The Magic of Endings, page 12
‘But,’ said Aunt Pen, ‘rather importantly – you don’t need me. What you need, perhaps, is a quiet day.’
Jojo sat up straighter. He frowned a deep frown. He gave a deep sigh. Then he nodded. He nodded and sniffed. ‘A quiet day sounds good.’
Aunt Pen smiled. ‘Before the end, Jojo Locke,’ she said from his bedroom door, ‘I will tell you a story. The story you’ve been waiting to hear. When I do, I will have to leave you, for you will know all you need to know. I will have given you all I can. Finally, brave Jojo, you will have to choose.’
Jojo’s frown grew deeper. Once more he sighed. And this from the very heart of him. Once more he nodded.
And then, that solemn moment was broken open by a loud shout from the hallway. The voice shouting, Jojo knew well, but somehow it sounded different. It sounded younger.
‘Come on, Jojo,’ shouted Grandma. ‘Up, up, up, the day is here!’
Then, into the room bustled a lady much younger than Grandma. Her hair was brown, just flecked with grey. Her face was smoother, brighter. Her eyes shone.
But... it was Grandma.
‘Come, Jojo, look. Look!’
She was past Jojo and looking out of the bedroom window, out to the lane, out beyond.
‘Jojo,’ shouted Ricco now, bounding out of bed and next to Grandma at the window. ‘There’s a big tent, Jojo!’
Jojo stared at his grandmother, amazed at her brown hair and yellow dress. She was so young. But... it was Grandma. He turned to Aunt Pen to ask if this was her doing, even though he knew it must be. Aunt Pen was gone. No sign of where.
‘Come, on,’ the lady at the window said – she must have been ten years younger at least. Jojo gulped, then joined them, looking out across the road to the barn and then the field beyond.
And, as Ricco had said, there was a great tent.
They watched as Grandad walked up the lane. He stopped when he saw the tent. His mouth dropped open. Trevor jumped and barked around him. Then Grandad turned back to the house.
‘Marnie!’ he called, rushing back to the cottage. ‘Marnie. You won’t believe this!’
They rushed to meet Grandad by the front door.
‘You won’t believe what day it—’ he was beginning to say as he hung up his coat. Then he saw his wife. Again his mouth dropped open, further this time.
Jojo and Ricco did not speak. They looked from Grandad to the younger Grandma and back again. Trevor did not seem to notice. He walked past her, letting out a little stream of gas as he went.
‘Mar-Mar-Marnie?’ Grandad said. He dropped his hat and pipe, they simply slipped from his grip.
‘Hello, darling,’ said the younger Grandma.
‘Hello,’ Grandad replied. ‘You look...’
‘Young?’ said Grandma. ‘I feel young. At least, I remember feeling young.’
‘...beautiful,’ said Grandad.
The younger Grandma blushed as Ricco and Jojo looked on. ‘Thank you, darling,’ she said. ‘And I do know what day it is.’
‘I don’t,’ said Jojo.
‘Are we camping?’ said Ricco.
Everyone grinned at Ricco. Even Jojo knew that was no tent for camping. There was some big event to take place in there.
‘Come on,’ said the younger Grandma. ‘Everyone needs to get dressed. Put on your best. What have you brought with you? I’m guessing you don’t have suits?’
Grandma’s One Day
In fact the boys found they did have suits waiting for them, laid out on their beds. Trousers and jackets, shirts and elasticated pink ties and even a cream waistcoat.
And when they met back in the hallway, they found Grandad did too, with a yellow tie to match Grandma’s yellow dress. And Jojo found a memory.
‘I’ve seen this before,’ he said. ‘I-I remember this.’
Grandma let out a little laugh. ‘You have,’ she said.
Grandad’s brow creased as if he too was remembering, as if memories, hard fighting memories were battling out. ‘You were three,’ he said.
‘And so cute,’ said Grandma. ‘A naughty, little squidgy three-year-old.’
‘Was I there?’ said Ricco.
Jojo was remembering.
He’d held Grandad’s hand as they crossed the lane.
Now he walked a little behind the other three as they made their way to the tent, Grandad explaining to Ricco that if Jojo had been three then Ricco would not have been born.
Jojo remembered.
