Page 26 of Dreams Come True at the Fairytale Museum

When I get back upstairs, Warren’s lying down, leaning on his elbows and using the Tablet of Gloom, but he puts it down when I settle beside him.

‘Anything unusual going on down there?’

‘Not a thing. All present and correct,’ I trill so chirpily that he’s bound to know I’ve been up to something, if the overly long bathroom visit didn’t clue him in, or my heart pounding so hard that he can surely see it hammering in and out of my chest.

He’s got the sleeping bag over him and has left one half free for me, so I step across him and lie down on my front again, sticking on his right side where he clearly wanted me to stay, and wriggle around to get comfortable, glad of his thinking to pad the hard floor with dustsheets.

‘So…’ He stretches both arms out in front of him, lays his head down on them and turns towards me.

‘So…’ I furtively pat my forehead in case he can see the nervous sweat beading there. I have no idea what the girls are going to do with the Magic Carpet and Pascal, but I’m looking forward to finding out while also dreading how I’m going to fake it when he finds out.

He makes no move to pick up his tablet again, and I get a little thrill that he wants to talk and maybe he enjoyed the little connection we shared just now.

‘So you’re in the “lost a parent at an early age” club too?’

I don’t mean to laugh, but his way of phrasing it makes a snort escape. ‘The one club that no child should ever have to join.’

‘Exactly. The club membership that separates you from your peers and makes you stand out in all the wrong ways.’ He looks away and casts his eyes over the lobby below before looking back at me. ‘Go on, I’ve told you my tale of woe, it’s only right that I get to hear yours…’

I don’t talk about it very often because it was so long ago, and with Dad gone now too, it’s not easy to re-open old wounds and dwell on the past, but there’s something about knowing Warren will understand – really, truly understand in a way that no one possibly can unless they’ve been through something similar – that makes me want to talk about it.

‘I was twelve when Mum died. It was sudden, unexpected, and for us, it was like the ground fell out of the world and we were all falling down a long, black hole of loss. Dad didn’t cope with his own grief, never mind with helping me and my sisters navigate ours.

Childhood ended in an instant. I became the one trying to look after my sisters and my dad.

I had no one to turn to because the others all turned to me and Dad relied on me.

Life was difficult, and these days, it’s easier to block that out and not think about it because of how tough it was, but somehow all five of us made it to adulthood almost unscathed. ’

‘Apart from a bit of boyfriend trouble.’ He nods towards my phone, which has suspiciously stopped buzzing now the exhibits have been smuggled out.

‘Ah, ha ha, yes, right.’ My unhinged laugh is back. There is no way he hasn’t worked this out by now. I knew I was the world’s worst liar, but I hadn’t realised I was quite this bad at it.

‘You have four younger sisters?’ he asks, but before I can answer, he adds, ‘I’m sorry I haven’t asked about this before, but I try not to get personal when it comes to work.’

I tilt my head to the side, unintentionally mirroring the way he does because he’s impossible to work out sometimes, and I feel like I’m constantly one step behind when it comes to getting a handle on who he is as a person.

This seems like yet another chink out of his professional front, a crevice showing a glimpse of the man underneath. ‘What’s different tonight?’

‘We’re sharing a sleeping bag, eating the worst crisps in existence, and hoping to catch either a ghost or anthropomorphic museum exhibits in the act of leaving under their own power. We passed getting personal long ago.’

It makes me laugh and I take another vile crisp to disguise how much I appreciate his directness.

‘I’m the oldest of five girls,’ I say eventually.

‘So when I accidentally stepped into the role our mum left behind… no one noticed. I was old enough to cook and feed myself and the others. I was old enough to go to the shops and buy food when Dad couldn’t get out of bed.

I didn’t need help getting dressed and tying shoelaces, I didn’t need to be herded into the car for school runs, and I ended up being…

overlooked. No one ever realised that I had taken on the role of parent.

My youngest sister doesn’t remember Mum at all, she just remembers me doing all the parental things that Dad struggled to do.

Everyone worried for the younger ones, but I was old enough to cope, and no one ever seemed to worry about whether I was coping or not.

No one ever saw how much I was doing.’ I stop myself abruptly when I realise how much has just spilled out.

