The Imaginary by A. F. Harrold Page A

Really?’
    â€˜Yes. You get tired. I’m wispy round the edges already. I’m thin, you see.’
    â€˜I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re always asleep.’
    â€˜I told you, tired.’
    â€˜But how will you pick one of these…’ Rudger gestured at the pictures ‘…if you’re asleep?’
    The dog laughed, a woofish warm chuckle, and nodded his head.
    â€˜I’ll know,’ he said. ‘I’ll know when it’s there.’
    He yawned tremendously and walked in a circle several times before lying down.
    â€˜Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said. ‘You’re a good boy, Rudger. I like you.’
    And then the dog was asleep again, snuffling snores from under its glistening black nose.
    Rudger turned back to the notice board.
    As he looked the photographs shifted about in front of one another. They didn’t stay still. One would push its way forward, come into better focus, as if it really wanted to be picked, then it would drift back, be replaced by a different photo. It was like watching faces floating on the surface of a sea.
    But to Rudger’s eyes the children all looked the same: not Amanda.
    None of them looked like the next step in his plan.
    This was hopeless.
    He reached up to grab the nearest picture, to just plump for one of them, any one, when something suddenly, finally, caught his eye.
    That girl. That one there. Didn’t he know her from somewhere?

That morning Julia Radiche opened her wardrobe door and stared.
    â€˜Who are you and what are you doing in my wardrobe?’ she said quite calmly, but pulling her dressing gown tight over her pyjamas.
    The girl she was looking at, who was about her own height but who had long red hair, curling in ringlets with a bow at the top and freckles on her cheeks, held out her hand and said, ‘Hi, I’m Rudger.’
    Julia looked at her and snorted.
    â€˜Roger?’ she said. ‘I don’t think so. You look like a Veronica to me.’
    â€˜Veronica?’
    The girl in the wardrobe shook her head and sort of half-smiled, as if Julia were making a joke, even though Julia didn’t think she’d made a joke.

    â€˜ No, I’m Rudger,’ the girl repeated. ‘I’m Amanda’s friend.’
    â€˜Amanda’s friend?’ Julia asked, mulling the words over. ‘Amanda?’
    â€˜Yes, your friend Amanda.’
    Julia stared into the distance for a moment before saying, ‘Shuffleup?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Dizzy Shuffleup?’
    â€˜No, Amanda Shuffleup.’
    â€˜You’re her friend?’
    â€˜Yes, but I have met you before. She brought me to school once.’
    Julia bit her lip and tilted her head on one side, just the way Amanda did when she was thinking about something. But when Julia did it, it didn’t have the same charm. It looked as though she’d practised it in front of a mirror because she thought that was how people looked when they were thinking and she didn’t want to be left out.
    â€˜Amanda had an imaginary friend called Roger ,’ she said eventually. ‘She talked about him a few times. But I never—’ She stopped and corrected herself. ‘Oh, hang on. You’re right. She did pretend he was there once. Made us all shake hands with him. It was dead funny, we had to try not to laugh. She’s weird, that one. Everyone says so.’
    The girl in the wardrobe shook her hair out and stomped her foot angrily.
    â€˜She’s not weird ,’ she snapped. ‘Amanda’s brilliant, and it’s Rudger , not Roger . And, I’ll have you know, you jabbed me in the tummy when you tried to shake my hand.’
    â€˜ No, that can’t be right,’ Julia said. ‘This Roger of hers was a boy.’
    â€˜I am a boy!’
    Julia coughed the sort of cough you cough when someone’s made a silly mistake that it would be rude to point out. She looked the