AUTHOR NOTE: This story contains yuri/femmeslash. If that sort of thing is distasteful to you, read no further and save us both the aggravation. The idea for this story occured to me while reading, and follows what I think is a plausible series of events. However, if you think, given the above notice, that these events may offend you in some way, then to quote Darrell Rivers, "Buzz off!"
With that behind us, I was given a copy of Hollow Tree House a few months ago, and it quickly became one of my favourite Blyton books. I have tried to capture Blyton's tone in this, but not sure whether I manage it - I also have not written in prose format for a very long time. In other words, all feedback will be very gratefully received ^v^ I'm wondering whether anyone will read this at all, so please drop a line if you do.
This is the first of three chapters. It is quite long, but didn't really work when I tried break it into smaller chapters after writing. Yuri/femmeslash themes will be more apparent in the next two chapters. Sections in italics have been taken from the book "Hollow Tree House" by Enid Blyton.
On with the actual story.
CHAPTER ONE - PETER
* * *
"Do you want us, Angela?" said Peter. "Do you want us to play a game with you?"
"No," said Angela, her eyes shining excitedly. "I want to tell you a story - a story with a happy ending."
"A true one, or a make-up one?" asked Susan.
"A true one," said Angela. "Listen."
* * *
No matter how many years passed, the instant Peter thought of Angela, he pictured a young, smiling girl with clear blue eyes and a golden mop of hair falling about her shoulders. It didn't make any difference that she had grown to be nearly as tall as he, or that her golden hair was now almost as short as his own. As long as her heart remained as generous and spirited as it had always been, Peter would see Angela as she was when they had first met in Sunday School. Sometimes he wondered whether he might have fallen in love with her at that very moment, but usually scolded himself these romantic notions.
'Idiot,' he would say, furrowing his brow as he dismissed the thought. 'You were only ten years old. Far too young to be bothering about nonsense like that!"
No, it was Angela's wonderful spirit that had captured Peter - had caught him almost unawares. First, as a playmate, he recalled. The three children would dress up, and act out the most marvellous stories that Angela devised. Her mind was always full of wild adventures. The other children in the village found Angela a bit queer with her imagination, preferring to skip rope or play marbles or games of that sort. Peter liked those games too, and always joined in at break time when he and Susan went to the village school. But somehow things were just more fun with Angela, and he always liked her games better.
Of course, once they had Hollow Tree House, playing House was almost real too. Peter could never quite understand why Angela played the Father, with Susan as Mother, and himself cast as the Little Boy, or the Gardener or somebody like that. Once, he'd asked why they didn't swap around sometimes, let him play the Father instead, but Angela had just given him an odd look, and shook her head.
"No, I don't think so Peter. It might be a bit funny like that," she'd said, and Peter hadn't liked to ask what she meant. So they carried on as they were, and of course, they didn't always play House. They pretended so many different stories, but Peter loved them all.
The three learned with Miss
Blair during the day. Once afternoon came, they could escape into the sunshine,
Angela in her blue shorts holding Susan's hand as they followed the string
to Hollow Tree House. There they could shout, and laugh, and pretend as
much as they liked without anybody saying a thing! Though, in truth, Angela's
mother and father were never strict at all with their daughter or their
two charges. When Peter thought back to those horrid days with Aunt Margaret,
he couldn't help but shiver. He and Susan hardly spoke of it, because his
sister got so upset when it was mentioned. And then Angela would suddenly
become quite unlike her usual self, angrily speaking ill of Aunt Margaret.
So they didn't mention it anymore, and Peter was glad. He didn't
want to remember it either!
Angela closed her eyes and fell
asleep. So did Susan. Peter lay awake, looking up through the green leaves,
glimpsing bits of blue sky between them as they moved.
The games had stopped, Peter supposed, when the three of them had gone off to boarding school. At first, none of them could bear the thought of being separated, not to mention leaving Barker behind. A whole term at a time! Peter especially had been nervous, because he would be going by himself. Nevertheless, he was a good, sensible boy who accepted his foster parents' decisions, so he set himself to make the best of boarding school, and look forward to the holidays.