All of us Carisbrooke girls tend to brush our younger years under the carpet and only reminisce when we all get together and have too much wine at Christmas, and I had no intention of sharing something so personal with Warren, but there is something about talking to someone else who’s a member of the club that no one wants to be part of, a feeling that he’d understand even though he doesn’t have siblings himself.

He sucks in a breath and nods slowly, understanding written on his face. ‘So you grew up feeling invisible and you still do?’

I intend to snap something at him for calling me a psychologist earlier, but it cuts right through my bristling and leaves me speechless for a moment.

No one has ever put it into such simple terms before, and yet I feel those words inside my heart.

I did grow up feeling like I was working hard in the background, and no one ever acknowledged that, and that’s followed me into adult life.

I stay in the background, making sure I don’t tread on anyone’s toes, because I’m so used to feeling invisible that now I don’t know what I’d do if anyone did notice me.

‘I get it.’ He’s turned onto his side and is propped up on one elbow facing me, leaning his head in his hand.

‘I really related when you said that. Sometimes, I feel like I’m invisible too.

I think most people have that existential crisis at some point.

Why do we keep going, keep trying so hard, working so hard, if it never makes any impression on anyone else’s life?

Sometimes I feel like no one would notice if I didn’t show up for work tomorrow. ’

I blink in surprise. It feels like not just a chink in his professional armour, but like a huge chunk has just fallen out of it.

‘How could you ever be invisible?’ I’m shaking my head in disbelief and not concentrating on what I’m saying. ‘You’re tall, gorgeous, well-dressed, funny, clever, obviously good at your job…’

‘Gorgeous?’ Both of his eyebrows shoot up so fast that they almost merge with his hairline.

Oh, heck, did I say that out loud? I cringe at myself. ‘I didn’t mean gorgeous. I meant… um… I must’ve got my G words muddled up. I meant gruesome, that’s it!’

He laughs so hard that the elbow he’s leaning on gives way and he rolls over onto his back and meets my eyes upside down.

‘None of that’s me. Well, the height, I guess, I can’t do much to change that, but I’m just…

’ He looks away, his eyes swivelling towards the ceiling as he rolls his head back and forth, like he doesn’t know what to say.

‘Half the time, I feel like I’m still just a kid who made a promise to his dying father to be strong and look after his mum, and I spend my life living in fear that someone will realise I’m not a forty-one-year-old businessman at all, but still a child trying to find his way in the world and keep everyone happy. ’

Now, that I understand. ‘When you lose a part of your childhood, there’s a part of you that’s always searching for a way to get it back.’

‘What do you do if you reach forty-one and you still haven’t found it?’

‘It’s never too late.’ I chew on my lip as I say it because I’m still expecting him to ridicule me or make fun in some way.

‘Is that why you’re so dedicated to childhood magic?’

‘I guess so. I think every child deserves to feel wonder and to believe in magic. I was lucky because I was old enough to spend my younger years with my mum. I have those memories that my sisters missed out on. I remember the fairytales she read to me, the dandelion clocks she made wishes on, the toadstools she claimed were fairies’ houses, the way she dragged me outside to look for Santa’s sleigh every Christmas Eve, even when I was far, far past the age of believing in Santa.

I didn’t realise how special those moments were at the time.

And if I can do something that helps adults feel like that again too, then that’s my goal.

I wanted this place to be great for kids, yes, but I also wanted adults to come in and be able to momentarily forget that they are adults.

I lost that, and I’ve been trying to find it again, and granting wishes, trying to make children’s lives better than mine was, is as close as I’ve come so far. ’

‘That is…’ He pushes himself back up onto his elbow so he’s facing me. ‘…probably the nicest concept I’ve ever heard. You have no idea how many times in my adult life that I’ve wished I wasn’t an adult and wanted a better adult to come along and tell me what to do.’

‘Same.’ I smile at him and the grin he gives me in return causes lines to crinkle around his eyes and makes him look completely unguarded for once.

After a moment, he schools his smile and looks me in the eyes again. ‘And you’re the brightest person I’ve ever met. No one could ever not see you.’

‘That’s just—’