he grandfather clock began striking two.
At the first stroke, all seven china cats upon the mantelpiece turned their heads.
Peter saw them move.
He was absolutely certain of it.
“Mrs Thistlewick!”
“Yes?”
“Your ornaments!”
“What about them?”
“They moved!”
“Naturally. It is two o’clock.”
Peter stared at the mantelpiece.
“Do they always do that?”
“Only when they are awake.”
Peter decided that this was a subject best left unexplored.
Mrs Thistlewick returned to her enormous book.
“Now, Peter, I must explain something very important. The apples upon the dream tree are not ordinary fruit.”
“I rather gathered that.”
“Each one contains a doorway into a particular sort of dream. The first three are relatively harmless, provided they are handled correctly.”
“And the others?”
The old lady hesitated.
“The fourth contains forgotten memories. The fifth reveals things that have never happened. The sixth allows its holder to enter another person’s dreams.”
Peter leaned forward.
“And the seventh?”
Mrs Thistlewick closed the book.
“Nobody knows.”
“Nobody?”
“Nobody who has returned to tell us.”
The sitting room fell silent.
Even Sebastian stopped washing his whiskers.
Peter looked towards the darkened window.
“Then why keep the apples?”
“Because they cannot be destroyed.”
“Surely you could simply cut down the tree?”
“My dear man, people have tried that for centuries.”
“And?”
“The tree grows back.”
Mrs Thistlewick rose and approached a small cabinet beside the fireplace.
From within it, she removed a little silver bell.
“This belonged to my grandmother,” she explained. “She was a remarkable woman. Rather strict, of course.”
Peter privately wondered what sort of woman Mrs Thistlewick would consider strict.
“She taught me everything I know about the dream garden.”
“Was she a witch?”
Mrs Thistlewick turned.
“Certainly!”
Peter blinked.
“And are you?”
“Of course I am, Peter Collins. What did you imagine I was? A retired schoolmistress?”
Peter thought it wiser not to answer.
Sebastian chuckled.
“She was that as well, you know.”
“Sebastian!”
“Headmistress of St Agatha’s Academy for Young Ladies. Terrifying establishment. Even the mice behaved themselves.”
Mrs Thistlewick gave the cat a severe look.
“One more word, Sebastian, and you shall spend tomorrow in the kitchen.”
The cat immediately became interested in his paws.
Peter looked at the silver bell.
“What does that do?”
“It sends visitors home.”
“Then might I go home now, please?”
“Presently.”
Mrs Thistlewick placed the bell upon the table.
“First, you must promise me something.”
“Anything, madam.”
“If you should ever find yourself in my garden again, you must never touch the seven apples.”
“I promise.”
“Not even if somebody offers you one.”
“I understand.”
“Not even if you hear a voice calling your name from the tree.”
Peter shivered.
“Does that happen?”
“Sometimes.”
“And what should I do?”
“Walk away immediately.”
Mrs Thistlewick picked up the bell.
“Now, young man, I believe we have had quite enough excitement for one evening.”
She rang it once.
Ting!
The room began to shimmer.
She rang it twice.
Ting! Ting!
The candles went out.
Sebastian’s green eyes shone brightly in the darkness.
“Goodnight, Peter Collins,” said the cat.
Mrs Thistlewick raised the bell for a third time.
“And next time,” she declared, “kindly use the front gate!”
Ting!
Everything disappeared.
