1. Perry Angel and the Beautiful Tennessee Waltz

Dance, silent sister of song, lives in the heart of the Kingdom of Silk. Annie Silk’s heart had done a quickstep at the exact moment each of her seven children began to grow inside her. And when at last they were born on the bed made by their daddy, Ben, each one was held close, rocked gently, then passed from one pair of careful arms to another, like steps in the dance of life.

Perry Angel was not born a Silk. The heart of his sixteen-year-old mother, Sunday Lee, had fluttered in fear when she felt him begin to grow inside her. When he was born, she had held him close, rocked him gently, kissed him sadly then left him for others to take care of.

When Perry learnt to speak, his words came slow and stumbling. There were many homes and many arms to which he was passed, not all of them kind. Even those that were, never showed him how to dance.

Then Perry came to the Kingdom of Silk, where they asked him to stay. No-one seemed to mind that he couldn’t find words to say how much that meant to him. The Silks understood that language grows more slowly than movement and that dance has a way of saying things we cannot find words for.

It was Nell Silk who first danced with Perry. Nell was grandmother to the Rainbow Girls — Scarlet, Indigo, Violet, Amber and Saffron — and to Griffin and anyone else in need of grandmothering. Along with Perry, Layla Elliott was such a child.

Layla was Griffin’s best friend, and an honorary member of the Silk family. She no longer had a grandperson of her own, and had quickly fallen in love with Nell and the rest of the Silk family.

One of Layla’s most treasured tender moments was seeing her mother and father dancing on the grass under the Cox’s Orange Pippin tree at the Kingdom of Silk. It happened on the evening after the peace march Scarlet had organised. Almost everyone in Cameron’s Creek had joined in, walking down the main street with candles in cups, setting white balloons free at the church. There was singing and supper under the stars that night. And the Elliotts danced. Layla had never seen her parents dance before. They weren’t dancing kind of people. It was as though the Kingdom of Silk had cast a magic spell on them.

Sometimes even grown-up people can’t find words for the feelings in their hearts and Perry wondered if this was true even of Nell or his friend Jenkins. There are people who choose to draw or paint or play music or sing or even bake cakes, like Amber, when they can’t find the right words. And then there are those who dance. You can do any of these things by yourself, but dancing is much better when you do it with someone else.

Perry wished everyone in the entire universe could dance with someone they love. Nell and Perry had often danced the Spanish Fandango around the kitchen table, while blueberry muffins grew fat and fruity in the oven. They had danced polkas in the vegetable patch, simply because the sky was blue, the pumpkins orange, the raspberries red and because even caterpillars have their place in the world. And once, after they had found three small speckled eggs in a wren’s nest in a hedge, Perry and Nell had foxtrotted all the way home.

Nell didn’t dance as often now, but she still talked about the dances she and her sisters, Ruby, Florence and Alice, had attended when they were little girls. She told of ladies wearing posies of flowers fastened to their prettiest dresses, froths of petticoats under their skirts and small dabs of April Violets perfume in the crooks of their elbows.

Nell still remembered the names of all the tunes the bands played, the way the Master of Ceremonies called out which dance was next and told you when to change partners. A home-made supper was served on china plates, she said, and there were butterfly cakes, cream kisses and ginger fluff sponges. Fruit punch was ladled from large cut-glass bowls into tiny matching cups.

Nell’s daddy played fiddle in a dance band and her mama was a pianist. Whenever they went to dances, they took their four small daughters with them. From the time she was sweet sixteen, the only boy Nell ever danced with was Johnny Silk. And afterwards they walked home under the stars, with Johnny’s jacket around Nell’s shoulders.

But Johnny was gone now and Nell was almost eighty. Sometimes she thought of him when she closed her eyes and played dance tunes on the old piano that was decorated with curly brass candlesticks. Then Ben would join in on his harmonica and Annie would sing while the Rainbow Girls, Griffin, Perry Angel and Layla danced. Neither Nell nor Ben needed sheets of music to play. Some people say this is a gift and call it ‘playing by ear’. But Nell and Ben say music lives inside us all, with her children, dance and song.

One evening, when Nell was playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz on the piano and Perry was snuggled up on Annie’s lap in a chair by the fire, he began thinking about Jenkins, his grownup friend.

Long ago, Jenkins was married to Juliette. She and Jenkins had no babies. They were a family of two.

When Juliette died, Jenkins was married to no-one. He had no-one to care for until he became Perry’s personal assistant at school. Perry didn’t need so much help any more, but he and Jenkins were still good friends.

Nell was a good friend to Jenkins too. She made him plum puddings for Christmas and knitted socks for him to wear in winter. But she had never danced with him.

One day, while Jenkins and Nell were having a cup of tea, Perry Angel and Griffin pegged pieces of cardboard onto the spokes of Jenkins’ Malvern Star bicycle, with its rear-view mirrors and genuine leather saddlebags. But they forgot to tell Jenkins what they’d done and when he was going home the cardboard flaps made such a tremendous noise as he sped down the hill that Blue, Griffin and Perry ran beside him to make sure he didn’t have a catastrophe.

Nell hurried after them with her hand over her mouth to stop frightened shouts from bursting out. Blue was thinking what fun it was to run so fast. Griffin was thinking it was lucky the gate at the bottom of the long gravel drive was open. Jenkins was thinking it was lucky the Malvern Star had excellent brakes.

When Nell caught up, Jenkins was resting in the long pillowy grass beside the strainer post. He said he was only catching his breath. Perry was afraid Jenkins might never visit them again, but Nell said he must come and have his trousers mended. And he did. He didn’t ride his Malvern Star, but he wore his tartan bow-tie, his silver hair was neatly combed and he brought a paper bag full of ripe peaches. When he told Nell they were especially for her, his cheeks grew pinker than the peaches’ and Nell bent her head over her mending. She was like a magic seamstress with a golden thimble on her finger, stitching the tear in Jenkins’ pants with invisible thread, making them good as new.

Sometimes when Nell was playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz, Perry noticed a look of wishfulness in her eyes. He wondered if Nell was longing for someone to dance with. Someone like Jenkins. But Jenkins always went home before the dancing started and, besides, even if he had stayed, Nell would have been playing the piano.

So Perry Angel decided to find a way for them to dance together. He wanted it to be a proper dance with posies and petticoats and for someone else to play the beautiful Tennessee Waltz. It was this one small wish to make two people happy, which was the beginning of the Festival of Crisp Winter Glories.