They’d come back from the church in Grandad’s Jeep. He loved Grandad’s Jeep. Mum and Dad had gone ahead in the black shiny car. Mum all in white, Dad in his suit and pink tie, matching Jojo’s own. They were waiting in the tent, waiting for the guests.
They were waiting in the tent.
Jojo looked up, past his brother and Grandad and Grandma. Trevor had trotted ahead and was waiting at the gate to the field. The tent was open, but Jojo could see nothing within, there was veils of sheer pink material hanging in the way. Not yet.
Were they waiting for him? Was his dad waiting for him?
Ricco ran to Trevor and fumbled with the gate.
‘It’s a tough gate, that one,’ said Grandad, and reached out past Ricco to unbolt it.
Jojo’s heart was thumping.
Aunt Pen had said she couldn’t do it. But... maybe... maybe...
Jojo couldn’t help himself, he ran ahead with Ricco. Ran to the tent entrance. There were voices within. They pulled at the long lengths of fabric that hung in the entrance and...
There was no one there.
Ricco ran on in but Jojo stood and gulped, trying to calm his heart. Grandad was there now and put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Looks exactly the same,’ he said.
‘I remember it all,’ Grandma said, and twirled past them into the marquee.
Jojo did too.
His dad picked him up and swirled him round. He could remember being held by Dad, remember the smell of him but not his face. Mum kissed him. Then he ran off, running round the empty tables. None of the guests had arrived yet. The whole tent was his.
Ricco was doing just the same now, running between tables, bumping against chairs. Trevor was running and barking with him.
Jojo stood with his grandad and watched Ricco run and Grandma spin. ‘I don’t understand something,’ he said.
‘Just one thing?’ Grandad chuckled.
OK, there was a lot he didn’t understand, but he pressed on. ‘Why did we actually go there? Into the past. For your wish. But this –’ Jojo looked around at the tent and the tables and treasured memories – ‘this isn’t the actual, real day.’
‘Mmm,’ said Grandad. ‘And why does Marnie get to be young again when I remained an old man?’
Jojo had not thought of this but, ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I couldn’t say, Jojo,’ said Grandad. ‘But if I had to guess, I’d say that Aunt Pen or whoever else is behind all this, is a darn-sight wiser than you’d credit them. They know not just what we wish for but what we actually need. Look at her!’ he finished, his eyes fixed on Grandma, who a day before had struggled to fix her own tea but now laughed and danced, plucking a flower from one of the tables.
Jojo nodded. What we need. Not what we want. That truth sunk into his heart like an anchor.
‘Look at this,’ Ricco called. ‘There’s a book.’
All three joined Ricco at the long table at the very front of the room. And when they got there, Grandma let out a high-pitched scream of delight.
‘Oooohhh! That’s my photo album,’ she said. ‘I thought... I thought it was gone. All gone.’
*
Right at that moment, another scream could be heard: three miles away at the station of Dor, a train pulled to a halt, with a screaming of old brakes. When the train had fully stopped, only one person climbed from the open doors down to the platform – a woman with long braided hair, a smart black business dress and a black leather bag that showed just how prepared for anything she was.
The woman took a deep breath, inhaling the country air in through her nose then out in a long stream through her mouth. She nestled her bag back onto her shoulder and took hold of the small suitcase on wheels that sat behind her.
‘Come on then, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘We’re here.’
Lizzie Locke did not like coming to Dor, for the obvious reason that it was the place where her husband had disappeared. But Lizzie Locke kept coming to Dor, for the obvious reason that it was the only connection she had left to the husband who had disappeared. Vanished, not just from the world, but from her heart and her mind.
Lizzie hurried along the platform.
Besides, her boys were waiting for her. By some miracle, or magic, or faerie bewitchment, her boss had called her that morning before work and awarded her an extra few days’ holiday. No reason given. He didn’t seem quite himself but Lizzie was not going to pass up the chance for time with Jojo and Ricco.
So here she was.
At the end of the platform was a small booth with a sign above it that proudly read Terry’s Taxis.
Lizzie knew this was a lie; there was only one taxi. Terry was the man who sat in the booth, who always seemed to be sitting in the booth, just waiting for Lizzie to arrive.
‘Taxi, madam?’ Terry called while she was still a long way off.
