The Snow Spider Trilogy. Jenny Nimmo
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Название: The Snow Spider Trilogy
Автор: Jenny Nimmo
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Детская фантастика
isbn: 9781780311487
isbn:
‘Shut that door,’ Mr Lloyd shouted from above. ‘I can feel the cold up here.’
‘Come inside and wait!’ Mrs Lloyd pulled Gwyn into the house and shut the door. ‘I don’t know – you’ve got a nerve these days, you boys.’
She shuffled away into the kitchen, leaving Gwyn alone in the shadows by the door. It was cold in the Lloyds’ house. The narrow passage was crammed with bicycles and boots, and coats half-hanging on hooks; it was carpeted with odd gloves, with felt-tip pens, comics and broken toys, and there were two pairs of muddy jeans hanging on the bannisters.
Alun appeared at the top of the stairs, in pyjamas that were too small. He was trying to reduce the draughty gap round his stomach with one hand, while rubbing his eyes with the other. ‘What is it?’ he asked sleepily.
‘Come down here,’ Gwyn whispered. ‘Come closer.’
Alun trudged reluctantly down the stairs and approached Gwyn. ‘Go on, then,’ he said.
Gwyn took a breath. He tried to choose the right words, so that Alun would believe what he said. ‘I’ve been on the mountain. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a look at the sea . . .’
‘In the dark?’ Alun was impressed. ‘You’re brave. I couldn’t do that.’
‘There was a moon. It was quite bright really,’ Gwyn paused. ‘Anyway, while I was there I . . . I . . .’
‘Go on!’ Alun yawned and clutched his stomach, thinking of warm porridge.
‘Well – you’ve got to believe me.’ Gwyn hesitated dramatically, ‘I saw a spaceship!’ He waited for a response, but none came.
‘What?’ Alun said at last.
‘I saw a ship – fall out of space – it came right over the sea – it was silver and had a sort of sail – and it was cold, ever so cold, I couldn’t breathe with the cold of it. I had to lie all curled up, it hurt so much. And when I got up – it had gone!’
Alun remained silent; he stared at his bare toes and scratched his head.
‘Do you believe me? Tell me?’ Gwyn demanded.
There was no reply.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Gwyn cried. ‘Why? Why? Why?’
‘Sssssh! They’ll hear!’ Alun said.
‘So what?’
‘They think you’re a loony already.’
‘Do you? D’you think I’m a loony?’ Gwyn asked fiercely. ‘I did see a ship. Why don’t you believe me?’
‘I dunno. It sounds impossible – a sail an’ all. Sounds silly. Spaceships aren’t like that.’
Gwyn felt defeated. Somehow he had used the wrong words. He would never make Alun believe, not like this, standing in a cold passage before breakfast. ‘Well, don’t believe me then,’ he said, ‘but don’t tell either, will you? Don’t tell anyone else.’
‘OK! OK!’ said Alun. ‘You’d better go. Your mam’ll be worried!’
‘I’ll go!’ Gwyn opened the door and stepped down into the porch, but before Alun could shut him out, he said again, ‘You won’t tell what I said, will you? It’s important!’
Alun was so relieved at having rid himself of Gwyn’s disturbing presence, he did not notice the urgency in his friend’s voice. ‘OK!’ he said. ‘I’ve got to shut the door now, I’m freezing!’
He was to remember Gwyn’s words – too late!
Alun did tell. He did not mean to hurt or ridicule Gwyn, and he only told one person. But that was enough.
The one person Alun told was Gary Pritchard. Gary Pritchard told his gang: Merfyn Jones, Dewi Davis and Brian Roberts. Dewi Davis was the biggest tease in the school and within two days everyone in Pendewi Primary had heard about Gwyn Griffiths and his spaceship.
Little whispering groups were formed in the playground. There were murmurings in the canteen and children watched while Gwyn ate in silence, staring steadily at his plate of chips so that he should not meet their eyes. Girls giggled in the cloakroom and even five-year-olds nudged each other when he passed.
And Gwyn made it easy for them all. He never denied that he had seen a silver ship, nor did he try to explain or defend his story. He withdrew. He went to school, did his work, sat alone in the playground and spoke to no one. He came home, fed the hens and ate his tea. He tried to respond to his mother’s probing chatter without giving too much away for he felt he had to protect her. He did not want her to know that his friends thought him mad. Mrs Griffiths sensed that something was wrong and was hurt and offended that her son could not confide in her; he had never shut her out before.
And then, one evening, Alun called. He had tried, in vain, to talk to Gwyn during their walks home from the bus, but since the gossiping began Gwyn had taken pains to avoid his old friend. He had run all the way home, passing the Lloyds on the lane, so that he should not hear them if they laughed.
Mrs Griffiths was pleased to see Alun. Perhaps he knew something. She drew him into the kitchen saying, ‘Look who’s here! We haven’t seen you for a bit, Alun. Take your coat off!’
‘No!’ Gwyn leapt up and pushed Alun back into the passage, slamming the kitchen door behind him. ‘What d’you want?’ he asked suspiciously.
‘Just a chat,’ said Alun nervously.
‘What’s there to chat about?’
‘About the things you said: about the spaceship, an’ that,’ Alun replied, fingering the buttons on his anorak.
‘You don’t believe, and you told,’ Gwyn said coldly.
‘I know, I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk about it.’ Alun sounded desperate.
‘You want to spread more funny stories, I s’pose?’
‘No . . . no,’ Alun said. ‘I just wanted to . . .’
‘You can shove off,’ said Gwyn: he opened the front door and pushed Alun out on to the porch. He caught a glimpse of Alun’s white face under the porch lantern, and shut the door. ‘I’m busy,’ he called through the door, ‘so don’t bother me again.’
And he was busy, he and Arianwen. Every night she spun a web in the corner of Gwyn’s attic bedroom, between the end of the sloping ceiling and the cupboard, and there would always be something there, in the web. A tiny, faraway landscape, white and shining, strange trees with icy leaves, a lake – or was it a sea? – with ice-floes bobbing on the water and a silver ship with sails like cobwebs, gliding over the surface.
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