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- Herausgeber: Pushkin Children's Books
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
An enchanting Christmas mystery, with an illustrated chapter for each day of advent Twelve-year-old Flora Winter and her mother are off to the small seaside town of Helmersbruk for Christmas. When they arrive, Flora soon discovers an abandoned mansion straight out of a fairytale. But it's not just the manor that's mysterious - porcelain figures are appearing out of nowhere, a strange boy in a green cap seeks her friendship, and she hears eerie whispers in the night. Flora is determined to unravel the secrets of Helmersbruk Manor - but as the clock ticks down to Christmas, Flora must solve the mystery before time runs out…
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CONTENTS
H
Long have I existed.
I remember when all the trees on the avenue were tender saplings and the ships on the horizon had masts and sails.
I have heard the terrified screams of newborns and relieved sighs of the dying.
I have seen joy and sorrow, wealth and poverty, blooming and withering.
Every year the first sunbeams of spring return and fill me with hope.
But now I can feel the last of my hope draining away.
I have waited.
Waited.
And waited.
The living have forgotten about me.
The dead think only of themselves.
Long has it been since I was somebody’s pride and joy.
Surely the time will soon come when I am destroyed for ever.
But not just yet.
I have one final chance.
And I am taking it now.
1
THE GATEKEEPER’S COTTAGE
1ST DECEMBER 1975
They travelled to the seaside on the first of December. Flora had written it on the kitchen calendar in red biro, which looked both Christmassy and angry:
To Helmersbruk!!!
No sane person goes to the seaside in the middle of winter. The whole point of a seaside holiday is to swim in the sea, play in the sand and tan your legs. But Mum didn’t care. She was utterly convinced that a month by the sea was exactly what they needed, she and Flora.
Instead of a parasol and swimming costumes, they packed their warmest jumpers, woolly tights and boots. Flora had to bring all her school books as well. Her teacher had given her a long list of tasks to complete before Christmas. Flora had already done a lot of them before they left. She found that schoolwork didn’t take long when she had peace and quiet, and no one throwing breadcrumbs in her hair or calling her Filthy Flora.
Mum had packed her orange typewriter. She was going to write her next book while Flora was doing her schoolwork. In the evenings they would make a fire in the open hearth, eat sausage sandwiches and play cards, Mum said.
The whole part about the sandwiches and fireplace sounded cosy enough, but Flora wasn’t convinced. Mum got big ideas sometimes, and now that Dad wasn’t around any more to rein in her wild plans, Flora had no choice but to go along with them. She was pleased about missing some school, but did they really have to go so far away?
When they got off the bus Flora was even more dubious.
What sort of place was Helmersbruk anyway? Everything was dark and gloomy. When the bus drove away they couldn’t see a single other person anywhere, even though they seemed to be in the middle of a small town of some sort.
‘Everyone is probably at home eating dinner,’ Mum speculated. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Is it far?’ Flora groaned.
Her rucksack weighed a tonne and she was holding a big plastic bag full of bedsheets in one hand and a travel bag of clothes in the other.
‘No, not at all,’ said Mum but it was clear from her voice that she had no idea.
As soon as they started walking they became swallowed up in a close, dense fog. It was getting dark and the lights of the street lamps looked like monstrous fireflies hovering above them. Then, to make matters worse, a drizzling rain began to fall.
They walked and walked. Flora’s legs grew weak and the handles of the heavy bags cut into her hands and formed creases in her palms. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from asking ‘Are we there yet?’ the whole time like a little kid.
The street lights coloured the road orange and everything else was black. From time to time Flora thought she could see a solitary light on the right-hand side of the road. Maybe there were houses there? But none of them were their destination.
‘I need a rest,’ Flora whined and dropped the bags.
The thump they made on the ground echoed slightly and Flora realized that they were standing on a bridge. There was a railing on both sides and she could hear water rushing somewhere far below. How high was this bridge?
Flora left the bags where they were and went to peer over the railing.
All she could see was darkness, no water. Could she be standing above a vast chasm?
She rushed to catch up with Mum.
‘It can’t be far now,’ Mum said, but she wasn’t convincing either of them.
After the bridge the street lights became fewer and further apart, and in the darkness between the lights they couldn’t even see their own feet. But Flora could tell that they were getting close to the sea anyway, because the wind was strong and smelt salty and rotten.