And it was all for the best, after all! Boarding school had turned out to be simply marvellous. It was hard for Peter to remember himself as a first-former after so many years there.
'What a big-eyed kid I must have been, running scared of the sixth formers,' the young man laughed to himself.
Naturally, Peter had tried to pretend he wasn't scared, but that didn't stop you from being scared, he decided now. He had quickly settled in at his new school, learning to play rugger for the first time - Gracious, to think of not knowing how to play! - and knuckling down to swot when exams came around. Peter enjoyed his years at school. They too were part of the wonderful dream that had started shortly after he had met Angela.
She and his sister had gone to an all-girls school in Cornwall, about two hours away from his own by train. There wasn't really time for visiting during term, but they were often lucky enough to share the same half-term holiday. Peter would get up extra early on these occassions, and after seeing his housemaster, walked to the small station to catch the train to Cornwall. It was a long journey, which might have been boring alone, but there were always several other boys who also had permission to travel on the half-term. Together they made up a small, but jolly, group.
There was Walters, a boy two forms above Peter, with tanned skin and an air of quiet authority. He was usually first to leave the train, and Peter always felt rather glad once he had gone. Although Walters was a good sportsman, and popular with his classmates, he was also quite intimidating for the younger ones.
Peter sighed in mild amusement as he remembered the older boy. 'I suppose we must all seem just as bad to the kids now.'
Then there was Jones, a short, wiry boy in Peter's own form who was frightfully good at running. He left about halfway through the journey. A born comedian, he kept the group entertained with stories of his madcap family, and once they had all laughed so raucously that a guard had come to see what the fuss was about. Everyone was always sorry when Jones left the train, with a cheery wave.
It had seemed odd at first, Peter recalled, to call the other boys by their surnames, and to be called 'Frost' in return. At the village school, it had simply been Tom, or Ronnie or indeed, Peter. Yet he understood that this was the way things were done at high school, and it didn't do to go against the grain in these matters.
By the time the train neared
the stop for the girls' school in Cornwall, Peter was usually the only
one left from his group. He always enjoyed the first glimpse of the school
as the train rounded the bend. Of course, he thought his own school was
the finest in the country, but there was something special about that moment
on each journey. There was so much to look forward to on those precious
half-term holidays, and the sight of the majestic old building reminded
him that it was all true, every last wonderful bit of it.
"A window in a tree! It sounds
like a fairy-tale, doesn't it, Susan?" (Peter)
Yes, those half-term holidays were etched into Peter's mind in impossible detail. At a quarter past ten sharp, he would meet his foster parents at the gate to the station. Uncle Rob would clap him warmly on the back, asking to hear more about various athletic events Peter had mentioned in his letters, while Aunt Joan looked on merrily.
Somehow, Susan had never grown accustomed to calling the couple 'Mother' and 'Father', though she adored them both with all her heart, and so in order to solve a rather awkward problem, Angela suggested using 'Uncle' and 'Aunt' instead. It was a fine idea, and also, Peter thought, quite clever. Surely now Susan pictured a loving, kind woman when she heard the word 'Aunt', and not those dreadful times with Aunt Margaret.
At the school itself, girls would be madly rushing to and fro as cars drove up the grand drive. Mistresses kept a watchful eye on the proceedings, taking note of who had left. This was important, because girls would often pair up to include those whose people couldn't come at half-term.
Peter closed his eyes, and immediately in his mind he was there. Staring up at the entrance hall once again and waiting for the girls. Suddenly, a pair of hands clapped over his eyes.
"Guess who!" said a clear voice.
Peter could have recognised that voice no matter how noisy the girls around him were. He spun around to see Angela grinning back at him. Her pale blue eyes twinkling with pleasure at seeing him again. Peter smiled too, and surveyed her from head to toe.
"Hallo Angela! My word, your hair seems shorter than when I saw it last!" he teased, staring at the short blonde ends.
Angela laughed, that wonderful pealing sound she always made. "Idiot. It's grown if anything, of course. Nearly three months since I had it cut."
"Yes I know, but I didn't see you last half-term, and I'm still getting used to it. In my mind, your hair is quite long!" replied Peter.
