guns. She smiled.
“I told him that was what you needed,” Ivy said, collecting wrappers. “I hope you like it.”
Polly smiled until her face ached and slowly unwrapped the last parcel. She was lucky to get anything from Dad. Aunty Maud had told her so. She did not want to be ungrateful.
A shower of paperback books fell out of the parcel. With them was a badly typed note:
You’ve probabably read all these already. If you have, throw them away. They were the things they told me in the book shop that nobody should grow up without reading. Merry Christmas.
T. G. L.
They were from Mr Lynn. The smile on Polly’s face became real. She sorted through the books. The only one she had even heard of was The Wizard of Oz . There were eleven others. Polly hovered a moment between Five Children and It and one most enticingly called The Treasure Seekers, and then picked up at random The Wolves of Willoughby Chase . She began to read it. She read for the rest of Christmas, mostly kneeling on the floor with her hair dangling round the book like a curtain, but sometimes, when a cousin crawled up and tried to grab the book, she took it away behind the sofa and crouched there in the shadows. She never heard the television. She only vaguely heard Ivy saying, “It’s no good speaking to Polly when she’s reading, Maud. She’s deaf and blind. Reg used to stop her. You let her be.”
Polly read greedily, picking up another book as soon as she had finished the first one. She felt like a drug addict. She had read The Box of Delights and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe too before she went home, and was beginning The Sword in the Stone . She read the rest in the week before school. Then she surfaced, with a flushed face and a deep sigh. The feast was over.
“And I only sent him a Christmas card!” she wailed.
That was easily remedied. She had a whole letter waiting, forgotten, in her folder of paintings. But the letter, when Polly looked at it, seemed very thin and out of date. The twelve books she had read since made her realise how little she had really said in it. There was a lot more she wanted to say anyway. So she crouched on the floor with her hair dangling again and wrote three more whole pages, like a girl inspired. She told Mr Lynn about the divorce – he had been divorced from Laurel, so she knew he would understand – and Nina and King Herod. Then she told him about her disappointment over the dolls’ house and how the books had made up for it. She explained the best bits in all the books, and ordered him to read The Hundred and One Dalmations at once.
My v favrit thouhg is Henrietta’s House,
she went on, forgetting the little she knew of spelling in her enthusiasm.
The peple in it do lik hero bisnis only they invent a hous and in the end it is reely trew. They hav aventeres in caves, Tan Coul must do that it is esitin. I red til my eys look lik Ninas all fat and pink. And thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.
Lov Polly.
The letter was now vast. Polly had to steal one of Mum’s big envelopes for it, because there seemed no way she could fold it to fit into one of her own. She posted the huge letter quite boldly, the next time she went for fish and chips. By this time she was sure that Seb had been fooled when she pretended to promise not to see Mr Lynn. She did not think he would bother her again. And she was right in a way. It was a long time before she saw Seb or Mr Leroy again.
When school started, Polly began training seriously to be a hero.
It was not easy, and it caused a number of upheavals. The first was with Nina. Nina might have been good at ranting and pretending, but she was not athletic. She ran out of puff after once round the playground. When she found Polly had joined the Athletics Club, she was horrified. “What do you want to do that for?” she said.
Polly had not been so pleased with Nina since the Christmas play. “To train my muscles,” she said coldly.
“Then stop,” said Nina,
“I told him that was what you needed,” Ivy said, collecting wrappers. “I hope you like it.”
Polly smiled until her face ached and slowly unwrapped the last parcel. She was lucky to get anything from Dad. Aunty Maud had told her so. She did not want to be ungrateful.
A shower of paperback books fell out of the parcel. With them was a badly typed note:
You’ve probabably read all these already. If you have, throw them away. They were the things they told me in the book shop that nobody should grow up without reading. Merry Christmas.
T. G. L.
They were from Mr Lynn. The smile on Polly’s face became real. She sorted through the books. The only one she had even heard of was The Wizard of Oz . There were eleven others. Polly hovered a moment between Five Children and It and one most enticingly called The Treasure Seekers, and then picked up at random The Wolves of Willoughby Chase . She began to read it. She read for the rest of Christmas, mostly kneeling on the floor with her hair dangling round the book like a curtain, but sometimes, when a cousin crawled up and tried to grab the book, she took it away behind the sofa and crouched there in the shadows. She never heard the television. She only vaguely heard Ivy saying, “It’s no good speaking to Polly when she’s reading, Maud. She’s deaf and blind. Reg used to stop her. You let her be.”
Polly read greedily, picking up another book as soon as she had finished the first one. She felt like a drug addict. She had read The Box of Delights and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe too before she went home, and was beginning The Sword in the Stone . She read the rest in the week before school. Then she surfaced, with a flushed face and a deep sigh. The feast was over.
“And I only sent him a Christmas card!” she wailed.
That was easily remedied. She had a whole letter waiting, forgotten, in her folder of paintings. But the letter, when Polly looked at it, seemed very thin and out of date. The twelve books she had read since made her realise how little she had really said in it. There was a lot more she wanted to say anyway. So she crouched on the floor with her hair dangling again and wrote three more whole pages, like a girl inspired. She told Mr Lynn about the divorce – he had been divorced from Laurel, so she knew he would understand – and Nina and King Herod. Then she told him about her disappointment over the dolls’ house and how the books had made up for it. She explained the best bits in all the books, and ordered him to read The Hundred and One Dalmations at once.
My v favrit thouhg is Henrietta’s House,
she went on, forgetting the little she knew of spelling in her enthusiasm.
The peple in it do lik hero bisnis only they invent a hous and in the end it is reely trew. They hav aventeres in caves, Tan Coul must do that it is esitin. I red til my eys look lik Ninas all fat and pink. And thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.
Lov Polly.
The letter was now vast. Polly had to steal one of Mum’s big envelopes for it, because there seemed no way she could fold it to fit into one of her own. She posted the huge letter quite boldly, the next time she went for fish and chips. By this time she was sure that Seb had been fooled when she pretended to promise not to see Mr Lynn. She did not think he would bother her again. And she was right in a way. It was a long time before she saw Seb or Mr Leroy again.
When school started, Polly began training seriously to be a hero.
It was not easy, and it caused a number of upheavals. The first was with Nina. Nina might have been good at ranting and pretending, but she was not athletic. She ran out of puff after once round the playground. When she found Polly had joined the Athletics Club, she was horrified. “What do you want to do that for?” she said.
Polly had not been so pleased with Nina since the Christmas play. “To train my muscles,” she said coldly.
“Then stop,” said Nina,
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