I return to the Imp-hut, completely dejected, my worst fear confirmed – I’m hopeless with men. Even with a script, even without my gorgeous BFF cramping my style, I’m hopeless with men.
Nate takes one look at my face. ‘He didn’t kiss you, did he?’
I shake my head.
‘Why not?’ he says. ‘You didn’t dribble and fart and pick your nose did you? Because I warned you against that look.’
I daren’t tell him I went off-script and risked so much, just because I lost my cool. I’m just too embarrassed, too ashamed. Instead, I slump on to my bunk. ‘I guess he just doesn’t find me as attractive as Rose.’
Nate slaps his palm to his forehead. ‘Violet, it’s Monday night. Willow is meant to declare his undying love for you on Thursday night and follow you into the city. You’ve got three more days. If you don’t get him to fall for you, we’re stuck here . . . as Imps, in a world where Imps are lower than pondweed. You know that, yeah?’
‘I know,’ I snap. If I don’t get Willow to fall for me, we’re stuck here. If I do get Willow to fall me, I end up pirouetting on a rope. I think I’m about to start crying. ‘Don’t pile on any more pressure, OK? I feel like I’m about to crack as it is.’ I suddenly long for Katie’s grounded presence, to hear her gentle Scouse voice telling me everything’s going to be OK.
Nate sits beside me. ‘But Willow said the thing about the last dance?’
‘Yeah. And I said that cheeseball line about dancing shoes.’
‘OK, so that’s when we get it back on track.’ Nate smiles, like he’s the older sibling again. ‘Don’t worry, sis. It was a rubbish first kiss scene anyway. Behind a stable? Come on now, Sally, sort it out.’
Ash enters the Imp-hut. He looks tired, the blue of his eyes somehow dimmed, his skin almost grey. But when he sees me, the tiredness lifts and his oversized smile explodes across his face. ‘You ready for another night of hard labour?’ he asks.
I swing my legs from my bunk, sending a shower of straw on to the floor. ‘Always.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Nate says.
The smile never drops from Ash’s face, but I can tell from the firmness in his voice he isn’t about to argue. ‘Sorry, buddy. It’s a two-man job.’
‘Yeah, I bet it is,’ Nate says.
I accidently-on-purpose clip Nate with my boot heel as I dismount from the bunk.
Stepping out into the night with Ash feels good. In canon, Rose and Ash spent several nights together, working on the estate. But most of these scenes were alluded to in the book and never made it into the film, so there’s no script even if I wanted one. Surprisingly, this thought leaves me feeling relieved – I don’t have to say the right thing or stand in the right way.
We cut around the back of the hut and into the meadows. Without the heady scent of pollen, the air seems a little lighter, cleaner.
‘Why don’t you sleep on the estate?’ I ask. ‘In the hut with the rest of us? Why do you go back to the city every day?’ I remember Willow calling the Imp-bus the big old car thing, and I wince.
‘It’s my home.’ He kicks a stray fir cone from his path and it bounces off a squat stone wall.
‘But it’s so dirty and unclean.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s what I know. It’s where my family live.’
There’s no place like home. I get this aching in my gut. ‘Have you ever had any trouble crossing the border?’
He shrugs. ‘Yeah. Once I tried to smuggle out some supplies for Ma. This guard found them.’
I study his profile, almost silver beneath the moon. ‘What happened?’
‘They took the supplies and beat me unconscious.’
My knees seem to jam up. I turn to face him. ‘Were you OK?’
He rubs my upper arm like I’m the one who needs comfort. ‘Yeah. It was lucky I passed out. They didn’t bother shooting me and when I woke up, I somehow managed to crawl back home.’
‘That’s awful.’ I feel anger pushing through me in waves.
‘That’s the Gems.’
I think of Willow again, his perfect mouth forming those hateful words: It’s just the way it’s always been. I begin to feel very guilty for trying to kiss him behind the stable.
‘What about you?’ Ash asks.
‘Yeah. Nearly, but this Symp stepped in.’ I feel my cheeks fill with blood, and I fold my arms across my chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says.
‘Thanks. What were the supplies for?’
‘Just basic things – antiseptic, bandages. Stuff for Ma.’
‘Do you ever help her?’ I ask.
‘Deliver babies, you mean?’
I nod. Deliver babies. He makes it sounds so simple, so clean, like the postman just turns up and hands over a baby with a stamp on its head. But there will be no medication, no antiseptic or equipment. I bet it’s horrific.
‘Yeah, sometimes I help. I mostly just hand her a wet cloth and clean up the mess. General dogsbody.’
‘You must see some pretty scary things.’
He smiles. ‘Did I ever tell you how I got my name?’
I shake my head. More backstory King didn’t write, but it doesn’t feel like a backstory any more, it feels like something real and human. Something I desperately want to know.