"Oh, shucks!" Angela said goodnaturedly, and they both laughed, glad of the warm breeze lightly rustling skirts and hair. The sky was clear above them, and both knew it would be a simply glorious half-term.
Angela looked around suddenly then, her brow furrowed. "Blow, where's Sue gone? She was here just a minute ago!"
Peter looked around too and spotted his younger sister, already with Uncle Rob and Aunt Joan and talking nineteen to the dozen. He laughed, and gestured towards them.
"Over there. She can't wait around for us, after all!"
Angela shook her head, her
smile restored and she grabbed Peter's hand, quite dragging him over to
where the others stood.
"Angela's eyes shone. Her tears
stopped. She gazed at Peter in the utmost delight, and then she gave him
such a bear-hug that he gasped."
Peter had snuck up behind his sister that day, and suddenly whirled her around so that she shrieked in fright.
"Angela, oh Angela, stop it!" cried Susan, thinking it must be her friend. Her eyes went wide when she saw Angela wink, and then go to kiss her mother on the cheek. Angela! Well, if it wasn't her, then who was it?
"Hallo Baby," came the deep, merry voice of Peter, and Susan staggered for a moment as he carefully set her down. "Have you forgotten about me already?"
"Oh, darling Peter, of course I haven't forgotten you!" Susan said indignantly, as she spun around to face him. The pair were so alike that people often mistook them for twins, with their wavy black hair and deep blue eyes. Angela, however, did not see how people could make such a mistake. She had known them almost all her life and for her, Peter was Peter and Susan was Susan. It was impossible to mix them up when they were quite, quite different, she thought to herself.
"Well then, now that we're all here, let's be on our way," said Uncle Rob with a determined air, trying to steer the group through the maze of excited girls and back towards the car.
"Yes, come on dears. We want to make the most of the day. Don't dawdle there, Angela, do hurry along." Aunt Joan added in her calm voice, keeping a watchful eye on both her husband hurrying ahead, and the children following behind. "Harriet has packed a simply enormous spread for you all."
"Good old Harriet!" Peter said affectionately, thinking of the round and kindly housekeeper back home.
Aunt Joan smiled, and was about to reply when her hat was nearly knocked off by a passing second-former. Angela stopped the girl at once.
"Hie, you there," she said in a stern tone. "Watch what you're doing, you nearly knocked over my mother fooling around like that!"
The second-former looked scared at being reprimanded by a senior girl, and tried to sink into the ground. "I'm frightfully sorry, I didn't see," she began timidly.
Angela nodded in approval. "That's all right," she said in the same stern voice, "but mind you keep your eyes on what's ahead of you in future."
"Yes, I will!" promised the girl breathlessly, eyes still wide.
"Alright then, buzz off," Angela allowed, and the second-former shot off into the crowd, very careful not to knock anyone else's mother. Susan's eyes glowed with pride.
"That was marvellous, Angela. I wish I was brave enough to do things like that!" she said, somewhat mournfully. Angela linked her arm through Susan's reassuringly.
"Don't be silly, they're only second-formers Sue. You needn't be afraid of them," she said confidently. But Susan was, and both Angela and Peter knew it. It wasn't that Susan had a nervous temperament, for she hadn't, but rather that she hated altercations of any kind. Peter supposed it reminded her of Aunt Margaret, but quickly put the thought out of his mind.
Aunt Joan peered across at her daughter, having recovered herself. "You weren't too hard on her, were you dear? It was an accident, after all."
"Nonsense, Mother," Angela replied airily. "If no one knocks these kids into line now, how will they be once they leave school?"
"Selfish, lazy and too full of their own importance for words," supplied Peter promptly, who could think of more than one example from his own class.
"Quite right," grinned Angela. Aunt Joan sighed in defeat, and adjusted her hat.
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Well, as I was going to say, Harriet passes her love to all of you. I daresay she worries about you more than I do during term time."
They finally reached the car where Uncle Rob stood with the doors open, having already waited a good five minutes for his family.
"Did she send any cherry cake?" asked Susan as she climbed into the car. "Nobody makes it quite like Harriet, and I do so miss it at school."
"No cherry cake for girls who can't walk fast enough," quipped Uncle Rob, but his brown eyes were twinkling.
