My name is Pedrock Frogwish and I am ten years old. I am with my little sister Boo Boo, who is six, and we are sitting in a train carriage accompanied by the Reverend Plum, who sits by the window absorbed in a novel entitled A Dangerous Romance on the Moors. He licks his long agile fingers as he turns the pages; the wet sound has become increasingly annoying since we left King’s Cross Station. He is accompanying us to our Uncle’s house in the village of Darkwound, on the outskirts of London, for Boo Boo and I are orphans. We are essentially unwanted. We have been staying for the last two years in the convent of Saint Thomas near Charing Cross, full of kind, well-meaning nuns. Reverend Plum has made it his mission to find our relatives who now, I suppose, have reluctantly agreed to house us.
I know Boo Boo will miss Sister Martha, who was her favourite nun. Sister Martha had a fascination with dinosaurs and would draw the beasts, scissor-toothed and fat-tailed on the blackboard, and the words EAT OR BE EATEN. Words which were scrubbed off by Sister Harriet, who said that there were no such things as dinosaurs and God certainly wouldn’t have created such monstrosities. I smile at my sister, who is squeezing her frog puppet toy lovingly around the neck.
She shouts at me: “EAT OR BE EATEN! EAT OR BE EATEN! EAT OR BE EATEN!”
The Reverend Plum looks up from his well-thumbed novel. “Boo Boo, please be quiet.”
Boo Boo and the frog puppet stare defiantly back while the Reverend returns to A Dangerous Romance on the Moors.
“Is it an absorbing read?” I ask.
Reverend Plum, annoyed, glances up from his forbidden treat. “Yes, it’s an enjoyable distraction.”
“What’s the story about?”
He looks uncomfortable. “Well. It’s a love story.”
“Between who?”
“Between a priest and a,” (he pauses) “farm girl. It’s actually more of a warm friendship.”
“Warm friendship?”
Boo Boo interrupts his answer “I AM A DINOSAUR! I AM A DINOSAUR AND I AM GOING TO EAT YOU!”
The agitated Reverend Plum, desperate to get back his book, raises his hands in the air. “Boo Boo, shut up! Pedrock, find something to occupy yourself with.” And he settles back into the pages of the lusty moors.
I ruffle my sister’s hair and the frog puppet stares back at me with an open mouth.
“I love you,” I say to Boo Boo.
The frog puppet replies, “I love you, too,” and plants a kiss on my cheek.
The train chugs gently onwards through the countryside. It is a wonderful summer’s day. Peach coloured sky and soft ice-cream clouds hang over wild flower meadows and forests full of fairy tales. I wonder what our new lives will be like. Will we be loved? Boo Boo doesn’t remember our parents, but I do. I remember their faces and the colour of their eyes, which were gingerbread brown. I remember that our Daddy had a little sailing boat, which he took me on once in a moat full of water flowers. The sail was goblin green. We pretended we were pirates. We pretended we were anybody but ourselves.
I hold Boo Boo’s hand. I tell her we shall be safe, we shall be loved. I tell her there are fairies in the woods; they live inside trees and eat flowers. They will protect her, draw magic circles around her; sprinkle her with stardust. Make her one of them.
“What about Froggy” she says. “Will they make him a fairy?”
“No, they’ll make him a prince with his own kingdom.”
This makes her happy. I wish I could give her something other than words.
We are pulling into the station now, for Darkwound. The paint is flaking off the sign like skin. Reverend Plum gathers his bags together and takes Boo Boo’s hand.
“Come along children.”
We follow him out of the carriage and onto the platform. Somehow the earth beneath my feet doesn’t seem solid enough, as though it’s about to give way. I am sinking into an unknown space.
Meanwhile…
Loveheart Manor, near the village of Darkwound, England
Mr Loveheart’s Birthday
Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MR LOVEHEART, Happy birthday to me!
I’m having a party today in the gardens of Loveheart Manor. I’m eighteen. Mr Fingers, the Lord of the Underworld, is inside a mirror in my hallway, looking rather annoyed. I did offer him a sausage roll from the buffet, but he oddly declined.
It’s a glorious hot day of jam. I have prepared everything myself and remembered to bury my half-eaten butler.
Oh Joy! We have party food and party guests. I have invited my neighbours, from the village of Darkwound, and they are a surprising bunch. Of course, they have to wear party hats and play games or I’ll throw jelly at them. Splatter them with love.