Read Online The Dress (Everyday Magic Trilogy: Book 1) by Sophie Nicholls - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sophie Nicholls
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fish.
People said that this was because as a very small boy he’d survived being dragged to the bottom of the sea in a terrible storm and he’d learned how to talk to the selkie-spirits.
Even today, you can see him, tesora , on moonlit nights, sitting on the rocks, talking softly to a certain female seal with a pelt of shining silver who often comes near the shore.’
Then Mamma would let out a long sigh and rearrange herself against the cushions.
‘And you know, of course, that although many have tried to hunt that seal, none have ever succeeded,’ she’d say, stretching her long legs out in front of her and yawning. ‘And now, my Ella- issima , it’s time for bed.’
And Ella would throw her arms around Mamma’s neck and breath in her scent which was of Mamma’s favourite French perfume – irises, lilies, sandalwood – and the Marseille soap that she sold in the shop and something else, her own rich scent, that was impossible to define.
And for a long time after Mamma had left her for her book or her sewing or her letter-writing, Ella would lie and imagine that she was drifting out to sea in a boat with stilled oars, feeling the slow lap of the waves, watching the stars.
7.
A girl’s grey school skirt, standard issue, taken up at the hem and in at the seam. Briggs School Uniform Suppliers. 2010.
They’d been in York for a couple of months. Ella was just getting used to the short cold days, when the mist crept up from the river and rubbed itself through the narrow streets like a giant cat with damp, grey fur.
And then suddenly, a March wind blew into the city, whipping the river into brown froth, sending people scurrying through the streets, their shopping bags filled like sails, and the pigeons flapping frantically under the eaves. In Museum Gardens, gusts of rain chased away the squirrels and the early tourists and battered the first beds of tulips. Even the gargoyles on the Minster seemed to huddle down closer on their carved plinths and the stone angels tucked in their crumbling wings.
Mamma didn’t like the wind. ‘It makes me restless,’ she grumbled, fingering the flimsy sleeves of her favourite dresses. ‘When will spring arrive?’
‘Ne’er cast a clout till May is out,’ said Gracie, tapping the side of her nose with a mittened finger.
‘May?’ gasped Mamma. ‘ Dio mio . We’ll all be frozen half to death by then.’
But Ella loved the wind. She loved how it slapped her cheek and tangled in her hair, how it smelled of things rising and quickening. She loved to stand on the riverbank and stretch her arms out wide so that she could almost imagine she could fly.
‘Have you been wearing your scarf?’ said Mamma, when she came home from school with one of her sore throats. ‘You haven’t, have you? Your ears are like lumps of ice.’
This time not even Maadar-Bozorg’s famous gargle of sea salt, lavender and honey could soothe it. By evening, the fever had taken hold of her. It raged all over her body. It floated her up to the ceiling and shook her eyes in their sockets. Now she was even too weak to resist Mamma’s plaster of sage and rosemary.
Ella’s voice came in squeaks and croaks. Mamma ignored her, basting her chest with a determined expression.
Ella submitted, exhausted, as Mamma produced an egg from her pocket and rubbed it all over her body. This was Mamma’s favourite technique. Ella knew that Mamma would place this egg in the freezer compartment of the fridge, up against the ice-cube trays and the frozen bottle of vodka.
‘To take your heat away,’ she always said.
Finally, her hand resting light and cool on Ella’s forehead, she announced, ‘We need a doctor. I’m going to go next door and ask Gracie who to call.’
Ella nodded, feeling the heat rise up from her stomach and sweep over her in a red wave.
When Dr Carter arrived, he was not at all how she thought a doctor should be. To begin with, he seemed very young. When Mamma
People said that this was because as a very small boy he’d survived being dragged to the bottom of the sea in a terrible storm and he’d learned how to talk to the selkie-spirits.
Even today, you can see him, tesora , on moonlit nights, sitting on the rocks, talking softly to a certain female seal with a pelt of shining silver who often comes near the shore.’
Then Mamma would let out a long sigh and rearrange herself against the cushions.
‘And you know, of course, that although many have tried to hunt that seal, none have ever succeeded,’ she’d say, stretching her long legs out in front of her and yawning. ‘And now, my Ella- issima , it’s time for bed.’
And Ella would throw her arms around Mamma’s neck and breath in her scent which was of Mamma’s favourite French perfume – irises, lilies, sandalwood – and the Marseille soap that she sold in the shop and something else, her own rich scent, that was impossible to define.
And for a long time after Mamma had left her for her book or her sewing or her letter-writing, Ella would lie and imagine that she was drifting out to sea in a boat with stilled oars, feeling the slow lap of the waves, watching the stars.
7.
A girl’s grey school skirt, standard issue, taken up at the hem and in at the seam. Briggs School Uniform Suppliers. 2010.
They’d been in York for a couple of months. Ella was just getting used to the short cold days, when the mist crept up from the river and rubbed itself through the narrow streets like a giant cat with damp, grey fur.
And then suddenly, a March wind blew into the city, whipping the river into brown froth, sending people scurrying through the streets, their shopping bags filled like sails, and the pigeons flapping frantically under the eaves. In Museum Gardens, gusts of rain chased away the squirrels and the early tourists and battered the first beds of tulips. Even the gargoyles on the Minster seemed to huddle down closer on their carved plinths and the stone angels tucked in their crumbling wings.
Mamma didn’t like the wind. ‘It makes me restless,’ she grumbled, fingering the flimsy sleeves of her favourite dresses. ‘When will spring arrive?’
‘Ne’er cast a clout till May is out,’ said Gracie, tapping the side of her nose with a mittened finger.
‘May?’ gasped Mamma. ‘ Dio mio . We’ll all be frozen half to death by then.’
But Ella loved the wind. She loved how it slapped her cheek and tangled in her hair, how it smelled of things rising and quickening. She loved to stand on the riverbank and stretch her arms out wide so that she could almost imagine she could fly.
‘Have you been wearing your scarf?’ said Mamma, when she came home from school with one of her sore throats. ‘You haven’t, have you? Your ears are like lumps of ice.’
This time not even Maadar-Bozorg’s famous gargle of sea salt, lavender and honey could soothe it. By evening, the fever had taken hold of her. It raged all over her body. It floated her up to the ceiling and shook her eyes in their sockets. Now she was even too weak to resist Mamma’s plaster of sage and rosemary.
Ella’s voice came in squeaks and croaks. Mamma ignored her, basting her chest with a determined expression.
Ella submitted, exhausted, as Mamma produced an egg from her pocket and rubbed it all over her body. This was Mamma’s favourite technique. Ella knew that Mamma would place this egg in the freezer compartment of the fridge, up against the ice-cube trays and the frozen bottle of vodka.
‘To take your heat away,’ she always said.
Finally, her hand resting light and cool on Ella’s forehead, she announced, ‘We need a doctor. I’m going to go next door and ask Gracie who to call.’
Ella nodded, feeling the heat rise up from her stomach and sweep over her in a red wave.
When Dr Carter arrived, he was not at all how she thought a doctor should be. To begin with, he seemed very young. When Mamma
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