He stares at the moon as though trying to remember. ‘So Ma laboured for hours before she had me. The midwife, this old lady from the other street, kept Ma calm by singing old nursery rhymes. Do you know the thistle counting song?’
‘No.’
‘Seriously? You didn’t used to skip to it as a kid?’
‘Never.’
He launches into the rhyme:
‘Count the thistles, one, two, three,
Soon the Imps will all be free.
Count the thistles, four, five, six,
Take up your guns, your stones and sticks.
The ash trees turn from green to red,
Spring has gone, the summer’s dead.’
He looks a little embarrassed. ‘Anyway, I came out with the cord wrapped around my neck, not breathing. Ma thought I was dead, but the midwife untangled the cord and smacked me on the back. She kept on singing the whole time. Ma swears I gasped my first little breath just as she heard the word ash. That’s why she decided to become a midwife – to replace the old lady when she died.’
This tale makes me a little teary, thinking of how close Ash came to never breathing, thinking of the old lady and Ma, dedicating their lives to help Imp women and babies for no reason other than kindness.
Ash grins, his teeth bright in the dark. ‘Good job I didn’t breathe on a different word, hey? Or I could have ended up with a really stupid name, like Four or something.’
I wish Nate was here – he would have busted a gut laughing.
We swing around the end of the wall and approach a large vegetable patch. A series of raised beds and a huge fruit cage, bigger than my sitting room back home.
‘So you’re a slave by night and a midwife by day. When do you sleep?’ I ask.
He laughs. ‘I’m a slave by night and a dogsbody by day, and never. I never sleep. Come on, you’re on blackcurrant duty.’ He gestures to some wooden punnets, stacked against the metal frame of the cage. ‘I’ll see to the peas.’
I can’t help feeling a little disappointed we won’t be working together.
After a few hours of fruit picking, my thighs ache from crouching, my fingers feel crampy, my eyes have started to sting and I really, really miss the sun. And seeing the berries in the dark proves really tough, even with the torch Ash gave me. The only good thing about this job is the tang of the blackcurrants when they explode in my mouth. I’m sick of apples and stale bread.
Ash helps move the punnets on to a wheelbarrow and grins. ‘Come on, fess up, how many did you eat?’
I laugh. ‘Probably more than I picked.’ I offer him a stem with stained fingers. ‘Try them, they’re good.’
‘Nah. Horrible little things. Why do you think I chose pea duty?’
He parks the wheelbarrow behind the cage and beckons for me to follow him. We climb over a fence and I notice for the first time a wooden shack, about the size of a garden shed but with no windows and a small, square door like a giant cat flap.
‘What’s in there?’ I ask.
‘Let’s go and find out.’ He drops down on to all fours and approaches the cat flap.
I follow suit, giggling at how daft we must look. ‘Ash? What are we doing?’
‘You want some proper food?’
‘Always.’
‘So it’s an early breakfast.’
He pushes his way through the flap until his feet disappear. I hear the soft buzz of a match striking and the gaps around the door glow ever so slightly. He holds the flap open for me, his face soft and amber in the lamplight. I squeeze my chest through the gap and headbutt his armpit. I start to laugh.
‘Shhhh.’ Ash points to a row of sleeping chickens. They look so peaceful perched up high, feathers puffed out and gleaming.
I continue to push my way into the coop, crushing dung with my hands and knees. The smell of creosote and warm feathery bodies makes me feel safe for some reason. I try and pull my legs under my body, but my arms kind of give way and I face-plant into the straw. Ash helps me up, shaking uncontrollably with laughter, his cheeks all pink and lovely with the effort of keeping it in.
‘Piss off,’ I whisper, blowing straw from my mouth.
He pulls a strand from my hair. ‘Your breakfast awaits.’
‘Won’t we get caught?’
‘Not likely, the Gems never venture this far from the manor.’
Quickly, I gather up some eggs, all smooth and warm in my hands like paperweights. I pass them to Ash and he places them outside the coop. He turns to me and nods when he’s got enough. He’s about to climb out when my stomach rumbles.
He places a finger over his lips and stands so he faces me. ‘It’s very important you don’t wake them,’ he whispers.
‘Why?’ I mouth back.
‘Because if you wake them, this happens.’ With no warning, he arches his back, turns his arms into wings and sticks out his chin. He crows so loudly I worry he’ll wake up the whole estate. Hens shriek, wings whoosh, and breasts bump into each other. I scream and laugh and shield my face with my hands.
But he clamps my arms to my sides and shouts, ‘Don’t miss it, Violet.’
We freeze, surrounded by wings and feathers. And in this chaotic, messy moment, I think to myself, Now this would make a good first kiss scene.