Harriet looked over at Gretel, but Gretel had her head bent over her phone, texting somebody.
So this Kercheval becomes my sponsor. OK. And what do I have to do in return?
He says he has no expectations whatsoever, but I imagine he’d like to see some gratitude. Shouldn’t be too hard.
Can you put Dad on the phone?
Harriet’s pause here is so tremulous that it puts Perdita and the dolls on alert.
“What’s going on—about to make something up, are you?” asks the doll named Sago.
“Deciding whether or not to break a promise,” Harriet says.
She looks at her daughter for a while, and Perdita seems to want her to keep the promise, whatever it was. Harriet proceeds accordingly.
Harriet and her father didn’t talk for long, but conversation was halting and heavy in tone. They didn’t know when, or if, they would see or hear from each other again, and both sides were prepared to hear excuses or to make some. They were ready for vengeful utterances, maybe even a parting curse or two. Instead, one of them—either Harriet or her father—said: We’re very much alike, you know, you and me.
And the other—either Harriet or her father—said: I know.
It’s good that you know that.
But it isn’t enough—it doesn’t help—
I think it could. We’re so much alike that when you’re happy, I am too. And when you’re sad and cross, I am too. This can work at a distance.
So I should be happy if I want you to be happy? This doesn’t help either!
If you think about it little by little, over time you might see it another way.
And if you think about it little by little, over time you might not want to remember that this is all you had to say.
Can’t we make a deal?
Like what?
If this does turn out to be the last time we hear from each other, don’t think of what you remember saying and what you remember me saying. Don’t separate things out like that.
And you’ll do the same?
Of course.
“Sounds like you’ve finally found some shame after trying to force your father to be happy even as you abandoned him,” says the doll named Lollipop, and the doll named Sago says, “That’s a bit harsh . . . actually it sounds to me as if Mother-of-Perdita’s just keeping a promise,” and the doll named Bonnie says, “Or, how about this, guys: Thinking about it little by little, over time, it now seems to Mother-of-Perdita that almost exactly the same suggestion and rejection and deal would have been made regardless of the order in which father and daughter spoke. She was only saying what he would have said if she hadn’t got there first, and vice versa. That’s how alike those two really are.”
Harriet pulls tissue out of the pocket of her dressing gown, blows her nose, and says: “Did I mention that we won the lottery, Gretel and me?”
When they went to collect their winnings, the man behind the counter at the claims office handed them two laughably light envelopes. Harriet opened hers, closed it again, and steadied her nerves before showing Gretel the wooden ring inside.
Half a lifetime’s wealth, Gretel?
Gretel had slipped the ring onto her finger and had held up her hand, admiring it. A sheaf of wheat carved in such a way that it rippled around the finger.
To Harriet, Gretel said: Usually the top prize is cash. I’m guessing this happened because it’s you.
Margot was on her way to Druhá City, and, to Harriet’s great relief, told her exactly what to do, where to be, and even what she ought to be wearing by the time Margot arrived.
Well then, I’ll leave you to it, Gretel said, but Harriet prevailed upon her to help navigate Druhá’s numerous boutiques; it transpired that Gretel could see the difference between black and certain shades of navy blue much better than Harriet could. She stayed a little longer, then a little longer still.
At sunset, outside the five-star hotel where Margot had said they should meet, Gretel tried again:
OK, off I go, leaving you to it.
They’re not going to let me check in. I’ll go in there and they’ll look at me and say, “Excuse me, but aren’t you just riff raff? Go back.”
Whatevs. You look like you could buy and sell this place and everyone in it. Your mum knows her stuff.
Can’t you come in with me?
Gretel handed Harriet the bag that held her Gingerbread Girl uniform and patchwork coat.
Another time. I’m already running late thanks to you, so let’s just say bye for now . . .
She pointed at the hotel’s revolving doors until Harriet went in. And it all went off without a hitch: smiling doormen, smiling porters, smiling receptionist. But what was it Gretel had claimed she was running late for? Harriet stood by her hotel-room window watching Gretel through the magnolia-scented lace curtains for a half hour. Gretel’s busy evening seemed to consist of standing out on the pavement trying to work out which of the windows belonged to Harriet’s hotel room. Then Harriet sent her a text message: Infiltration complete. Upon receipt of that message Gretel walked down the street toward the metro station, not hurrying or anything; plus she had time for five backward glances, so how busy was that girl really . . .
Harriet took a nap, thereby tackling the challenge of waiting for one person whilst trying to keep herself from making an overly needy phone call to another. But Margot still wasn’t there by the time Harriet woke up. So the overly needy phone call to Gretel had merely been postponed.
Hi, Gretel said. I’m at the Gingerbread House with your colleagues. And she passed the phone from girl to girl. They told Harriet that things were looking up now that Clio was doubling their pay . . . due to inflation, she said. They got Harriet to read out the room-service menu and told her what they’d order if they were her. Rosolio made Harriet run a hot bath—with LOTS of bubbles. And don’t just stand there; get in. This is the thing about boffins; they don’t understand the principles of enjoyment . . .
Dottie tried to make her promise to come back. Zu tried to make her promise not to. Harriet asked them to put Gretel on the line, but when the phone got back to Gretel, the line disconnected before Harriet could tell her off for never doing or saying any of the things a friend ought to do or say. Though of course now Harriet thinks about it, if Gretel hadn’t left her at the hotel, she wouldn’t have had that chance to talk with the other girls again, to hear their laughter and chatter and to remind them that she thought about them too.
* * *
—
ONCE MARGOT WAS SAFELY in the hotel room with Harriet, she took the identity papers she’d needed to get through the checkpoints between the farmstead and the city, and she took the papers Harriet would have needed to get through the checkpoints between the city and the farmstead, and she tore up both sets of papers and flushed them down the toilet. If they’d had passports they could have traveled as people, but decades after a country’s borders close for good, passports tend to be done away with, so—
We’re going as cargo.
Sorry, we’re going as what?
Harriet. Sweetheart. There’s no time.
There never was any time to argue with Margot. And if you said no to her, she was sure to find somebody else who’d say yes. This was chief among Harriet’s fears—that her mother would find some accomplice who was more able but less fond. Still . . .
This is too reckless for me, Mum.
OK, Harriet. What should I tell you?