Susan was aghast until she realised it was a joke. "Oh, Uncle Rob! Don't tease me, I've been looking forward to Harriet's cherry cake for simply ages!" she cried.
"I shall tell her next hols,
Sue, that you miss her baking more than you miss her," said Angela with
a sly wink, and Peter chuckled quietly to himself. How glad he was to be
back with them all again, to have such merry conversations and to feel
truly
loved. How glad he was to be with Angela once again!
"It's no good asking and wishing
for what's impossible, Susan. We must just make the best of what we've
got." (Peter)
That particular half-term had been very warm indeed, Peter remembered. Uncle Rob had driven them all to a heavenly spot a little over a mile from the school, just perfect for a picnic lunch. It wasn't quite on the beach, but it was near enough to be able to see the ocean, and smell the salt on the air. Peter had inhaled great lungfuls of it, and wished his own school was on the coast. It was a fine school, of course - he couldn't be prouder of it - but the sea was miles and miles away and beach trips were few.
The family had set up partly in the shade, at Aunt Joan's insistence - "If you think I am going to get sunburnt, you are all very much mistaken!" - and as promised, there was a huge spread sent by Harriet. Veal and ham pie, hard-boiled eggs, freshly baked bread in sandwiches of cheese or beef, garden tomatoes, pickled onions, and last but not least, a whole cherry cake. All washed down with ginger beer. Peter had looked at all the food in utter amazement, and wondered how on earth they would finish it. Yet there was very little left at the end of the meal.
"Anyone want another piece of cherry cake?" asked Angela as she cut one for herself. A general round of groans met her question.
"I don't know how you can eat another thing," Peter remarked, feeling very full indeed after the enormous meal. There was a gentle snore, and he looked across to where his Uncle lay in the shade. He had a newspaper folded discreetly over his face and his chest was moving up and down in a steady rhythm.
"I must say, I'm terribly sleepy after all that food as well," Peter said, stifling a yawn.
Angela blinked at him, "You can't go to sleep on our half-term holiday, it's such a waste. Let's go for a stroll instead."
Peter nodded, and stood up at once. After missing her so much, it would be lovely to have a decent talk with Angela. It seemed ages since they last had. He couldn't stop himself from feeling very disappointed when he heard Angela say,
"Sue, do you want to come as well?"
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy his younger sister's company. On the contrary, Peter always looked forward to Susan's letter each week. It was just that it wouldn't be the same with someone else there too.
"No, I simply can't," Susan replied lazily, lying on the edge of the picnic rug in the shade. "I've eaten too much. You two go instead."
"Don't wander too far," came Aunt Joan's muffled voice from under her hat, and Angela grinned.
"We shan't. Off we go, Peter."
And off they went. The pair soon discovered a funny little path that ran along the cliffs, giving a heavenly view of the bay. Wild heather and gorse bushes tried to snare any piece of clothing that dared come too near, but the path itself was well-worn and quite safe.
Angela had stopped after a while, gazing out over the ocean. Peter stopped too, and watched her for a moment as she seemed lost in her own world. Her short golden hair was ruffled every which way by the wind, her clear blue eyes closed slightly against the sun. Everything about Angela was full of spirit, Peter decided. Beatiful too, he thought, hardly able to stop himself from blushing like an idiot. Everything about her was beautiful.
"It seems strange to think we'll be sixth formers next year," Angela said suddenly, startling Peter from his thoughts. She turned, her merry face quite serious. "And you'll be finished then. Do you still mean to go into Law?"
Peter nodded, thinking about his plans for the following year. "Yes, I haven't changed my mind. It just feels like the right thing to do."
"Well, I think it will suit you marvellously. You've always been absolutely straight, ever since I've known you," Angela said with conviction. Peter felt his face go warm.
"Thanks awfully, Angela," the young man replied, somewhat awkwardly, and for a moment he was at a loss for what to say next. He supposed he had better ask the same question. It was something he desperately wanted an answer to, after all. What were Angela's plans?
"But what are you intending to do once you finish school?" Peter asked casually, kicking at a gorse clump near his foot.
Angela laughed, and the sound echoed lightly across the cliffs. "I want to study drama. I've always wanted to be an actress - can't think of anything nicer in the whole world."
