The Perfect Happiness(85)

“The children love you. They’re so excited you’re coming. And so are we. I wanted to dress up as a Mearkin, but they don’t make green leotards in my size.”

“You look great as Wort.”

“Come and meet the children. There are some more convincing Worts in there.” She marched into the dining room and clapped her hands like a headmistress. “Girls and boys, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Angelica Garner, the author of The Caves of Cold Konard.” The squeals petered out as the children stopped their games and stared at her shyly. Angelica wished she had come in costume. It was clear that the talk she had planned for a ladies’ reading group would not be appropriate here. She’d lose their attention in the first sentence, and it would be horribly embarrassing. “So, Angelica, what would you like to do?” Heather looked at her expectantly.

Good question . . . what indeed? Angelica thought anxiously. She gazed back at the fifty pairs of painted eyes and hesitated momentarily. They all looked so keen and expectant, waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t talk about inspiration to a group of small children who had all made the effort to dress up. They required enchantment. She peered through the fog in her mind, trying to find something to grasp. Then, as if by magic, the fog lifted, and her mind was clear.

“I want them all to sit around me,” she said excitedly. “I have a story to tell.”

“A chair, Megan, now now,” instructed Heather to a celery-thin Mearkin. Megan hurried over with a chair and placed it in the middle of the room. Both women gently pushed the children forwards. They shuffled towards her and sat down in a semicircle, nudging one another and whispering behind hands.

Angelica leaned forwards and lowered her voice dramatically. “Have any of you heard of Troilers?” The children shook their heads. The whispering ceased. “Fat, slimy, ugly, greasy Troilers, who inhabit the estuary where an oily black river meets the sea. These Troilers, who live in holes in the banks of the river, eat creatures of light called Dazzlings. Beautiful, ethereal, weightless creatures, without whom the world would descend into the hands of these evil Troilers. The more Dazzlings they eat, the stronger and more powerful they become and the darker the sky grows as, little by little, all the light in the world is consumed. So the Dazzlings need help, and who better than Conner and Tory Threadfellow of London. Why them? you might ask. Especially as they are humans and the only way to get to this plane of existence, which is here, around us all the time, is in dreams. Well, let me enlighten you on how it is done and why two children—oh yes, they have to be children—are the only people in the whole world who have it in their power to restore the Dazzlings and their light . . .”

The children stared unblinking as Angelica wove the tale she had conceived in Norfolk. She was astonished at how flu-idly her ideas came to her and how clearly she saw them, like gazing through a limpid pond into a magical world below. It was as if it had always been there, only before the water had been cloudy.

Heather and Megan sat drinking tea at a round table, as enraptured as the children. Anita caught her eye and shook her head, incredulous that she was capable of weaving such a tale off the cuff. Angelica felt her imagination released at last and propelled into vibrant color. Her spirits soared. The more the children responded, the more ideas came. She had her story. It was simple and so obvious, and yet her own apathy had prevented her from seeing it.

At the end the children remained seated, hoping for more. The celery Mearking and egg-shaped Wort thanked Angelica, and the whole room erupted into applause. She glanced around to find the doorway filled with restaurant staff and parents.

“What a wonderful story you have shared with us today,” said Heather, her cheeks rosy beneath the face paint. “I hope that’s a little taster for the next book?” She raised an eyebrow, and Angelica nodded. “Oh good!” She clapped her hands again. “We’re very fortunate to have lots of copies of Angelica’s new book, The Silk Serpent, which she has agreed to sign. And I’m glad to see some parents over there who have money to pay for them!” She snorted again and showed Angelica to a table and chair in the corner that had been set up for her to sign books. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’d love one,” said Angelica, sitting down. She rummaged unsuccessfully in her bag for a pen.

“Megan? A cup of tea for Angelica, now now.”

Megan returned with a cup of tea and a pen, and Angelica signed books and chatted with the children. They had all lost their shyness and found a great deal to say. The party continued, and trays of sandwiches and pretty pastel cupcakes were brought in. Angelica sipped her tea, light-headed with all the compliments. She felt the warm glow of success and basked in it. The prospect of spending the night with Jack just added to the surreal charm of the day.