or a book, or anything much really. “It makes me think of . . . you know, when something’s so different and weird that when it touches other people it makes them different and weird too . . . It’s like what my mum told me about Sir Galahad, and how he was the perfect knight, but when he saw into the Holy Grail, he couldn’t do anything else but die, really, because of, well, holy dread.”
She stood still, upright, her cheeks flushed, deliberately not looking down at Tilly but concentrating on a book in front of her until the gold lettering of the title had blurred. She didn’t want Tilly to laugh or make fun or anything; she didn’t think she could bear it.
She heard Tilly turn a few pages, then say excitedly, “I know exactly what you mean. Look, it’s like here, in Isaiah, where he’s made all clean when one of the angels touches his lips with the hot coal.”
She had an enormous, expensive-looking edition of the Bible in her arms and was jabbing at a section with her finger. Jess sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Tilly, and they spent a few minutes going through other books that Tilly knew, looking for examples of “holy dread.”
“TillyTilly,” said Jess, after a while.
“Mmmmmm.”
“How come you’ve read all these books and I haven’t?”
Then Tilly said something odd, like: “ I haven’t read them, I just know what’s in them .”
Jess looked at her, wondering whether or not to believe her. Then, just to be on the safe side, in case she’d heard wrong, she said, “What?”
TillyTilly didn’t look up from her book, but smiled.
“I said I’ve had a lot of time to get to know what’s in them. Also, I’m much cleverer than you.”
“Oh.”
Jess thought of something else.
“So you sneak in here a lot? How do you do it?”
Tilly shrugged.
“The window.”
“The window ? But my grandfather keeps the key in his pocket and ...”
Tilly put a dismissive hand up, turned a page, apparently absorbed.
Jess tried again.
“Unless there’s another key . . . ?”
A slight nod, but Tilly refused to add anything further. Instead she jumped up and ran over to Jess’s grandfather’s swivel chair, springing on to it with an expression of glee.
Jess heard it skid backwards on its wheels and put out her hands in a cautionary gesture.
“Shhhhh!”
TillyTilly laughed quietly.
“Push me around the room on this and then I’ll push you,” she offered, whirling around in the chair, her voice sounding slightly garbled as she spun.
“OK!” Jess eagerly scrambled up, then bent and gathered the books that had been left scattered on the floor a little distance away from the still-burning candle. She slid them back into place, trying to remember which gaps in the bookcase she and Tilly had taken them from. She suddenly grew apprehensive and began to think of explanations should her grandfather awake, and draw his key out from amongst his nightclothes, perhaps, and put the key in the lock . . .
Even as she thought about this, she heard the smooth, metallic sound of key being turned in lock, and an expression of utter panic crossed her face.
Then she heard Tilly laugh. She spun around to find Tilly leaning from the chair so that one of her hands was splayed out against the surface of the floor; she was in a sort of half handstand. As Jess stared at her, she slowly rotated the chair so that it made the soft clicking sound that she had heard before.
“Oh my God!” Jess stumbled backwards, her fingers allowing her nightie to flow back out around her, her hand moving to press her chest in an attempt to help along the stilling of her heart. “Don’t do that ever again!”
Tilly rose from her half handstand so that she sat upright in the chair again.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be back in here . . . It’s sort of boring, don’t you think? All that anticipation!”
Somehow, Jess realised, Tilly had known how much she had wanted to enter this room.
When Jess woke for the
She stood still, upright, her cheeks flushed, deliberately not looking down at Tilly but concentrating on a book in front of her until the gold lettering of the title had blurred. She didn’t want Tilly to laugh or make fun or anything; she didn’t think she could bear it.
She heard Tilly turn a few pages, then say excitedly, “I know exactly what you mean. Look, it’s like here, in Isaiah, where he’s made all clean when one of the angels touches his lips with the hot coal.”
She had an enormous, expensive-looking edition of the Bible in her arms and was jabbing at a section with her finger. Jess sat down cross-legged on the floor beside Tilly, and they spent a few minutes going through other books that Tilly knew, looking for examples of “holy dread.”
“TillyTilly,” said Jess, after a while.
“Mmmmmm.”
“How come you’ve read all these books and I haven’t?”
Then Tilly said something odd, like: “ I haven’t read them, I just know what’s in them .”
Jess looked at her, wondering whether or not to believe her. Then, just to be on the safe side, in case she’d heard wrong, she said, “What?”
TillyTilly didn’t look up from her book, but smiled.
“I said I’ve had a lot of time to get to know what’s in them. Also, I’m much cleverer than you.”
“Oh.”
Jess thought of something else.
“So you sneak in here a lot? How do you do it?”
Tilly shrugged.
“The window.”
“The window ? But my grandfather keeps the key in his pocket and ...”
Tilly put a dismissive hand up, turned a page, apparently absorbed.
Jess tried again.
“Unless there’s another key . . . ?”
A slight nod, but Tilly refused to add anything further. Instead she jumped up and ran over to Jess’s grandfather’s swivel chair, springing on to it with an expression of glee.
Jess heard it skid backwards on its wheels and put out her hands in a cautionary gesture.
“Shhhhh!”
TillyTilly laughed quietly.
“Push me around the room on this and then I’ll push you,” she offered, whirling around in the chair, her voice sounding slightly garbled as she spun.
“OK!” Jess eagerly scrambled up, then bent and gathered the books that had been left scattered on the floor a little distance away from the still-burning candle. She slid them back into place, trying to remember which gaps in the bookcase she and Tilly had taken them from. She suddenly grew apprehensive and began to think of explanations should her grandfather awake, and draw his key out from amongst his nightclothes, perhaps, and put the key in the lock . . .
Even as she thought about this, she heard the smooth, metallic sound of key being turned in lock, and an expression of utter panic crossed her face.
Then she heard Tilly laugh. She spun around to find Tilly leaning from the chair so that one of her hands was splayed out against the surface of the floor; she was in a sort of half handstand. As Jess stared at her, she slowly rotated the chair so that it made the soft clicking sound that she had heard before.
“Oh my God!” Jess stumbled backwards, her fingers allowing her nightie to flow back out around her, her hand moving to press her chest in an attempt to help along the stilling of her heart. “Don’t do that ever again!”
Tilly rose from her half handstand so that she sat upright in the chair again.
“Well, I don’t think we’ll be back in here . . . It’s sort of boring, don’t you think? All that anticipation!”
Somehow, Jess realised, Tilly had known how much she had wanted to enter this room.
When Jess woke for the
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