean, I just wanted to ask which book you decided to read for English homework,’ Oskar said, picking at his fingernails.

      ‘I think I’m going to read one of my mum’s old favourites,’ Tilly said. ‘You know I found that box of her books the other day? Well, I thought I might choose one of those that I haven’t read yet. Maybe Treasure Island?’

      ‘I love that one,’ Oskar said.

      ‘You’ve read it?’

      ‘Well, I’ve listened to the audiobook, if that counts.’

      ‘It definitely counts,’ Tilly said.

      They both fell silent as Mary brought them two glasses of orange juice and two pop cakes on patterned plates.

      ‘Everything okay?’ she said.

      ‘Yes, fine, thank you,’ Tilly replied automatically. Then, after a moment, she asked, ‘Mary, who’s your favourite character from a book?’

      ‘What a tricky question.’ Mary paused in thought as Tilly and Oskar ate their pop cakes. ‘I think it would have to be Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. Have either of you read it?’

      Oskar hadn’t, but Tilly nodded her head, although she hadn’t actually read it; she’d only seen the TV version that her grandma watched every Christmas.

      ‘Do you ever think about what you would say to her, if she was real?’ Tilly asked.

      ‘I can’t say that I ever have before, Tilly, but it’s an interesting question, isn’t it? I suppose I would ask her what it was like in her family, and what Mr Darcy was really like. I must admit, Tilly, that part of the reason I love her is how much she reminds me of your mum.’

      ‘What?’ Tilly blurted, remembering the conversation with her grandma earlier.

      ‘Yes, I always thought that Bea had a similar sense of humour to Lizzy’s and your mum was a very sharp observer of people, Tilly – honestly, she used to make me giggle describing some of the customers who came into Pages & Co. Goodness, it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to be able to talk to Lizzy Bennet? Although I wonder if she would be like I imagine her, if I actually met her.’

      ‘I bet she wouldn’t,’ Oskar said. ‘I think if you met your favourite character they’d just be disappointing. It would be like meeting