Chapter 12

When the moon first rose above the trees it looked huge, like an enormous silver saucer. It spilled its strange, silvery light over the grass and trees, as if it was showing the way across one garden, through the gate, across to the other garden, and all the way to Tilly’s den.

Under the trees it seemed darker than before. The trees seemed bigger than ever, and there were more of them, as if a forest had sprung up. It smelled of pine and spice, that mysterious, delicious Christmas smell. Tilly crept under the trees, her white dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, her feet in pink slippers feeling their way over the frosted grass and dead leaves and bits of broken branches.

Ahead of her, something glowed with a soft light—not moonlight but something else, a light that flickered and moved. Candles, Tilly suddenly realized. Small candles in silver candle holders attached to the lower branches of a small fir tree next to her den. She stopped and looked, mesmerized by how beautiful it was.

She could hear something. A humming sound, as if someone was singing under their breath while they were busy doing something, and then a girl’s voice, laughing, called out softly, “Tilly! Merry Christmas!”

Tilly went forward, her heart fluttering with excitement. She pulled back the bracken and grass from the door of the den, so she could crawl in.

In the flickering light sat a girl about Tilly’s age, with long hair, dressed in a green woollen coat with a velvet collar, and brown laced-up boots, smiling at her.

“Oh!” Tilly whispered. “At last! I’ve sooo wanted to see you!”

“Come on in!” The girl patted the ground next to her. “Sit yourself down.”

Tilly hardly dared breathe. She crept inside, trembling. She sat down next to the girl. She smiled shyly.

The girl smiled back.

The den had been transformed. Like the decorations on a Christmas tree, the branches of the den were hung with silver ornaments and a pink glass bell, and a small silver trumpet which spun around, slowly, shining in the light from the candle on the small table in the middle.

“Do you like it?” the girl asked.

“It’s beautiful!” Tilly said. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” the girl said in her old-fashioned voice. She started unwrapping things from the basket by her side: slices of cake, russet apples, two small oranges, a thick slice of meat bread, and cheese wrapped in a piece of cloth.

“A midnight feast!” Tilly said.

“Of course. A feast for Christmas Eve. Are you hungry?”

Tilly didn’t think she was. But the cake looked delicious, and she nibbled at the thick white icing, and then she had an apple, and a sliver of cheese…

“We could give the leftovers to the fox,” Tilly said, when they had both had enough. “Do you know about the fox?”

The girl laughed. “Yes! Of course. It’s still getting used to you, though. Foxes are shy creatures.”

They put the meat and the cheese and the rest of the bread outside the den and waited for the fox to appear. They waited for ages. Tilly began to feel cold, shivery.

“Perhaps the fox won’t come while we’re here,” Tilly said. “And I’d better go home soon, in any case.”

“I’ve seen you in the garden lots of times,” the girl said. “But you’ve never spotted me before, have you?”

“I’ve heard you singing,” Tilly said. “But you’re very good at hiding. Is this your garden, then? Did you mind about me making the den?”

“Of course not! I helped you to make it even better. Didn’t you notice?”

“The rose hips and things?”

“Yes, and I put more bracken and grass and moss over the branches, to make it stronger and more rainproof. You can sit in here when it’s raining and it hardly comes in at all.”

“How many times have you been here?” Tilly asked.

“Lots. I bring a book sometimes and read. Or make things, like necklaces, from berries and things I find. Or just hide quietly, so I can watch the birds and the animals and no one can see me.”

“Did you find the butterfly clip?” Tilly said shyly. “It was to say thank you, for finding the little cradle I lost. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes!” The girl turned her head, so Tilly could see the butterfly in her red-brown hair. It glinted in the candlelight, not rusty at all anymore. “I really wanted to keep the cradle…it was so pretty. But I knew it must be yours. And the clip is pretty too.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Tilly asked. “Can I come and play?”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” the girl said. “I come and I go. It’s time for me to go now!”

“Me too,” Tilly said. She wriggled through the door after the girl, out into the garden. It was darker than ever. The wind must have blown out all the candles on the fir tree. Clouds covered the moon.

“Good-bye! Merry Christmas! See you soon!” The girl was already running off into the night. She turned once, briefly, to wave at Tilly, before she disappeared under the trees.

I forgot to ask her name, Tilly thought. Next time…

It was early morning. Tilly turned over in her bed. As she moved her feet, she heard the rustle of the Christmas stocking. She moved her toes again, to feel the delicious weight of it. She reached out for the clock on the bedside table. Six o’clock. It was still too early to wake up Mom and Dad, to go rushing through to their room to open her presents.

She turned on the bedside light, reached down, and pulled the stocking up so she could see it properly. It was stuffed to the top with small packages all wrapped up in pink shiny paper with silver stars. Tilly pulled at the top one, undid one end, and then put it back, suddenly guilty. She must wait for morning.

The bubble of happiness inside her was growing bigger and stronger. It was Christmas. Mom would be coming downstairs for once, to be with her and Dad all day. And she had a new friend at last. A girl a little like her, and a little bit like Ally…

Tilly lay quietly in bed, waiting for the day to begin.