Suddenly Mum came to a halt and shouted:
‘Look, Passad Road! We must be close.’
The name of the road was written on a sign mounted on a very high brick wall, beyond which they saw a house. It was a very old little house, made of the same bricks as the wall, as though they were part of the same residence.
‘Is this where we’re going to live?’ Flora said.
‘I think so.’
‘How do we even get in?’
‘There’s a gate in the wall over there. Come on, I’m freezing!’
Mum grabbed the handle of the little gate. First she pulled, then she pushed. The gate refused to open.
‘Oh, what in the name of?…’ Mum sighed.
‘Shall I try?’
‘Be my guest, but I think it must have rusted shut or something.’
Mum stepped to one side and Flora pressed the handle.
The gate swung open with a gentle squeak. It almost sounded like it said, ‘Ha ha.’
Mum burst out laughing.
‘How did you do that?’
‘I just pulled it. It wasn’t even stiff. Come on.’
They walked through the gate and around the side of the house, where they found some steps leading up to the front door.
‘I guess we’d better knock?’ said Mum.
‘Go on then!’
Flora hadn’t meant to snap, but she couldn’t help it.
What had Mum got them into? It was dark and cold and horrible and this house was… well, how to describe it? Very lonely. There was something melancholy about it. Were they really going to stay here for a whole month? In a sad little house surrounded by vast, dense darkness?
But then the door opened and a warm light spilt out on to the steps. In the doorway stood a man in late middle age. He looked a little stern but not in the least unpleasant.
‘Ah yes. There, you see,’ he said with a thoughtful expression.
It struck Flora as a rather odd thing to say. ‘Welcome’ or ‘How was your journey?’ would have been traditional. But instead, the man waved them in and watched them curiously as they lugged their bags up the stairs.
He was short for a grown man, even shorter than Flora, who was only twelve years old. He had round cheeks, fair downy hair that stuck out in all directions, and pale blue eyes. He looked like a mix between a rather grumpy gnome and an overgrown child.
‘Good afternoon!’ Mum shouted embarrassingly loudly.
The house was warm and filled with the strong but pleasant smell of an open fireplace. The house looked miserable from the outside, but inside it was cosy.
Flora dropped her bags on the hallway floor and let out a sigh.
‘It’s raining, I see,’ mumbled the man, looking at their wet cheeks. ‘We can only hope it doesn’t get icy and slippery.’
Mum took off her glove and held out her hand.
‘Nice to meet you. I’m Linn Winter and this is Flora.’
‘Good. I’m Fridolf. I live next door.’
Flora pulled off her shoes and stepped into the little living room. Two armchairs stood in front of a crackling fire. She supposed that was where they would sit and eat their sausage sandwiches. A door was open on to a kitchen with lemon-yellow cabinets and a staircase in the hallway led to an upper floor.
‘Oh, this is just lovely,’ said Mum.
Fridolf nodded seriously.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘I’ve always liked the Gatekeeper’s Cottage.’
‘Gatekeeper’s Cottage?’
‘Aye. Not that there’s any need for a gatekeeper these days. Me, I live over in the Washhouse.’
‘Why do you live in a washhouse?’ asked Flora.
‘It’s not used for laundry any more; I’ve made it into a home. The Gatekeeper’s Cottage is too big. The Washhouse does me just fine.’
Flora had always thought a washhouse was the sort of laundry room that blocks of flats might have in the basement. But it made more sense that a washhouse would be a building in its own right.
‘Are there lots of buildings here?’ she asked.
‘Aye. There’s the garage and the stables. A few cottages, the orangery, and then the manor house, of course.’
Flora was taken aback.
A manor house!
Mum hadn’t said anything about that!
Flora had always loved old houses. She dreamt that one day she might live in a grand old mansion instead of a boring urban flat. She would probably have to win the lottery or something.
The Gatekeeper’s Cottage must be old as well, but it wasn’t exactly luxurious. Flora hoped the manor house would be huge and beautiful. She would have gladly run off to take a look straight away, but it was too dark out.
‘Does anyone live in the manor?’ she asked.
Fridolf shook his head.
‘No. No one’s lived in the von Hiems manor for nigh on fifty years.’
Fridolf and Mum disappeared into the kitchen. Mum was babbling on in a loud voice and Fridolf muttered something about water pipes and valves. Flora didn’t think he seemed especially pleased to see them. Why rent out a house if you don’t want guests? But on the other hand, Flora found it irritating when people wore big fake grins on their faces all the time. She would prefer a grumpy but kindly little old man any day.
