The Hidden World Read Free

wipers on to full. Jessica liked that, when they flapped really fast, whip whap, whip whap!
    Her father flashed his headlights and blew his horn.
    â€˜Come on, John, there’s no point in getting impatient.’
    â€˜All he has to do is pull over and let us pass. Is that too much to ask? Guy’s drunk, by the way he’s driving.’
    More flashing, more horn-blowing. Jessica had the oddest feeling that the penguin was smiling only at her, and giving only her the thumbs-up. Don’t worry, kid, you’re going to be fine. We shall invite all the penguins and the polar bears to our banquet, Princess Fay, and we shall feed them on mackerel and mint ice-cream.
    Her father suddenly put his foot down and swerved the car to the left, starting to overtake.
    â€˜John! Don’t! You can’t see!’
    â€˜It’s OK, trust me. How well do I know this road? There’s a left-hand curve here and if there was anything coming the other way we would have seen it.’
    They drew up alongside the tractor-trailer and Jessica’s window was filled with its huge sizzling wheels. Her father accelerated faster and faster but the truck seemed to go on forever; it felt as if they would take a week to get past it.
    â€˜He’s putting his foot down! What’s the matter with him? Can’t he see me?’
    The windshield wipers flapped and flapped but there was so much spray coming from the truck’s wheels that her father was practically driving blind.
    â€˜John!’ said her mother. ‘John, pull back, let him go!’
    â€˜No way, not this bastard.’ They edged forward little by little until they were neck-and-neck with the truck, and suddenly they were clear of the spray. That was when the interior of the Buick was abruptly flooded with brilliant light. Jessica heard her mother say, ‘Oh, God,’ very quietly, as if she were talking only to herself.
    The oncoming panel-van hit them head-on. Jessica could never remember hearing any noise, although there must have been. But she remembered the jolt of her seat-belt across her chest and her fairies flying through the car, and then a terrible bumpety-bumpety-bumpety as they careered down a steep graveled embankment and into a stand of pine trees. There was a bang that almost knocked her teeth out, but she didn’t feel any pain, even though her mother’s seat had been forced backward and downward by the impact and comprehensively crushed her foot.
    She remembered the car door being opened, and a flashlight shining in her eyes. ‘Everybody OK?’
    â€˜Call nine-one-one, Lance. Looks like these two have bought the farm.’
    â€˜How about you, little lady? Are you OK?’
    â€˜I’ve lost my fairies.’
    â€˜OK, don’t you worry, we’ll find your fairies. Let’s see if we can get you out of there.’
    She stood by the bedroom window, looking out over the snowy garden. This morning Dr Leeming had called to examine her and had taken her turban off. Her hair had been shaved off in a triangular patch and there were seven stitches in her scalp. She still had to wear a dressing, but now she could cover her head with a red-and-yellow silk scarf that used to belong to her mother.
    In the center of the garden stood a bronze statuette of Pan, with cloven hoofs, and horns, and a sly, untrustworthy smile. He was dancing and playing his pipes, even though there was a large blob of snow on top of his head.
    She looked around her room. It was hard to believe that it was nearly eleven months since the car crash. Her room on East 86th Street had been airy and pale and very modern, even though the basketwork armchairs had been overpopulated with all of her various fairies and elves, and her painting-table had been cluttered with pencils, brushes, pots of water and squeezed-out tubes of paint.
    Grandpa Willy had lived in this house since 1948, and even then it was already eighty-five years old. It stood