Page 12

‘You, kid, are a bloody wind-up merchant.’ A mask covered in glossy black paint spoke to Susie as she was unstacking chairs in the barn. Dance music was warming up the speakers around her. An hour to go before the night kicked off properly, but the buzz was already palpable.

‘Huh?’

Abel lifted the mask to the top of his head. It was a half-mask with a long beak-like nose. Clearly Gary had been getting the Scouts to study Venetian tradition. ‘Where’s your costume then? If I’m wearing this musty thing all night, you’ve got to put in some effort.’

Susie turned fully on the spot. ‘Uh, excuse me? I’ve put hours of work into this.’

Abel looked her up and down quickly, disbelief still making his eyes wide. ‘Into what?!’

She sighed. ‘I’m a sixties pixie. Get it?

Micro mini, flower power, pointy ears, even a pixie cut , although this thing is getting itchy already.

’ In turn, she pointed to her miniskirt in a psychedelic print, the Day-Glo flowers Stevie had painted on her cheeks, pointy pixie ears, and a cropped blonde wig she’d found in the shop.

‘It’s vintage fashion, dahling, look it up.

Besides, Margie has a prize for originality, so any old goblin won’t cut it.

What are you then?’ She scrutinised his black T-shirt and jeans.

‘I am wearing the only clean T-shirt my gran had for me and one of the Scouts’ masks like you said. So let’s say I’m a mask thingy, yeah?’

‘No medal for you then, Miagi.’

‘Only for the biggest chump, maybe. Getting roped in to work for free all week. I’ve just seen Gran lift a whole bench by herself and carry it out to the green. She certainly chooses her moments to be frail and helpless.’

Susie smiled. ‘One of those things that comes and goes.’

He pulled his mask back down and took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘Is Temperance coming tonight?’

‘Of course. But you must have seen her just now, on the green?’

‘No.’

Susie rolled her eyes. ‘Bloody men. She’s literally impossible to miss. She’s finishing up the fairy picnic so the little ones can be put to bed before the real fun starts.’

The mask looked down at Abel’s trainers. ‘Right. Well, I’ll give you a hand, shall I?’

A light came on behind Susie’s eyes. ‘No, Stevie’s coming over in a minute to help me. But the sooner Temps gets those kids back off to bed the better. I’m sure she’d appreciate you chipping in.’

‘Ah. Well . . .’ His head turned around the space, looking but not finding any other kind of necessary job. ‘I’ll do that then.’

Abel walked back through the cavernous little rooms of the pub, ducking his down under the low timber doorways, just as he’d had to ever since he hit a growth spurt at fourteen, and leaving his mask on the bar.

He could navigate this place with his eyes closed, even after all this time.

The smells, the textures, the hum of the fridges and air vents: it was all so familiar.

He and his mum had had a tiny flat above the bakery when they still lived in East Prawle.

Waking up to the smell of doughnuts frying was no bad thing, but the pub always felt like his true home.

Abel felt like he’d left a part of himself in the village when he went that night, at eighteen, and if you could sweep a soul detector over East Prawle to find where the missing fragment of Abel Gulliver lay, it would probably give a tinny ping somewhere behind the bar, maybe next to the glass dish of lemon slices.

But life wasn’t as simple as staying in your hometown all your life, he reminded himself, stepping onto the wide stone porchway.

Thousands of feet over hundreds of years had worn a dip in the flagstones: visitors had a great time at The Witch’s Nose and then they moved on.

Maybe ten minutes down the road, maybe a hundred miles. You couldn’t always stay in one place.

Even if you wanted to.

Some cheery accordion music wheezed its way over the grass as he took in the busy scene, still as bright and buzzing at 6.

30pm as it had been earlier this afternoon when Abel had carried trays of drinks out to the benches and seen snippets of the toadstool hunt, games of fairy Simon Says and What’s the Time Mr Werewolf?

But Abel couldn’t see Temperance anywhere, just a few sets of parents lounging on the grass as their children played with one of those party princesses.

Just then, the princess broke the ring-a-roses circle to tuck her hair behind her ears, and in that gesture he suddenly saw her.

She used to tuck her hair behind her ear like that before a recorder recital, or when they were tackling maths homework together in the pub, or nervously awaiting her GCSE results.

