Dream Paris Read Online Free PDF

stairs, taking care not to trip on the carpet that had buckled where the treads narrowed. The upstairs landing creaked as the house shifted, the rain pattered on the ill-fitting windows. I ran into my room and grabbed my old hiking rucksack and started throwing things into it. Underwear, clothes, penknife. My own script, the one I kept locked in a box.
    My walking boots stood on my cornet case, tucked at the bottom of the wardrobe. A note sounded in my head and I remembered poor Petrina’s pixellated form.
    Think of the silence.
    I found a pad half filled with maths notes and I tore off a few blank sheets.
    Dear Ben, I wrote. I paused, pen in my mouth. What was I going to say?
    My mother is alive in Dream Paris. A man called Mr Twelvetrees came to my house and told me this. He says he’s going to help me find her. He gave me this card. (I placed the card at the side of the note, ready to be sealed in the envelope.) I don’t know if I can trust him, this may all be a trick, but what else can I do?
    What else could I put? I signed it Anna . Quickly, I scribbled out a second note to Mr Hiatt. And then a third, to Ben again. I sealed these notes in envelopes and addressed them.
    I returned to the kitchen to find Mr Twelvetrees sitting where I’d left him, blank eyes turned towards a floor that danced with orange stars in the glow of the Rayburn. He looked up as I entered the room, hearing the bump as I caught my rucksack on the door frame.
    “Ready? Splendid! Now, would you mind taking my arm, Anna?”
    “Just a moment,” I paused, thinking. “I can’t just leave like this. What about Mr Hiatt? What’s he going to do for food? What about Ben and his family? They’ll worry if I just vanish.”
    “Who’s Ben?”
    “My boyfriend.”
    Perhaps that was too grand a title. To be honest, Ben was more of a convenience. A box ticked, something that prevented offers and enquiries from other men.
    “… and then there’s school. What about my exams?”
    And that was the big thing. I had my future to think of. I needed my grades to get to university.
    Mr Twelvetrees waved a hand dismissively.
    “You’re doing work of national importance. Trust me, all that will be taken care of.” He looked in my general direction. Or was it all a lie? Could he really see me? I wasn’t sure. This was where I found out. I placed the first letter to Ben in the middle of the table, in full view. Mr Twelvetrees didn’t seem to notice.
    “I’m sorry, Anna,” he continued. “You read the fortune. You speak to your mother on Nivôse 23rd. According to our research, that’s in five days time.”
    “And you only just came to me?”
    “The scroll was only found on Monday morning. It took us a day to find out which Anna it referred to.”
    “It had my address on it.”
    “We wanted to know something about you.”
    Why? It’s a fortune. What difference would it make? But I kept my thoughts to myself.
    “I’m sorry. We can talk about such things later. Now, would you mind taking my arm?”
    I did so, and I led him from the room, casting a backwards glance at the letter to Ben I’d left on the table. How long before someone saw it? Or would it just lie there, forgotten?
     
     
    T HERE WAS A dark car parked outside The Poison Yews; a heavy old thing, all polished chrome and shiny black paint. As we approached it, a tall young man with a broken nose got out.
    “Thank you, Darren,” said Mr Twelvetrees.
    Darren held open a door, and the scent of the oily red leather interior wafted over us both. I felt sick: the car smelt of Dream London.
    “Ladies first, Anna.”
    I ducked into the car through a cloud of acetone breath. As he closed the door, I noted that Darren was missing some fingers. Then he was gone, around the other side to help Mr Twelvetrees into his seat.
    Mr Twelvetrees waited for the sound of the driver’s door closing.
    “The base, please.”
    “Certainly, Mr Twelvetrees.”
    The car pulled away gently. I noted that someone