Lizzie smiled and nodded. ‘Of course, good sir,’ she called and began the next leg of her journey toward the cottage in the lane.
*
At that moment, Jojo, Ricco and their grandparents were sitting at the long table, leaning over the big photo album.
‘Look, here you are,’ said Grandma.
The photo in question showed a short, pudgy child. He had a furry fuzz of black hair and wore a tiny suit with the same shade of pink tie that Jojo was wearing right then.
‘Haha! Look at you,’ said Ricco.
In the photo Jojo was holding a hand. But the person whose hand was being held was out of shot.
‘And that’s your dad,’ said Grandad.
Memory.
Jojo remembered how it felt, remembered how Dad’s big, rough builder’s hand felt in his.
‘Your first course is served,’ said a gruff voice from low down beside the table.
‘Ooooh, Mr Goodfellow,’ said Grandma as the tiny hobgoblin leaped up on the table with a flourish and presented them all with a miniature plate of jollof rice, coleslaw and plantain.
*
‘So how’s good old London?’ said Terry, his eyes fixed on the road, his hands fixed on the steering wheel.
Terry, Lizzie knew, had once been a taxi driver in London, but had moved to Dor as a sort of retirement. It was that sort of place, Dor. A sleepy, seaside town. At least, that’s how Lizzie thought of it.
‘You know,’ said Lizzie from the back of the taxi, her luggage on the seat beside her, as they wound along the narrow country lanes. ‘It keeps on, keeping on.’
‘Busy, then,’ said Terry.
The thought of it made Lizzie yawn, a big, wide, lioness sort of yawn.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Terry. Then he said, ‘Oh no,’ and the car began to slow.
‘What’s up?’ said Lizzie, peering over Terry’s shoulder and through the windscreen. And there she saw the problem. There was a small hill of grain sitting in the middle of the road and beyond it, a tractor and trailer. A farmer stood beside the grain, shaking his head.
‘Afternoon, Terry,’ called the farmer. ‘Bit of a problem ’ere. I’m gonna kill that boy. Didn’t bolt the door of the trailer, did he? Gonna have to stop the combine, aren’t we? Disaster. Disaster for you too. No way through, I’m afraid.’
Lizzie breathed in deep again, in at the nose, out through the mouth. ‘I’ll walk,’ she said and put a hand purposefully on her luggage.
*
As Lizzie was stepping from the taxi, Ricco was finishing his miniature plate of food.
‘More photos,’ he said, and reached out to turn a page of the album. ‘Who’s this?’
Jojo looked down and breathed in deep. Grandad was silent. Grandma sighed.
‘Who is that?’ said Ricco. The picture was of Grandad and Grandma dancing. She wore the same dress, the same shoes, the same everything as she wore right then, sitting before them. Grandad wore a brown suit, a suit they’d never seen before. But Ricco’s stubby finger was not pointing at his grandparents. He was pointing at a blurred figure in the background. Most of his face was obscured by Grandma’s raised arm but you could see he was tall and broad and the edge of a beaming smile shone out of the photo.
Still silence.
Jojo gulped. ‘That’s Dad,’ he said.
‘Ahhh,’ said Grandma, ‘such a wonderful day.’
BANG!
All four Lockes jumped.
The noise had come from outside. Not a scary bang. A magic bang.
‘Fireworks,’ said Grandad. ‘Remember. There were fireworks!’
*
It wasn’t a long walk from the spilled grain to the cottage. But it wasn’t a walk for high heels and a business dress. It definitely wasn’t a walk for a wheel-along suitcase. But Lizzie Locke was attempting it all the same.
She’d climbed the first stile into the field, hauling her luggage over the fence, and sunk instantly into the soft ground. Her shoes were now stored in her bag and Lizzie was scrambling barefoot between sheep who crowded the path she was on.
‘I’m coming, boys,’ she said. ‘I’m coming.’
And then she saw it. There in the sky above where she was heading, the stars were out.
Lizzie looked up and around. The sky was blue. The clouds – perfect, fluffy puffs – were few and far between. The sun shone down.
But above the cottage, night had begun. And... what was that?
Fireworks.
