The Thief of Always. Clive Barker
suppose I did,’ Harvey said.
‘So let me tempt you with some treats.’
Harvey sat himself down at the kitchen table, and within sixty seconds Mrs Griffin had set a dozen plates of food in front of him: hamburgers, hot dogs and fried chicken; mounds of buttered potatoes; apple, cherry and chocolate pies, ice cream and whipped cream; grapes, tangerines and a plate of fruits he couldn’t even name.
He set to eating with gusto, and was devouring his second slice of pie when a freckled girl with long, frizzy blonde hair and huge, blue-green eyes ambled in.
‘You must be Harvey,’ she said.
‘How did you know?’
‘Wendell told me.’
‘How did he know?’
She shrugged. ‘He just heard. I’m Lulu, by the way.’
‘Did you just arrive?’
‘No. I’ve been here ages. Longer than Wendell. But not as long as Mrs Griffin. Nobody’s been here as long as she has. Isn’t that right?’
‘Almost,’ said Mrs Griffin, a little mysteriously. ‘Do you want something to eat, sweetie?’
Lulu shook her head. ‘No thanks. I haven’t got much of an appetite at the moment.’
She nevertheless sat down opposite Harvey, stuck her thumb in the chocolate pie, and licked it clean.
‘Who invited you here?’ she asked.
‘A man called Rictus.’
‘Oh yes. The one with the grin?’
‘That’s him.’
‘He’s got a sister and two brothers,’ she went on.
‘You’ve met them then?’
‘Not all of them,’ Lulu admitted. ‘They keep themselves to themselves. But you’ll meet one or two of them sooner or later.’
‘I … don’t think I’ll be staying,’ Harvey said. ‘I mean my Mum and Dad don’t even know I’m here.’
‘Of course they do,’ Lulu replied. ‘They just didn’t tell you about it.’ This confused Harvey, and he said so. ‘Call your Mum and Dad,’ Lulu suggested. ‘Ask ’em.’
‘Can I do that?’ he wondered.
‘Of course you can,’ Mrs Griffin replied. ‘The phone’s in the hallway.’
Carrying a spoonful of ice-cream with him, Harvey went to the phone and dialled. At first there was a whining sound on the line, as though a wind was in the wires. Then, as it cleared, he heard his Mum say:
‘Who is this?’
‘Before you start yelling—’ he began.
‘Oh, hello dear,’ his Mum cooed. ‘Have you arrived?’
‘Arrived?’
‘You are at the Holiday House, I hope.’
‘Yes, I am. But—’
‘Oh, good. I was worried in case you’d lost your way. Do you like it there?’
‘You knew I was coming?’ Harvey said, catching Lulu’s eye.
I told you, she mouthed.
‘Of course we knew,’ his Mum went on. ‘We invited Mr Rictus to show you the place. You looked so sad, you poor lamb. We thought you needed a little fun.’
‘Really?’ said Harvey, astonished by this turn of events.
‘We just want you to enjoy yourself,’ his Mum went on. ‘So you stay just as long as you want.’
‘What about school?’ he said.
‘You deserve a little time off,’ came the reply. ‘Don’t you worry about anything. Just have a good time.’
‘I will, Mum.’
‘’Bye, dear.’
‘’Bye.’
Harvey came away from the conversation shaking his head in amazement.
‘You were right,’ he said to Lulu. ‘They arranged everything.’
‘So now you don’t have to feel guilty,’ said Lulu. ‘Well, I expect I’ll see you around later, huh?’
And with that she ambled away.
‘If you’ve finished eating,’ Mrs Griffin said, ‘I’ll show you to your room.’
‘I’d like that.’
She duly led Harvey up the stairs. At the half-landing, basking on the sun-drenched windowsill, was a cat with fur the colour of the cloudless sky.
‘That’s Blue-Cat,’ Mrs Griffin said. ‘You saw Stew-Cat playing with Wendell. I don’t know where Clue-Cat is, but he’ll find you. He likes new guests.’
‘Do you have a lot of people coming here?’
‘Only children. Very special children like you and Lulu and Wendell. Mr Hood won’t have just anybody.’
‘Who’s Mr Hood?’
‘The man who built the Holiday House,’ Mrs Griffin replied.
‘Will I meet him too?’
Mrs Griffin looked discomfited by the question. ‘Maybe,’ she said, her gaze averted. ‘But he’s a very private man.’
They were up on the landing by now, and Mrs Griffin led Harvey past a row of painted portraits to a room at the back of the House. It overlooked an orchard, and the warm air carried the smell of ripe apples into the room.
‘You look tired, my sweet,’ Mrs Griffin said. ‘Maybe you should lie down for a little while.’
Harvey usually hated to sleep in the afternoon: it reminded him too much of having the flu, or the measles. But the pillow looked very cool and comfortable, and when Mrs Griffin had taken her leave he decided to lie down, just for a few minutes.
Either he was more tired than he’d thought, or the calm and comfort of the House rocked him into a slumber. Whichever, his eyes closed almost as soon as he put his head on the pillow, and they did not open again until morning.
THE SUN came to wake him soon after dawn: a straight white dart of light, laid on his lids. He sat up with a start, wondering for a moment what bed this was, what room, what house. Then his memories of the previous day returned, and he realized that he’d slept through from late afternoon to early morning. The rest had strengthened him. He felt energetic, and with a whoop of pleasure he jumped out of bed and got dressed.
The House was more welcoming than ever today, the flowers Mrs Griffin had set on every table and sill singing with colour. The front door stood open, and sliding down the gleaming bannisters Harvey raced out on to the porch to inspect the morning.