and photos? Or was she horrified?â
âShe was excited,â Imogen admitted. âI think people always teased her when she said she knew things were going to happen. So I think she was pleased I took after her a little bit.â
âDoes she encourage it?â
âEncourage it?â
I tried to explain. âWhen my mum realized I was good at swimming, she signed me up at swim club right away. But when she found out I could crack my fingers, she couldnât stop me fast enough. âDonât do that!â she kept saying. âItâs a horrible habit!ââ
Imogen considered. âBut this isnât like either of those things. It just happens, or it doesnât.â
âIs that what your mum thinks?â
âI suppose so.â
âSo she doesnât go round shoving books at you, just out of curiosity, to see what happens?â
âOf course she doesnât.â
âBut she hasnât done anything to put a stop to it, either?â
Imogen stared. âLike what ?â
I couldnât think of anything, anyhow. Somehow, when it came down to it, it hardly seemed polite to mention going to doctors, or hypnotists, or psychiatrists, or anything like that. And anyhow, maybe Imogen and her mother were right, and being able to see into books and photos was one of those things, like blue eyes or freckles, that you couldnât do anything about if you wanted.
So I just kept on with the questions, ticking the answers off in my head, ready for later.
âWell, does it worry her that itâs so hard for you to concentrate on your schoolwork?â
âI try not to say too much about that,â Imogen admitted.
âBut she must know youâre having problems. What about when you had to change schools because people thought you wereââ I would have said âcreepyâ, but it seemed nicer to finish up ââ a little strange ?â
âShe was surprised it all got so difficult so quickly.â
âDid it?â
âOh, yes. Before last year, it only ever happened those two times â with Aunty Doraâs photo, and that book about the pony. I still had plenty of friends. And my work wasnât bad, either.â
That made sense. After all, sheâd written out that story from Tyke Sam pretty fast, covering three whole pages in less than half an hour. And Mr Hooper could read it.
âSo this whole business just got worse suddenly?â
âYes,â Imogen said. âAnd maybe one day itâll go away again just as quickly.â
âWould you like that?â
She didnât answer. She just stared ahead.
âHow about your mum?â I asked. âWould she like it?â
âWhy are you asking all these questions?â Imogen burst out.
I shut up, fast, in case she guessed. But anyway, we were already turning the corner into her road. Imogen led me past three or four plain, boring old houses, then up the path beside another, just the same.
âMumâs probably round the back,â she said, pushing open the side gate. I followed her through, and stopped in my tracks, astonished. The back of the house was amazing. I just stared .
How to describe it? It looked as if fairies and goblins had decorated the whole place for a joke. The bricks were yellow, the door red, the window frames green and their shutters blue. All over the lawn were tiny pretend windmills, and gnomes fishing in ponds, and plaster tortoises and rabbits. There was even a wizard sitting cross-legged on a stone mushroom, waving his wand. If you were five, you would have thought youâd fallen through a hole in the real world, and ended up in a Toytown picture book.
âThat is incredible!â
Behind me, there was an excited voice. âDo you really like it? Really? â
I spun round.
âMelly,â said Imogen. âThis is my mum.â
She didnât look like anybodyâs mum to me. She was