She went up the stairs to the first floor. She found herself on a small landing with three doors, opened the nearest one and walked into a bedroom with flowery wallpaper. In the corner was an old-fashioned bed with a coiling metal headboard and small bedside table. Next to the window was a desk and chair, and next to the door was a large, white-painted wardrobe with mirrored doors.
The whole idea of Helmersbruk and a month by the sea was starting to grow on her. Flora had always wanted wallpaper like this. The white lace curtains were pretty as well. They looked old.
It was a proper Anne of Green Gables room, Flora thought as she laid her red rucksack down on the crocheted bedspread. She put her hat, long scarf and jacket on the chair.
She walked over to the window and peeked out in the hope of catching sight of that manor house, but despite practically pressing her nose up against the glass, all she could see was darkness and her own reflection.
Down in the hallway, Fridolf was on his way out.
‘Now I’ll leave you to it. Knock if you need anything. I’m always home.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Mum.
Fridolf looked up at Flora standing at the top of the stairs.
Suddenly he appeared shocked. His big blue eyes stared at Flora from under their bushy eyebrows.
‘How strange…’ he muttered quietly, but before Flora could ask what was so strange about her, he turned to Mum instead.
‘Well then. I’m sure you’ll be happy here. Many good people have lived in this house. The goodness clings to the walls. Can’t you tell?’
Then he looked back at Flora again.
‘Yes,’ said Flora, because she really could.
She did get a good feeling about the Gatekeeper’s Cottage. Maybe that was why she had already cheered up a little.
The door shut with a bang behind Fridolf. Mum giggled.
‘Well, he wasn’t exactly a bundle of laughs, but he seems nice enough.’
‘I like him.’
‘Me too. So what do you think, Flick? About the house and everything?’
‘It’s nice.’
‘Are you sure? You think we’ll be all right here?’
Mum looked a little anxious. Hardly the time to be anxious now, when it was too late to change their minds.
But Flora decided to be positive and patted Mum on the arm.
‘It’s going to be great!’
They tried to make themselves at home straight away. They made the beds, Mum set up her typewriter on a table in the living room and Flora lined up her school books on the desk in the room with the flowery wallpaper. She put Anne of Green Gables and The Canterville Ghost on the bedside table. There were lots of old clothes inside the wardrobe and only one empty shelf. But that was OK because Flora’s clothes didn’t take up much space.
‘Come downstairs and let’s eat,’ Mum called from the kitchen.
Flora turned off the lamp in the bedroom and was just about to go downstairs when she happened to glance out the window.
Strangely enough, it was a little lighter out there now, even though it was later in the evening. Maybe the fog had dispersed and was letting the moon shine through?
Just then she saw something white flash outside the window!
And she heard a rustling sound like a whisper.
‘It’s her!’
The white thing disappeared too quickly for Flora to see what it was, but for a few horrible moments she thought she had seen a pale face peering in at her and whispering.
But the room was on the first floor, so surely no one could be peeking in up there?
Flora lingered in the doorway, dead still.
Did she dare go over to the window and look?
She swallowed several times.
No, she refused to be a wimp. How was she going to live in an old house for a whole month if she got scared witless every time she saw or heard something unexpected?
She walked over to the window and looked outside.
She could just about make out some tree branches in the near distance. But she couldn’t see anything white.
I must have imagined it, thought Flora. Maybe it was my own reflection? And the sound she had thought was a whisper was probably just a branch blowing against the side of the house in the wind…
‘Are you coming?’ Mum called.
The smell of sausages wafted up, and Flora went downstairs.
2
THE MANOR HOUSE
Flora slept very badly that first night in the Gatekeeper’s Cottage at Helmersbruk Manor. The mattress felt lumpy and the pillow smelt strange, even though she had brought her own bedding. The brown-yellow pattern of the bedsheets didn’t match the rest of the room at all. She felt as though she should have well-ironed sheets with lace, and preferably be wearing a long white nightgown as well.
Flora looked at herself in the mirror from the bed. She didn’t fit in either. She was tall for her age and had broad shoulders and a round face. Her hair was a dull in-between colour. ‘Mousy’, as the horsey girls called it.
Flora plaited her mousy hair in two long plaits and got out of bed. It was still dark out and the house was very cold.
