Chapter 7

Tilly put Little Fox down on the ground at the foot of a big tree, where the trunk turned into twisting roots and dead leaves had piled up in between to make a soft sitting place. Tilly settled down to think.

A blackbird flew over, calling out its warning cry. Above her, high in the tree, a robin began to sing. Tilly remembered that other song, from before. But there was no sign of anyone here today. Just her and the wild birds, and maybe a fox, hidden somewhere.

What now?

I’m going to make a den, Tilly thought. A secret place where I can come whenever I want to, and no one can find me.

Where would be a good place for a den? There was the deep bramble thicket, where something had already burrowed a way through, close to the ground, making a tunnel. It looked dry and secret, except that the something might still be living in there. And possibly it was a tunnel to get to somewhere else—a sort of animal road.

Tilly thought some more. She liked sitting here, right under this tree. It felt safe and quiet and hidden. This was a perfect place. If she dragged some big branches over and leaned them against the trunk, she could weave other stuff like dry grass and twigs in between the branches. She could decorate the inside with moss and have a log for a table and a smaller one for a chair. It would be good to have a doorway that could be opened and shut. The tree would shelter her, with its big, spreading branches like arms. Tilly could see it all clearly in her mind.

She started to explore the garden, looking for things for her den. She went farther than she’d been before. The garden was huge. There were woods at one end. But there was no sign of a house or a girl.

Under the trees, along a crumbling stone wall, she found lots of dead branches. She shoved and dragged them back to the tree. Some of the logs were too weak and they broke into useless small pieces, but soon she had enough to start piling them up into a wigwam leaning against the tree, to make a base for the walls. She gathered handfuls of dry grass to begin weaving through, in and out, over and under. It took a long time. Her hands were cold. She crept inside her den and sat in the middle, arms hugging her knees, and looked out through the doorway.

The garden was rustling and stirring, as if the night-time creatures were waking up.

In her den, Tilly felt safe. Keep out! she said fiercely in her head. This is my den!

Mine too! Little Fox said.

Tilly stroked his furry head against her cheek. He felt cold. “Time to go back,” she whispered to Little Fox. She held him tight in her hand as she squeezed through the door gap and walked past the old lavender hedge, back along the path they’d made before, when they first explored the long grass. This time, the crickets were silent. A blackbird flew away, calling its warning cry: spink spink! It was completely dark now.

Through the wooden gate, across the path, back through the metal gate, and onto the lawn went Tilly and Little Fox. Tilly’s boots left prints in the damp grass. The lights from the house windows shone out, casting pale gold squares over the garden. Dad had forgotten to close the curtains. Tilly crossed the squares like stepping stones, all the way back to the kitchen.

Tilly pulled off her boots and hung up her coat.

Tap tap tap came the sound from Dad’s study. Tilly padded upstairs. She went from room to room, pulling the curtains tight, keeping in the light.

Mom’s door was ajar. Tilly crept in.

Mom was listening to the radio. She turned and smiled at Tilly. “You’re freezing!” She kissed Tilly’s cheek. “What have you been doing?”

“Exploring outside,” Tilly said. She put Little Fox down on the bed.

“Ah,” Mom said. She sighed. “I can’t wait till I’m up and about, and everything can go back to normal.” She smiled at Tilly. “Well, not quite normal, perhaps!” She reached out her hand to stroke Little Fox. “He’s getting a bit threadbare. And he’s all muddy and damp!”

“I took him out to the garden with me,” Tilly said.

“It’s a beautiful garden. It will be even better in the spring,” Mom said. “You can invite some friends over to play in it with you when it’s warmer.”

Tilly didn’t tell her that she didn’t have any friends to invite. Not yet.

She didn’t tell her about the other garden, either. The secret one.

The tap tap tapping stopped. Dad came to the bedroom door. “Want to help me cook supper, Tilly?”

Tilly left Little Fox to dry out on Mom’s bed. She went downstairs with Dad, to make pasta sauce. She was getting good at cooking. She could do pancakes and pasta and French toast now.