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Authors: Pauline Fisk
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hadnât acknowledged him. It was as if she were a real queen and he her slave. When heâd said goodnight, she hadnât even answered him.
Abren shivered underneath the coats. Tried to forget the old woman and go to sleep. But how could she sleep when bursts of wheezy coughing kept firing off into the darkness, keeping even the rats awake.
âYou ought to see a doctor with a cough like that!â she said at last.
The boy didnât answer, just coughed into his blankets until Abren couldnât stand it any more. She sat up, switched on the fairy lights, pulled back the blankets and found him fully dressed, boots and all, lying bathed in sweat. His eyes were bright, his face was white and he was shivering all over. This was no ordinary cough! He had caught a chill. And it was all because of her â because heâd jumped into the river to rescue her.
âYou should have changed out of those wet clothes,â Abren said. â
I should have made you
. I could see how cold you were, but I didnât do a thing!â
She leapt off the mattress, overwhelmed with guilt, and went in search of the boyâs grandmother, or godmother, or stepmother, or great-aunt, or whoever Old Sabrina might turn out to be. Never mind that she was weird! She was old, and would surely know how to nurse a sick boy.
Abren pushed open the door between the rooms, switched on the light and found Old Sabrina seated on the velvet chair exactly as they had left her, the only difference being that the fire had burned out. Abrenpadded forward until she was close enough to see the old womanâs crumpled face, like a piece of thick old parchment, her tight mouth, sharp nose and fuzzy grey eyes. They werenât exactly dead, those eyes, but they stared blankly, like windows in a house which nobody lived in any more.
âExcuse me,â Abren said, âbut the boyâs ill. I donât know what to do. I think he needs a doctor.â
The eyes didnât move. Old Sabrina wasnât asleep, but it was as if she hadnât heard. Abren tried again, standing right in front of her, and then again, shouting in her face. But it made no difference. Abren could stay here all night if she wanted, but the eyes would never change. Theyâd never look at her. Never take any notice.
Abren left the room. Perhaps the old woman was crazy. Perhaps that was what it was. Back next door, she found the boy on his feet, staggering about as if her shouting, though it hadnât stirred Old Sabrina, had certainly stirred him. A kettle had been plugged in, and he was rummaging through boxes containing magazines, rat poison, bath oil, soap, computer games and mounds of clothes, looking for medicine. This he found at last in a zip-up bag containing everything from aspirins to plasters and honey linctus syrup, which was a wonder cure that âdid for everythingâ, according to the boy. He glugged some down, despite the warning on the bottle about proper measurements, dissolved a lemon cold-cure in some water from the kettle and returned to bed.
Abren returned too, but only after making sure that the door was tightly shut between her and Old Sabrina. Then exhaustion overwhelmed her and shefell asleep. It happened very quickly. One minute she was drifting off, her thoughts returning to Dogpole Alley, and the next minute she was waking up, still thinking of it but a whole night had gone by.
Abren lay in the darkness imagining her empty bedroom, with Christmas-stocking paper strewn about and nobody around to pull back the curtains. She wondered if Bentley would be awake yet. And Fee and Mena. Had they been up all night, searching for her? Been to the police and told them all about her? Taken down the decorations, Christmas forgotten as if they knew that she wouldnât ever come back?
For the next few days, the boy was sick. Abren wanted to look after him, but he made her go and look after Old Sabrina. Her need was greater, he
Abren shivered underneath the coats. Tried to forget the old woman and go to sleep. But how could she sleep when bursts of wheezy coughing kept firing off into the darkness, keeping even the rats awake.
âYou ought to see a doctor with a cough like that!â she said at last.
The boy didnât answer, just coughed into his blankets until Abren couldnât stand it any more. She sat up, switched on the fairy lights, pulled back the blankets and found him fully dressed, boots and all, lying bathed in sweat. His eyes were bright, his face was white and he was shivering all over. This was no ordinary cough! He had caught a chill. And it was all because of her â because heâd jumped into the river to rescue her.
âYou should have changed out of those wet clothes,â Abren said. â
I should have made you
. I could see how cold you were, but I didnât do a thing!â
She leapt off the mattress, overwhelmed with guilt, and went in search of the boyâs grandmother, or godmother, or stepmother, or great-aunt, or whoever Old Sabrina might turn out to be. Never mind that she was weird! She was old, and would surely know how to nurse a sick boy.
Abren pushed open the door between the rooms, switched on the light and found Old Sabrina seated on the velvet chair exactly as they had left her, the only difference being that the fire had burned out. Abrenpadded forward until she was close enough to see the old womanâs crumpled face, like a piece of thick old parchment, her tight mouth, sharp nose and fuzzy grey eyes. They werenât exactly dead, those eyes, but they stared blankly, like windows in a house which nobody lived in any more.
âExcuse me,â Abren said, âbut the boyâs ill. I donât know what to do. I think he needs a doctor.â
The eyes didnât move. Old Sabrina wasnât asleep, but it was as if she hadnât heard. Abren tried again, standing right in front of her, and then again, shouting in her face. But it made no difference. Abren could stay here all night if she wanted, but the eyes would never change. Theyâd never look at her. Never take any notice.
Abren left the room. Perhaps the old woman was crazy. Perhaps that was what it was. Back next door, she found the boy on his feet, staggering about as if her shouting, though it hadnât stirred Old Sabrina, had certainly stirred him. A kettle had been plugged in, and he was rummaging through boxes containing magazines, rat poison, bath oil, soap, computer games and mounds of clothes, looking for medicine. This he found at last in a zip-up bag containing everything from aspirins to plasters and honey linctus syrup, which was a wonder cure that âdid for everythingâ, according to the boy. He glugged some down, despite the warning on the bottle about proper measurements, dissolved a lemon cold-cure in some water from the kettle and returned to bed.
Abren returned too, but only after making sure that the door was tightly shut between her and Old Sabrina. Then exhaustion overwhelmed her and shefell asleep. It happened very quickly. One minute she was drifting off, her thoughts returning to Dogpole Alley, and the next minute she was waking up, still thinking of it but a whole night had gone by.
Abren lay in the darkness imagining her empty bedroom, with Christmas-stocking paper strewn about and nobody around to pull back the curtains. She wondered if Bentley would be awake yet. And Fee and Mena. Had they been up all night, searching for her? Been to the police and told them all about her? Taken down the decorations, Christmas forgotten as if they knew that she wouldnât ever come back?
For the next few days, the boy was sick. Abren wanted to look after him, but he made her go and look after Old Sabrina. Her need was greater, he
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