In the living room Mum was sitting on the floor trying to light a fire. It wasn’t going well.
‘Maybe the wood is too spread out?’ said Flora. ‘Or too tightly packed? That doesn’t work either.’
‘And you’re the expert, are you?’ said Mum, sounding irritated. ‘Where did you learn that?’
‘Dad taught me,’ said Flora.
Mum said nothing but even from behind she looked sad. Then suddenly a spark lit up in the fireplace.
‘There!’ Mum said and stood up.
It was still icy cold, so Flora put on a dark blue man’s cardigan she had found hanging up in the hall. Fridolf had told Mum that they should feel free to use anything in the house. The cardigan almost came down to her knees and she wrapped it around her like a bathrobe. It was itchy and smelt like an old man but at least it was warm.
‘What are you wearing? It looks like a horse blanket!’ said Mum.
‘The gatekeeper’s Sunday best, can’t you tell?’
Flora stuck her hands in the pockets of the cardigan and did a pirouette. There was something inside the right-hand pocket.
It was a little angel made of porcelain.
‘Look, this was in the pocket!’
‘How pretty!’
Flora inspected the porcelain figurine carefully. It was skilfully painted with careful brush strokes; the porcelain wings almost looked like they were covered in real feathers. She put the angel down on the bookshelf and suddenly a thought occurred to her.
‘Mum? Did we bring the Christmas decorations?’
Mum looked up, surprised.
‘The Christmas decorations? No, we didn’t. We agreed we would only bring the essentials!’
‘But surely Christmas decorations are essential! At least at Christmas.’
Mum looked sheepish.
‘Yeah, I suppose so. I’ve just never been that into decorations myself.’
Flora knew that well enough. Mum had never been the one who decorated the Christmas tree, put out the candles or taped elves to the kitchen window. Dad, on the other hand, used to love Christmas. Decorating was his and Flora’s thing.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mum. ‘I didn’t think…’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Flora said, even though it wasn’t true.
‘Maybe we can make something ourselves? Or buy some glitter and a few elves in town?’
Flora shook her head. She didn’t want new Christmas decorations. She tried not to think about the yellow cardboard box at the top of the kitchen cupboard at home, but the more she tried not to, the more she thought about the box and everything in it.
The silver tinsel that was a bit thin in places but still pretty, the red-painted wooden candlesticks, the star-shaped paper lantern, the ugly elves she had made out of wool when she was little.
But most of all, she thought about the little light brown box with those delicate old glass baubles that had once belonged to her grandmother.
Every year on Christmas Eve Dad would carefully lift the baubles out of their bed of tissue paper and say: ‘We’ll hang these on the sturdiest branches, because these were my mother’s prized possessions…’
He would always say those exact words and it was in that moment that Flora started to feel like it was really, really Christmas.
Last Christmas, which turned out to be Dad’s last, he had been so weak that he could barely get out of his chair, but he managed to gather enough strength to hang the first bauble, then let Flora take care of the rest.
Flora turned her face away so that Mum wouldn’t see the tears she couldn’t hold back. No Christmas decorations, no special baubles, no Dad. Just a sad little porcelain angel on a bookshelf. That was probably about as Christmassy as it was going to get.
‘I’m going out,’ she said.
‘Have fun,’ said Mum.
It was nice to get out into the fresh air. It was less windy than before but still just as overcast and grey.
Flora pulled on her white woolly gloves with pompoms and let out a breath that misted in the air. From the front steps she could see a glimpse of the sea, which was just as grey as everything else.
Next to the cottage she could also see the gate that the gatekeeper would have once guarded. It was one of those wide double gates made of swirling black cast iron, with two latches fastened in the centre. Right at the top, in the middle of the ornate patterns, was a large letter H. It must have been gold once but now it was flaking and dull.
H for Helmersbruk, thought Flora. Or what had Fridolf said it was called? The von Hiems manor? Maybe the H stood for Hiems then? What a mysterious name.
She walked over and touched the gate, but it wouldn’t budge. She supposed the only way in was through the smaller gate in the wall, which they had used yesterday.
Flora looked around for Fridolf’s Washhouse but couldn’t see any buildings other than the Gatekeeper’s Cottage. Somewhere behind the blanket of clouds, the sun must have been rising. It was getting brighter.
Inside the wall it was like a long-forgotten park. The bushes and trees looked overgrown, but it was clear that everything had been planted with care once upon a time.
