Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Bookwanderers. Anna James
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Название: Pages & Co.: Tilly and the Bookwanderers
Автор: Anna James
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Учебная литература
Серия: Pages & Co.
isbn: 9780008229887
isbn:
‘They’re so good, right?’ Tilly said. ‘I could not believe it when I found out who Nico’s dad was.’
‘Don’t tell me!’ Oskar said. ‘I haven’t got to that bit yet – I’m still on the first one. I read kind of slowly.’
‘Oskar’s dyslexic,’ Mary said, coming up behind them, a small bottle in one hand and a brown envelope tucked under her arm. ‘But he still loves reading, don’t you, my love?’
‘All right, Mum,’ Oskar said, brushing his mum’s hand off his head in embarrassment.
‘Right, well, you should definitely come over to the shop for your homework book, though,’ Tilly said.
‘Yes, thank you, Tilly. That would be lovely. Why don’t you pop round now, Oskar?’ Mary said, smiling widely.
‘All right, Mum, chill out, okay?’ Oskar said. He turned to Tilly. ‘I’ll come round tomorrow?’
Tilly nodded.
‘Oh, and here’s the reason you came over,’ Mary said, holding out a tiny bottle of vanilla essence. ‘Could you let Jack know I don’t need it back as long as I can try one of his pop cakes?’ She grinned, before putting the envelope down on the table between them and pushing it towards Tilly, who looked at her quizzically.
‘When you told me about your mum’s books it made me think of this,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ve had it for ages. I should have given it to you sooner but, well, when Bea left I tucked it away, and it just slipped my mind until you mentioned finding her things.’
Neither Tilly, Mary nor Oskar seemed sure what to say or do next, so Mary pulled the envelope back towards her, and slid out a slightly faded photograph that showed Bea and Mary as young women on a sofa in the shop. They sat at either end, with their socked feet touching in the middle, and both of them had books resting on top of their heavily pregnant bellies.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t taken better care of it, Tilly,’ Mary said as she tried to rub away a smear from one corner of the picture. ‘But it’s yours now, if you want it. I know it’s only one photo, but I thought you might like it anyway. I can tell you a bit more about it, if you like, but I understand if you’d rather look properly by yourself first. I can picture that day perfectly. I haven’t the foggiest what book I was reading, but your mum went on a real classics binge while she was pregnant, nostalgic for her own childhood, I suppose. That book is A Little Princess; she read it over and over. It was her favourite – although I’m sure you know that. You can come and ask me about the photo or your mum any time you like, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ Tilly said quietly, staring at the photo. That was the first time she’d heard A Little Princess was her mum’s favourite book. Mary slid the picture back into the envelope and passed it to Tilly.
‘Go on, get back to Jack, and make sure to bring me over a pop cake later.’ Mary gave her a gentle push towards the door. ‘And keep that envelope out of the rain.’
After dropping the vanilla off with Jack, Tilly went back into the kitchen to find Grandad sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall next to the box with his hanky out. Tilly slid down the wall next to him and squeezed in under his arm, breathing in his familiar smell of cashmere jumpers and old paper.
‘I’d forgotten where I’d put these,’ he said, hugging Tilly close to him. ‘They were some of your mum’s books when she was your age. She’d been rereading a lot of them while she was pregnant with you.’
‘These were her favourites?’ Tilly prompted, eager for more details.
‘Yes, well, her favourites when she was growing up. These were ones that meant a lot to her when she was around your age. The books we love when we’re growing up shape us in a special way, Tilly. The characters in the books we read help us decide who we want to be.’
Grandad paused, and Tilly noticed he had a book in his hands, turning it round and round as he spoke.
‘Ah. This one,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to show you. I mean … Well, just let me know what you think of it.’ He gave a last glance at the book in his hand and passed it to Tilly. It was A Little Princess – a copy with a yellow cover. Tilly took Mary’s photo out of the envelope and showed it to Grandad.
‘Where did you get this from?’ he asked.
‘Mary just gave it to me,’ Tilly said. ‘Look, she’s reading this exact book!’
‘You see, it was her favourite,’ Grandad said. ‘She enjoyed it when she was your age, but she really fell in love with it while she was at university. She took this copy with her and read it over and over again. She … Well, she found something new in it as an adult, I suppose. Have you read it?’
‘Yes, a few times.’
‘What did you think?’ Grandad asked. ‘Did you connect with any characters in particular?’
Tilly shrugged. ‘I enjoyed it. It’s not my favourite but I liked Sara a lot. I like how she tells stories when she feels sad, and to help her after her dad dies.’
Grandad smiled softly, as much to himself as to Tilly. ‘Well, now you have your mum’s copy to keep. And a photo of her reading it.’
He looked at the box of books. ‘There might be some in there you haven’t read before. Why don’t you take them up to your room and have a sort through?’ He gave Tilly a squeeze and hauled himself up off the floor. ‘Can’t leave your grandma to deal with Jack by herself for too long,’ he said and headed back into the bookshop.
Tilly put A Little Princess back in the box and staggered upstairs with it to her tiny room at the very top of the house. The walls were lined with bookshelves full of her own books, as well as ones she had temporarily borrowed from the shop, something she was not really supposed to do, but after she caught Grandma spilling tea on what turned out to be a shop book a blind eye was usually turned as long as they reappeared in pristine condition. Tilly put the box down in the middle of the floor and placed Mary’s envelope on top. She sat down on her bed, curled her knees up underneath her, and stared at them as her feelings tangled round each other, twisting and knotting her up.
Finally she pulled the photo out again and laid it on her bed before slipping a narrow album off her shelves. In the pages were a collection of photos her grandparents had let her collate that all featured her mum: as a child, with Grandma and Grandad, in the bookshop, even some in New York where she had gone to university. The photos looked back at Tilly, a puddle of memories that weren’t hers.
Tilly felt like she was being wrapped in a heavy blanket that was comforting and suffocating at the same time. Her mum’s face looked up at her from too many photos all at once. When Tilly tried to picture her mum in her mind she felt like she was trying to imagine what a character in a book looks like. You think they’re standing right next to you, but as soon as you whirl round to look straight at them everything blurs and dissolves, and the harder you try to see them, the more flighty and unfocused they get until they barely resemble a real person at all.
She tried to calm her breathing down and tucked СКАЧАТЬ