Swallowed up by that massive dress almost, a far cry from the denim shorts and T-shirts she used to wear when they were kids.

And her hair was . . . fancy, in massive tumbling curls and something in it making it sparkle.

It was no wonder the little kids looking up at her were totally smitten, gooey with admiration for what seemed like a real-life fairy princess in their midst.

Abel wandered over the road to the green, hands in pockets. He got close enough to hear what Temperance was saying but not close enough to interrupt.

‘Okidokey, we’ve done the summoning dance to send the fairies to bed.

They’re all tucked up in their walnut shells with their little moss blankets.

Lovely. Now, very soon it will be ice pop time – but only for every child who can put their chip wrappers in the bin.

And whoever is first back can choose their favouritest colour! Go go go!’

There was an instant rush and Abel stood back to let the stampede pass, catching Temperance’s eye as he did so. She gave an awkward wave. He waved back and moved closer, even though his head told him not to.

‘Anything I can help you—’ But before he could finish the question, he was verbally rugby-tackled by twenty or so small kids.

‘Who are YOU?’

‘What is that costume?’

‘Are you her DAD?’

Abel let out a throaty laugh. ‘I’m not her dad! I’m her friend.’ The word felt odd to say, somehow, and it didn’t seem to satisfy the four-foot crowd.

Temperance’s eyes met his for just a second, before she busied herself packing away balls and skittles.

‘Like a fairy friend?’ asked one little girl at the back, her eyes blazing with belief.

He winced just slightly. ‘Yes?’

A boy at the front poked Abel’s knee. ‘You look like a bad fairy. You have NO sparkles. Bad fairy.’

A tense hush fell over the group. Temperance raised her eyebrows and swished her skirt side to side. It was a crunchy, almost hypnotic sound that filled his head and it didn’t exactly help Abel to think of what to say next.

The girl with the wings started to blink rapidly and her bottom lip turned over.

‘But uh, um . . . I used to be bad and then, then,’ he looked to Temperance, hoping he could somehow communicate ‘SOS’ in her direction.

‘Then . . . he was lucky enough to find a magical fairy ring of fairy apprentices on this special fairy day. And they told him if he promised to stop being bad,’ Temperance put one hand to her hip and waved her wand in front of his face, ‘to stop being so grumpy and monosyllabic, to remember the good fairy he once was, then they could cure him with an enchanted ice pop . . .’

Abel’s shoulders relaxed.

‘. . . after we perform the sacred fairy dance one more time.’

He groaned.

‘Let’s hold hands.’ Temperance ushered the kids into a circle.

Without really looking or thinking, Abel lifted his hand at his side out to her.

Temperance stared at his palm, before grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him into the middle of the ring.

He could feel how tightly her finger tips dug into his shoulder blades for just a second. ‘You stand there, Bad Fairy.’

The children giggled and trapped Abel in their ring-o-roses.

‘And now we chant: You’re a good fairy, you’re a good fairy, you’re a good fairy! ’ Her minions quickly joined in, voices sweet but commanding.

‘And now you say,’ she locked her eyes onto his with intensity, her forehead furrowed. It was clear that complying was his only option. ‘I’m a good fairy, I’m a . . .?’

‘Good fairy,’ Abel breathed.

‘Bit louder.’ Her voice was firm, but with a lilt of teasing to it.

‘Good fairy.’ He wanted the paper-maché toad stool ring to spontaneously burst into flame and take him down with it.

‘Can’t quite hear you.’

‘ I’m a good fairy! ’ Some of the parents looked over, one barely hiding their laughter behind a newspaper.

Temperance clapped, bouncing on the spot.

Abel found himself watching the way it made the thick curls in her hair bounce too.

‘That should do it. An ice pop is the final magical ingredient and then he’s cured.

Hooray!’ The mini fairies all cheered. ‘Now . . . hang on, I’ve left the cold box in my .

. . er, fairy freezer.’ She squinted for a minute.

‘You all line up behind Bad—Good Fairy, wait here and I’ll be back in a jiff. A magical jiff.’

A scrambled queue came together in no time and Temperance was heading off to the porch before Abel could say anything to stop her. Ten pairs of beady eyes turned on him.