Flora walked around a prickly bush and found herself at the end of a long avenue of tall trees. The trees had lost their leaves but the canopy branches were so dense that they grew together at the top and made the avenue look like a tunnel. The road ahead was bumpy and full of muddy puddles, so she had to watch her step.
Flora walked, hopped, and tiptoed forward, careful where she put her feet. She soon realized that she probably should have worn boots instead of canvas shoes, but there was no point in going back and changing them now. She was already muddy up to her knees.
There was a rustling in the trees above her. A gust of wind swept through the avenue. It was a strangely warm breeze that grabbed at Flora’s plaits and scarf.
And, stranger still, the wind whispered! It was just like the whisper she’d heard outside her window the night before.
It’s her! She’s back!
Flora stopped in her tracks and looked around. Who said that? There wasn’t a soul to be seen.
What she could see, however, was the von Hiems mansion for the first time.
Flora was so taken aback that she immediately forgot all about whispering voices, wet feet and everything else besides.
Never in her life had Flora seen such an incredible house. She stood perfectly still for a long time, staring and staring.
The house was three storeys high with a pointed roof and all sorts of balconies and bays jutting out here and there. There were windows in all shapes and sizes: round, square, oval, big and small. Just like the outer wall and the Gatekeeper’s Cottage, the mansion was built of brick, and in one corner was a small turret and a wall covered almost entirely with some sort of creeper plant. Some of the windows had diamond-shaped panes of stained glass, others had been boarded up completely.
It was clear that no one had lived there for a very, very long time.
She almost felt like crying at the sight of this beautiful manor house in all its dilapidated, majestic glory.
Did she dare go closer? What if—her heart leapt—what if the door wasn’t locked and she could just go in and have a look? Not take anything, not even touch anything, just look around…
She took one step forward then stopped. It felt very bold to walk straight up and open the door. Maybe she should walk around the house first to see it from different angles?
Walking around the house turned out to be easier said than done. She had to find her way through a grove of overgrown trees and very nearly fell into an old fountain. Then she had to scramble through several dense bushes, over a low wall and round a mossy statue of a half-naked woman holding a pot.
But it was worth it because the back of the building was even more magnificent than the front! A porch with beautiful windows looked out on to a large garden with lots of statues and platforms of various heights. Roses and sculpted bushes must have grown there once, she had no doubt. What a wonderful sight it must have been! Real manor grounds, with a rose garden and everything!
Above the porch was a large balcony with tall doors that probably led to a great hall of some sort. A ballroom maybe? Or was it only fairytale palaces that had ballrooms?
Flora walked further away to see the whole building from a distance, then went closer again to get a better look at the details.
How old might this mansion be? Definitely very old, several hundred years. Why didn’t people build houses like this any more? With all its beautiful windows and its pointed metal roof, it was so much more elegant than typical square blocks of ugly flats.
Who owned this estate? she wondered. It couldn’t be Fridolf, or why would he live in a washhouse? No, Fridolf must be some sort of caretaker, Flora thought.
Maybe a relative of the von Hiems who had built the manor was still alive today? If so, they must own it all, the lucky devil.
But then why did no one live there now? Sure, the house was rather dilapidated, but if it belonged to her, she would gladly put up with a bit of wear and tear. Especially that turret—imagine having that as a bedroom!
It was bizarre, but straight away Flora had a strong sense that she loved every inch of this old house. It was a cold morning, but she felt all warm inside. Was this what it felt like to fall in love? Was it strange to fall in love with a place before ever falling in love with a person?
If so, then I am strange, thought Flora.
The grounds turned out to be bigger than Flora had first thought. The park gradually gave way to woodland, so it was hard to say where the manor’s estate ended. One day she would walk a little further and see if there was anything exciting in the woods as well.
After walking slowly around the whole manor she found herself back in the courtyard at the end of the avenue.
A staircase led up to a massive door made of dark wood. There was an oval-shaped window in the door that looked to her like a stern eye. It actually sort of felt like the manor was watching Flora approach. She felt shy.
‘Um… hello. I don’t mean to disturb you, I just wanted a little look around.’
How silly, standing there talking to an old house. What if the horsey girls could see her now? But that eye-window made her feel like saying hello was the polite thing to do.
She went up the steps, put her hand on the large door handle and tried to push it down.
The door was locked.
Of course.
