Page 38 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museu
‘And you sound like a psychologist, not a museum curator,’ he snaps.
‘You already know my mum died when I was twelve and my dad didn’t cope. It’s not the same, but I understand all too well what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age, and how unbearable it can be on the parent left behind.’
His neck is twisted around so he can watch me as I speak, and it looks like the most uncomfortable position, but he makes no attempt to move. ‘I know you mentioned it the other day, but I never expect to meet people and have that sort of thing in common. I’m sorry.’
‘So am I – for you. I didn’t know your company had a story like that behind it. I thought you were…’ I trail off because it’s not the right moment to add ‘heartless, money-grabbing, evil gerbils’, and instead I shuffle forwards on my elbows so he can untwist his neck because he’s intent on watching my face every time I speak.
‘Oh, I know exactly how that sentence ends and I appreciate you not finishing it.’ He lets out a self-deprecating laugh that turns into a drawn-out groan, and he moves his head around, one hand going to the back of his neck, trying to unkink it.
His brown hair falls forward as he makes a physical effort to relax his tense shoulders, and I have to fight the urge to touch my fingers against his arm again, because it’s such a surprising insight and I didn’t expect him to be that open.
‘I don’t know where that came from,’ he says after a while and moves to sit upright. ‘I should, er, stretch my legs. Bathroom break. Want another cuppa?’
Bathroom! The inspiration comes in a flash. The customer bathroom downstairs has a window that opens to one side of the museum – the opposite side to where we are. It’s perfect, and another cup of tea is the perfect excuse to use it.
‘That’d be great, thank you.’ I give him a genuine smile because itisnice of him to offer, but the second he’s gone up the stairs, I grab my phone and text the shopkeepers’ group to tell them my plan and ask someone to be ready under the window.
When Warren comes back with two mugs, I down mine as quickly as the temperature will allow, and then tell him I need the bathroom and rather than using the staff bathroom upstairs, I make an excuse about double-checking the exhibits while using the customer toilets downstairs, and I run away before waiting to see if he believes me or not.
I’ve spent the past few minutes trying to think of something small enough to fit through a narrow-opening top window, and I’ve come up with Aladdin’s Magic Carpet, which can be rolled up and pushed through, and on my way to extract it from its usual display, I spot Pascal sitting on Rapunzel’s shoulder and shove him in my pocket.
By going through the supply closet door into the Fairytale Homes hall, I can avoid the front half of the lobby altogether and remain out of sight, and I’m holding my breath so hard that I’m panting by the time I make it to the bathroom.
I clamber onto the toilet seat and put one leg up on the cistern behind it, and push the window open. Sure enough, Mickey and Cleo are standing below and I shove a hand through to wave to them silently, and then push the Magic Carpet through a centimetre at a time, being careful that it doesn’t snag on anything, but also that I don’t make a sound.
There’s a whoosh as it finally falls from the window and drops into Mickey’s waiting arms, and we all freeze for a moment to make sure Warren hasn’t overheard and doesn’t come to investigate, and after a few seconds have passed with no movement from upstairs, I hold Pascal out and drop him down to Cleo.
I do a silent thumbs up and give them a grateful smile that’s obscured by the window before I close it, clamber back down, and flush the chain so Warren doesn’t get suspicious.
Who knew that bringing exhibits to life could be so stressful?
13
When I get back upstairs, Warren’s lying down, leaning on his elbows and using the Tablet of Gloom, but he puts it down when I settle beside him.
‘Anything unusual going on down there?’
‘Not a thing. All present and correct,’ I trill so chirpily that he’s bound to know I’ve been up to something, if the overly long bathroom visit didn’t clue him in, or my heart pounding so hard that he can surely see it hammering in and out of my chest.
He’s got the sleeping bag over him and has left one half free for me, so I step across him and lie down on my front again, sticking on his right side where he clearly wanted me to stay, and wriggle around to get comfortable, glad of his thinking to pad the hard floor with dustsheets.
‘So…’ He stretches both arms out in front of him, lays his head down on them and turns towards me.
‘So…’ I furtively pat my forehead in case he can see the nervous sweat beading there. I have no idea what the girls are going to do with the Magic Carpet and Pascal, but I’m looking forward to finding out while also dreading how I’m going to fake it whenhefinds out.
He makes no move to pick up his tablet again, and I get a little thrill that he wants to talk and maybe he enjoyed the little connection we shared just now.
‘So you’re in the “lost a parent at an early age” club too?’
I don’t mean to laugh, but his way of phrasing it makes a snort escape. ‘The one club that no child should ever have to join.’
‘Exactly. The club membership that separates you from your peers and makes you stand out in all the wrong ways.’ He looks away and casts his eyes over the lobby below before looking back at me. ‘Go on, I’ve told you my tale of woe, it’s only right that I get to hear yours…’
I don’t talk about it very often because it was so long ago, and with Dad gone now too, it’s not easy to re-open old wounds and dwell on the past, but there’s something about knowing Warren will understand – really, truly understand in a way that no one possibly can unless they’ve been through something similar – that makes mewantto talk about it. ‘I was twelve when Mum died. It was sudden, unexpected, and for us, it was like the ground fell out of the world and we were all falling down a long, black hole of loss. Dad didn’t cope with his own grief, never mind with helping me and my sisters navigate ours. Childhood ended in an instant. I became the one trying to look after my sistersandmy dad. I had no one to turn to because the others all turned to me and Dad relied on me. Life was difficult, and these days, it’s easier to block that out and not think about it because ofhowtough it was, but somehow all five of us made it to adulthood almost unscathed.’
‘Apart from a bit of boyfriend trouble.’ He nods towards my phone, which has suspiciously stopped buzzing now the exhibits have been smuggled out.
‘Ah, ha ha, yes, right.’ My unhinged laugh is back. There isnoway he hasn’t worked this out by now. I knew I was the world’s worst liar, but I hadn’t realised I was quitethisbad at it.
