The Daydreamer Read Free Page B

hell’s teeth!’ and ‘Damnation take the grit!’ and ‘Filthy custard!’ Peter became aware that the head of every doll in the room was turned in his direction. Pure blue eyes blazed wider than ever, and there was a soft whispering of sibilants like water tumbling over rocks, a sound which gathered into a murmur, and then a torrent as excitement swept through five dozen spectators.
    ‘He’s doing it!’ Peter heard one of them call.
    And another answered, ‘Now we’ll see something!’
    And yet another called out, ‘What’s fair is fair!’ and at least twenty dolls shouted their agreement.
    ‘Yes!’
    ‘That’s right!’
    ‘Well put!’

    The Bad Doll had got its arm on to the bed and had let go of its crutch. Now it was clawing at the blanket, trying to get a grip so it could pull itself up. And even as it was doing this, on the other side of the room there arose an almighty cheer, and suddenly the dolls, all the dolls, were making their way towards the bed. From window sills and from on top of the mirror, from Kate’s bed and from out of the toy pram, they came springing and leaping, spilling and tumbling and surging across the carpet. Dolls in long dresses shrieked as they stumbled and tripped, while naked dolls, or one-sock dolls, moved with horrible ease. On they came, a wave of brown and pink and black and white, and on every moulded pouting lip was the cry ‘What’s fair is fair! What’s fair is fair!’ And in every wide glassy eye was the anger that Peter had always suspected behind the pretty baby blue.
    The Bad Doll had made it on to the bed and was standing, exhausted but proud, waving to the crowd gathered below. The dolls pressed tight together and roared their approval, and raised their chubby, dimpled arms towards their leader.
    ‘What’s fair is fair!’ the chant began again.
    Peter had moved down to the far end of the bed. His back was to the wall, and his arms were clasped round his knees. This really was extraordinary. Surely his mother would hear the racket downstairs and come up to tell them to be quiet.
    The Bad Doll needed to catch its breath, so it was letting the chant go on. Then it picked up the paintbrush crutch and the dolly rabble was suddenly silent.
    With a wink for the benefit of its supporters, the lame doll hopped a pace or two closer to Peter and said, ‘Settled in nicely, have you?’ Its tone was very polite, but there were titters in the crowd, and Peter knew he was being set up.
    ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ he said.
    The Bad Doll turned to the crowd and did a good imitation of Peter’s voice. ‘He’s not sure what I mean.’ It turned back to Peter. ‘I mean, comfortable in your new room, are you?’
    ‘Oh that,’ Peter said. ‘Yes, my room is terrific.’
    Some of the dolls down on the carpet seized on this word and repeated it over and over again, ‘Terrific … terrific … terrific …’ until it began to sound like a very stupid word indeed, and Peter wished he had not used it.

    The Bad Doll waited patiently. When all was quiet again it asked, ‘Like having your own room, do you?’
    ‘I do.’ Peter replied.
    ‘Like having a room all to yourself.’
    ‘Yes. I just told you. I like it.’ Peter said.
    The Bad Doll hobbled one pace closer. Peter had the feel-ing that it was about to come to the point. It raised its voice. ‘And have you ever considered that someone else might want that room?’
    ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Peter said. ‘Mum and Dad share a room. That leaves only Kate and me …’
    His words were drowned out by a roar of disapproval from the crowd. The Bad Doll managed to balance on one leg while it raised its crutch in the air for silence.
    ‘Only two of you, eh?’ it said, nodding towards the crowd.
    Peter laughed. He couldn’t think of what to say.
    The Bad Doll came even closer. Peter could have reached out and touched it. He was sure he could smell chocolate on its breath.
    ‘Don’t you think,’ it said,