Flora sighed with disappointment. She was simply dying to go inside! She was weak-kneed with curiosity. Should she go back around and try the porch door? Or maybe she could open one of these windows?
Suddenly she heard some music.
A faint melody was playing somewhere nearby!
She recognized the tune. It was a gentle tinkling version of Oh Christmas Tree. It didn’t sound like someone playing an instrument, but more like a music box.
But where could the music box be in that case? It sounded like the music was coming from inside the house, but that didn’t make any sense. The house was locked up and deserted, and surely a music box needed someone to wind it up.
Flora took a step back and looked around, suddenly suspicious. What if someone was trying to trick or frighten her?
Flora was used to that sort of thing. Dead spiders in her desk, rotten apples in her school bag, the lights being switched off when she was showering after gym class. The horsey girls never gave up, and there was nothing she could do except fumble through the darkness for the light switch to the sound of a delighted choir of giggles outside.
‘Better wash that muck off, Filthy Flora!’
‘Here are some pet spiders that can live in your hair.’
‘Spiders like living in mouse nests, ha ha…’
In that moment, standing on the steps of the von Hiems manor house, hundreds of miles from school and the horsey girls, Flora made a promise to herself.
She spoke it out loud in a determined voice:
‘Nothing in Helmersbruk is going to scare me.’
She certainly wasn’t going to be scared of whispering voices, pale faces or music boxes tinkling in an abandoned house.
She looked defiantly along the avenue.
Anyone trying to frighten Flora Winter was going to be sorely disappointed. End of story.
The music stopped.
3
THE SHEPHERD
Flora stood on the doorstep and listened awhile longer, but the music box had gone quiet.
Maybe I’m actually just losing my marbles, she thought.
After all, this was the third time within twenty-four hours that she had seen or heard something and not been sure whether it was real or a figment of her imagination.
The whispers, the face outside the bedroom window, the feeling that the manor house was watching her. But this music had continued for some time and sounded very real.
Maybe this was just how it was in old places? Maybe events of the past had a sort of… echo, even though the people who had lived there were long gone?
A cold shiver ran down Flora’s spine, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. She had decided not to be afraid, after all. She was more intrigued.
Could the house be trying to tell me something? she thought, caressing the locked door with her gloved hand. What if the von Hiems manor has a secret it wants to share with me?
She laughed a little at the thought. It was silly, but at the same time gloriously exciting. What if Filthy Flora with the mousy hair had some sort of magical connection to this incredible house? What a dream come true that would be!
When she turned around to leave she caught sight of something. Close to the building’s facade was what must have once been a flower bed. Now the ground was covered with withered grass and moss, but she also spied something lushly green.
Flora knelt down by the flower bed. She pulled off her gloves and dug through the wilting grass. A green bud was trying to push its way up into the light. Flora didn’t know there were plants that grew in December. Did the poor little thing think it was spring already?
Then she saw another bud, and another! In fact, there was a whole host of buds defying the cold and dark. Growing against all odds.
Flora started to pull dried grass away to help the little plants along. What were they? Crocuses? No, they had rounder buds…
I live here in the manor, she thought. I am Miss Flora. Everybody loves me. I have an enormous wardrobe full of beautiful clothes and a maid who brushes and plaits my hair every day. My room is at the top of the turret and I have bookshelves from floor to ceiling—I need a ladder to reach the ones at the top. I always wear a long white night-dress to bed, and every morning I wake up, throw open the window and gaze out at the sea glittering beyond the blooming garden.
Daydreaming came easily in a place like this. Flora had never really felt like she belonged in the present day. She didn’t get the music or TV shows that her classmates were into. She didn’t especially like modern clothes either. T-shirts with prints, jeans and all that. Flora would have preferred to wear dresses with puffy sleeves, like in Anne of Green Gables. But if she did, the horsey girls would probably kill themselves laughing.
Flora was lonely. She hadn’t always been. She’d had a best friend only a couple of years ago.
Johanna.
When they were little, Johanna and Flora looked almost identical and often pretended they were sisters. When Johanna got dungarees for Christmas, Flora begged Mum for a pair exactly the same; when Flora started wearing her hair in plaits, Johanna wanted to as well.
Johanna thought that Flora made up the best stories, and they would often act out the little plays that Flora wrote. They also used to go to the cinema, make chocolate treats together, and talk about everything under the sun. They had a lot of secrets from everybody else, but none from each other.
