gown, clutching her walking stick like it was a weapon.
‘FLORA’S HERE!’ Jas’s bedroom door burst open.
In the dark behind, Twig groaned from under a heap of blankets. Outside, Flora and her friends were singing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ to keep warm. Pumpkin started to cry. In the bed next to his cot, Pixie started crooning. Gloria followed Zoran out on to the landing wearing her jodhpurs and muckingout sweater.
‘Might as well get up,’ she yawned.
There were four drama students singing on the step when I opened the door – Flora, a massive bearded boy called Peter who looks like a bear, another boy called Barney with wild curly blond hair, and a beautiful girl with copper hair down to her waist and an old-fashioned velvet dress who said we should call her Maud, even though it’s not her real name.
‘Because of Maud Gonne,’ Peter-the-bear explained. ‘She was an Irish actress married to the poet W.B. Yeats. We all had to pick someone we admired at the beginning of term and think about how we would act them. She’s been pretending to be Maud since September.’
‘I love her,’ Maud said simply.
‘And I’m starving!’ Flora cried. ‘Is there any breakfast?’
They ate, and ate, and ate. They finished allthe eggs and all the bacon and all the bread. They used all the milk in big frothy cups of coffee and they devastated the fruit bowl and then, when they couldn’t eat any more, Flora announced they had to sleep because they had been driving all night and were fit to drop.
‘What are we going to eat?’ Twig peered crossly at the empty fridge.
‘We’ll go to the shops after we’ve slept,’ Flora promised.
‘But I’m hungry now.’
Zoran asked how long was Flora planning on staying and where was she intending to sleep? Flora said she hadn’t thought of that, she’d just come for a bit of a holiday and didn’t we all think it was a lovely surprise?
‘Are you on half-term?’ Jas asked. ‘We’re staying until Sunday.’
She drooped a bit when she said that, I think because she remembered that Sunday is Halloween.
‘We might be sort of just a tiny bit bunking off,’ Flora admitted. She put her arms round Grandma. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad?’
Grandma, who adores Flora and intrigue and anything rebellious, said of course she wouldn’t. Zoran gazed at her like he was saying please tell yourgrand-daughter this just isn’t possible. Grandma, who was listening to Maud recite the poetry of W.B. Yeats, said nonsense, of course they could stay.
‘Flora and Maud and Jas can move in with Blue,’ Grandma said. ‘And the boys can share with Twig. There’s plenty of bedding.’
‘But the cooking …’
‘I’ll help,’ Barney said. ‘I like cooking.’
And so they stayed, and took over the house. They slept all morning after breakfast, so Jas and Twig and I had to tiptoe in and out of our rooms to get dressed, and they never did make it to the shops. Instead when they woke up, they went to the pub, and they came back singing at five o’clock when it was getting dark, long after Zoran, Twig and I had been shopping and peeled a mountain of potatoes and chopped a tonne of onions and carrots and celery.
Barney didn’t help to cook at all. Instead he sat in the bath for hours, using up all the hot water and playing his violin. Peter, who has the most delicate hands for a person so big, left a trail of wood shavings all over the kitchen, carving a horse for Jas out of a piece of wood he picked up on the way home from the pub, and Maud spooked the real horses by practising the trumpet out by the paddock.
And nobody minded. How could we? After dinner, while the rest of us washed up, Zoran played the piano while Barney played the fiddle. And after the washing up, Maud said we had to dance. ‘Outside!’ she insisted. ‘By the light of the moon!’
We’ve danced outside at Horsehill, but never in winter, with the air so cold it burns your lungs and face and hands. And we’ve
‘FLORA’S HERE!’ Jas’s bedroom door burst open.
In the dark behind, Twig groaned from under a heap of blankets. Outside, Flora and her friends were singing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ to keep warm. Pumpkin started to cry. In the bed next to his cot, Pixie started crooning. Gloria followed Zoran out on to the landing wearing her jodhpurs and muckingout sweater.
‘Might as well get up,’ she yawned.
There were four drama students singing on the step when I opened the door – Flora, a massive bearded boy called Peter who looks like a bear, another boy called Barney with wild curly blond hair, and a beautiful girl with copper hair down to her waist and an old-fashioned velvet dress who said we should call her Maud, even though it’s not her real name.
‘Because of Maud Gonne,’ Peter-the-bear explained. ‘She was an Irish actress married to the poet W.B. Yeats. We all had to pick someone we admired at the beginning of term and think about how we would act them. She’s been pretending to be Maud since September.’
‘I love her,’ Maud said simply.
‘And I’m starving!’ Flora cried. ‘Is there any breakfast?’
They ate, and ate, and ate. They finished allthe eggs and all the bacon and all the bread. They used all the milk in big frothy cups of coffee and they devastated the fruit bowl and then, when they couldn’t eat any more, Flora announced they had to sleep because they had been driving all night and were fit to drop.
‘What are we going to eat?’ Twig peered crossly at the empty fridge.
‘We’ll go to the shops after we’ve slept,’ Flora promised.
‘But I’m hungry now.’
Zoran asked how long was Flora planning on staying and where was she intending to sleep? Flora said she hadn’t thought of that, she’d just come for a bit of a holiday and didn’t we all think it was a lovely surprise?
‘Are you on half-term?’ Jas asked. ‘We’re staying until Sunday.’
She drooped a bit when she said that, I think because she remembered that Sunday is Halloween.
‘We might be sort of just a tiny bit bunking off,’ Flora admitted. She put her arms round Grandma. ‘Don’t tell Mum and Dad?’
Grandma, who adores Flora and intrigue and anything rebellious, said of course she wouldn’t. Zoran gazed at her like he was saying please tell yourgrand-daughter this just isn’t possible. Grandma, who was listening to Maud recite the poetry of W.B. Yeats, said nonsense, of course they could stay.
‘Flora and Maud and Jas can move in with Blue,’ Grandma said. ‘And the boys can share with Twig. There’s plenty of bedding.’
‘But the cooking …’
‘I’ll help,’ Barney said. ‘I like cooking.’
And so they stayed, and took over the house. They slept all morning after breakfast, so Jas and Twig and I had to tiptoe in and out of our rooms to get dressed, and they never did make it to the shops. Instead when they woke up, they went to the pub, and they came back singing at five o’clock when it was getting dark, long after Zoran, Twig and I had been shopping and peeled a mountain of potatoes and chopped a tonne of onions and carrots and celery.
Barney didn’t help to cook at all. Instead he sat in the bath for hours, using up all the hot water and playing his violin. Peter, who has the most delicate hands for a person so big, left a trail of wood shavings all over the kitchen, carving a horse for Jas out of a piece of wood he picked up on the way home from the pub, and Maud spooked the real horses by practising the trumpet out by the paddock.
And nobody minded. How could we? After dinner, while the rest of us washed up, Zoran played the piano while Barney played the fiddle. And after the washing up, Maud said we had to dance. ‘Outside!’ she insisted. ‘By the light of the moon!’
We’ve danced outside at Horsehill, but never in winter, with the air so cold it burns your lungs and face and hands. And we’ve
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