‘Although let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Grandma said. ‘We need to understand a lot more about what exactly is going on before we start sneaking around.’
‘So … What do we do first?’ Tilly asked.
‘Well, you two are doing exactly what you were always going to do.’ Grandma smiled. ‘You’re going to Paris tomorrow morning to visit Oskar’s dad for Christmas!’
‘But what about Melville and the stamping and the bookbinding? And banning children from bookwandering! Can’t I help?’ Tilly persisted.
‘While you’re away we will speak to Amelia and Seb properly,’ Grandma replied. ‘In hindsight, it perhaps wasn’t such a good idea for you both to come today but thankfully Seb has diverted any immediate problems – not that this is permission for you to bookwander anywhere dangerous of course.’
‘And don’t worry about us,’ said Grandad. ‘The stamping is an ethical problem, not a practical one. It will wear off soon and it’s not like we had any illicit bookwandering trips planned. The thing we need to focus on is stopping them binding books, and you can leave that with us. We’ll talk to some librarians about the Bookbinders. And, of course, leave Chalk to Melville.’
‘Is there really nothing we can do to help?’ Oskar asked.
‘Not right now,’ Grandad said.
‘Not even any research, or reading, or anything?’ Tilly persisted.
‘You can help by having a wonderful time in Paris meeting Oskar’s dad,’ Grandad said firmly. ‘Leave this one with us. And now, dinner!’
Half an hour later Grandad set down a big bowl full of spaghetti cooked with tomatoes and prawns. Grandma added hot buttery garlic bread and a rocket salad as Bea came and joined them from the just-closed bookshop. The table bore the marks and memories of years of the Pages family; the underside was still covered with the remnants of Tilly’s attempt to turn it into a spaceship when she was younger, sticking coloured paper buttons on with superglue. The surface had several red wine stains, a collection of pale circles where hot drinks had been put down without coasters, and copious scratches on the legs from Alice the cat. It held centre stage in the area that functioned as a dining room, a study and a private family space away from the bookshop. It was rare for the table not to be covered with piles of books, half-done homework, lukewarm cups of tea, or unopened post.
‘So, Oskar,’ Grandma said, sitting down. ‘How long is it since you’ve been to Paris?’ Oskar was busy trying to sneak a corner of garlic bread into his mouth, before realising quite how hot it was.
‘I haven’t been since the summer holidays,’ Oskar said, trying to suck cool air into his mouth as he replied. ‘With Mamie being poorly over half-term, and school and stuff … You know how busy everything gets. And Dad hardly gets any holiday so he can’t come here very often either.’
‘It’s very kind of your dad to invite Tilly as well,’ Bea said, twirling her fork around her pasta without ever raising it to her mouth. ‘What did you say his job was?’
‘He runs an art gallery with my stepmum,’ Oskar said. ‘They’re super busy all the time. I think it was Mum’s idea for us to go, probably.’
‘They do know I’m coming, though, right?’ Tilly said, alarmed.
‘Yes, of course,’ Grandma reassured her. ‘We’ve spoken to him several times on the phone to sort out train tickets and what you need to take – they’re really looking forward to meeting you. And you’ll get to meet Oskar’s grandmother too, as she’s staying with them – maybe you’ll even see some of her illustrations!’
‘There’s one of her paintings up in my dad’s place,’ Oskar confirmed. ‘It’s super creepy and cool.’
‘What a treat,’ Grandma said, trying to coax some enthusiasm out of Tilly.
‘It’s going to be strange not being at Pages & Co. just before Christmas,’ was all Tilly said.
‘But what an adventure!’ Grandad said. ‘Being in Paris at Christmastime!’
‘We’ll miss you a lot, though, won’t we, Bea?’ Grandma said, nudging her daughter.
‘I can barely remember what Christmas is like,’ Bea said, almost to herself. ‘It will be curious having a tree and turkey and all of that again.’
‘Didn’t you have Christmas in A Little Princess?’ Oskar asked.
‘Well, I assume we must have,’ Bea said slowly. ‘But I find it hard to remember anything specific about being there at all, really. It’s like trying to remember a dream. I just can’t seem to picture any of it.’ And she went back to toying with her wine glass.
Tilly had hoped that her mum would settle back into normal life more each day, following her rescue from A Little Princess. But the opposite seemed to be true. Bea spent more and more time by herself, and could be found lost in her own daydreams for much of the day. Pushing her glass to one side, Bea shook her head, and smiled – properly – at Tilly.
‘But you’ll only be gone for a couple of days, and you’ll be back in plenty of time for Christmas. Now, who’s for coffee?’ Bea moved her nearly full bowl away from her and stood up, mussing Tilly’s hair as she went to put the kettle on. Tilly tried to shove away her worries about her mother into a room right at the very back of her brain – along with her worries about what was going on at the Underlibrary. She wedged a chair under the door handle for good measure, to keep them locked in tight.
‘I sometimes imagine they are tiny dancing snow sprites,’ a familiar voice said, and Tilly turned to see Anne Shirley, the heroine of one of Tilly’s favourite books, sitting at the other end of the sofa staring out of the window in wonder.
‘Oh!’ Tilly said abruptly, looking at her. ‘Anne … Do you know that your hair is green?’
Anne turned and looked at her mournfully.
‘I have had such a terrible time of it. You would scarcely believe it could all happen to one person,’ she said dejectedly. ‘Truly the fates are against me. I thought I was dyeing it a beautiful, elegant raven black, but the man I bought the dye from at the doorstep has cruelly taken advantage of my vanity and, well, look. I have been washing it furiously for three days straight now and no change. My life in the most glittering of social circles has ended before it had a chance to even begin. It is one thing to go to a dance as a redhead, but quite another to make an entrance with green hair, especially in a town so ravenous for gossip as Avonlea. Just imagine what Rachel Lynde would say if she saw me!’ She flopped her head dramatically on to the back of the sofa and let out a groan of woe. ‘I am far too embarrassed to leave Green Gables – I will only permit dear Diana to visit as she is able to behave in the sombre manner that befits the situation – and so it’s a pleasant surprise to find myself here.