*
After their surprise at the early nightfall, Jojo, Ricco, Grandad and Grandma had settled down under blankets to watch the fireworks. Hob Goodfellow had served them roast pork baps with spicy apple sauce.
‘It’s just magical,’ said Grandma. ‘This is exactly how it was. Do you remember, Joey? Do you remember?’
Jojo remembered it all too.
They were the first fireworks he’d ever seen. He’d watched from his dad’s lap. Mum had held his little hand and he’d gasped and whooped and cheered at every sparkle.
*
It had still taken quarter of an hour from when she’d seen the night sky to when Lizzie arrived, sweaty, muddy and a little chewed by a passing sheep, in the lane by the cottage.
She took a deep breath, looked up at the final rocket explode, pink and gold in the sky, and then headed towards the tent and into the magic.
‘Hello,’ said a voice from the shadows beside the tent.
Lizzie peered into the gloom as an old lady appeared, wrinkled and worn, hobbling on a pair of walking sticks. ‘Aunt Pen. Is that you?’
The old lady stopped in front of the candlelit tent entrance. She slowly nodded. ‘You’re just in time for dessert,’ she said.
Telling Mum
Where to start...’ Aunt Pen said, standing in front of a stunned Mum in the wedding tent. Ricco stood on one side of her and Jojo on the other. Mum was sitting at the long table with a slice of chocolate cake in front of her.
She kept looking at the cake, at the candles, at the tent. ‘This is... this is... this is our wedding.’
‘Indeed,’ said Aunt Pen. ‘How to explain...’
But Aunt Pen didn’t need to think much longer.
‘She’s a faerie,’ said Ricco. ‘She’s a proper faerie. Show Mum your wrinkly nose thing.’
Aunt Pen looked at Ricco, then at Jojo – he nodded – then she wrinkled her nose and blinked and she was no longer the ancient woman, Aunt Pen, in her skirts and necklaces. She was Penperro the faerie – old and wrinkled still, but tiny. She stood at Mum’s knees and looked up into her shocked eyes.
Mum looked down at the faerie dressed as a pirate.
‘Cup of tea?’ said a croaky voice from Mum’s elbow.
Mum screamed and leaped up, away from the hobgoblin, Mr Goodfellow.
Grandad and Grandma were sitting in chairs off to one side and seemed to be nodding off. Trevor lay at their feet.
Ricco, Jojo and Aunt Pen were left to explain to Mum what on earth had been going on. The hobgoblin was not helping matters.
‘What is that?’ yelped Mum.
‘He’s a goblin,’ said Jojo quietly. ‘And Aunt Pen is a faerie and she has been granting us wishes. And... and...’
Jojo did not know how to start explaining the other part. The bigger part. The plan he thought they were all part of.
Mum shook her head and then looked at the three of them. Four of them, including Hob Goodfellow, who put down the tea on the table and backed away, looking sheepish.
Mum shook her head again.
‘This is... It can’t be... You’re...’
She didn’t finish any sentences.
Aunt Pen wrinkled and blinked and was back as an old auntie. She coughed violently, her frail body rocking back and forth. Mum looked her up and down.
‘She is a faerie,’ said Ricco.
‘This,’ said Jojo gesturing at the tent around them, ‘was Grandma’s wish.’
‘Well... OK...’ said Mum. ‘What else have you been wishing for?’
Ricco started. ‘I wished for my dreams to come true and we went and had a tea party with badgers.’
‘Right,’ Mum nodded. ‘OK. Badgers.’
Jojo blushed. ‘I wished that you would stay one more day with us and... well... that’s when you started burping.’
A tiny angry frown flashed across Mum’s brow. Then she grinned. Then she let out a short laugh. ‘I... I...’ she scratched her head. ‘OK. What about Grandad?’ She took a sip of tea.
‘Mr Josephus Locke,’ Aunt Pen said, ‘wished to see his son one more time.’
‘What... ?’ Mum spluttered her tea across the room. ‘...Jamie... Is he... ? Can I... ?’
‘We went back in time, Mum. We saw Dad as a little boy.’ A frown had spread across Jojo’s face. ‘We can’t... It’s not... You don’t exactly get what you want. We can’t just wish Dad back. It’s not that... simple. But...’ He did not know how to finish that. An idea was forming in his mind but Jojo could not form it on his lips.