"My word," said Peter admiringly. "That's a fine ambition."
Angela looked worried all of a sudden. "Yes, but please don't say anything to Mother or Father yet," she urged him. Seeing Peter's surprised face, she pressed on. "I know you can't tell an untruth, and I shan't ask you to either, but if they do wonder, please say that I haven't quite decided yet."
"All right, I will, but why won't you tell them?" Peter asked, plainly astonished. Angela knew as well as he did that Uncle Rob and Aunt Joan loved them not matter what.
"Well, it can be rather difficult, being an actress. It's not such a certain ambition as being a lawyer or a teacher," Angela began, and Peter nodded gravely. He had heard this was true as well.
"I simply don't want them to worry about it," she went on, and then sighed heavily. "Besides, I may not become an actress."
Peter stared at her. Now he was more confused than ever. "But didn't you just say you would? Do make up your mind, Angela."
"It's not that I don't want to be an actress," Angela explained, and she sounded so serious that Peter was quite taken aback. "I do, you know, more than anything, but one can't be silly about these things either."
Angela turned back to the view, and stared out at the gulls on the horizon. All at once she seemed to have become grown-up, Peter thought. She stood there, with her cropped golden hair rustling and her open, honest face strangely solemn, looking for all the world like someone quite different from the Angela he knew. It made him uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat, determined to cheer her up again.
"You'll be a fine actress, Angela. I'm sure of it. Susan is always telling me how marvellous you are at the pantomime rehearsals - you've one of the lead roles, haven't you?" Peter asked in a jolly tone.
Angela nodded, and her eyes shone at the thought of the pantomime. It was Sleeping Beauty, Peter knew, and Susan had been faithfully reporting its progress in her weekly letters. "Yes, I'm playing the Prince," she replied, sounding more like her usual self.
Peter smiled inwardly. "There you are then. You wouldn't have been chosen if you didn't have the talent for the role, that you can be sure of. Buck up, old thing!"
His efforts were rewarded when Angela's face broke into an honest grin, and she shook her head, remonstrating herself.
"You're right, of course. I don't know what comes over me sometimes," she said in a much lighter tone. "Foolishness, I suppose."
Peter laughed out loud at the absurdity of this statement. Angela had many qualities, but foolishness was surely not among them. He heard her chuckling too, in her clear, pleasant way, and suddenly everything seemed all right again.
"Thanks ever so, Peter," Angela continued, in the same glad tone. "You're a real brick, do you know?"
And then, to Peter's infinite surprise, she leaned forward and placed a small, and very brief, kiss on his left cheek. It was of the kind she often gave Aunt Joan and Uncle Rob; affectionate, chaste, and so light it barely registered on the skin. Peter felt as though his cheek was burning where her lips had brushed...
The clocktower bell chimed five o'clock, startling Peter from his reverie and back into the reality of his sixth form study. Gracious, was that the time already? Peter silently scolded himself for having idled away the best part of an hour, when there were three chapters of French history yet to be revised.
The memory of that day lingered with Peter a while longer though. He had eventually gotten over his shock at Angela's unexpected gesture, and looked up to find her already several feet further along the coast path. Whistling cheerfully to herself as she headed back towards where Uncle Rob, Aunt Joan and Susan would surely be waking for an early tea.
Angela had turned then, and waved to him, grinning in her impatience. "Hurry up slowpoke!" she had teased, and Peter had managed a laugh too, the sound seeming rather queer in his own ears.
That moment had been the starting point for an inordinate number of daydreams for Peter. Even as he walked along the path behind Angela, he had imagined the sensation of a second kiss. A longer one perhaps, on the lips. On the train ride back to his school, he had been distant from the general chatter and bustle of his classmates. The others had nudged one another, wondering what might be the matter, but Peter was too lost in thought to notice. Seeing Angela, courting Angela, kissing Angela.
It was a lovely fantasy, and in the months since that day, the young man had indulged himself in thinking it might come true. Peter was not by any means fanciful, but surely there was no harm in dreaming? Everybody needed something to hope for in life, Uncle Rob said it himself. And so it was with this philosophy that Peter ignored the nagging voice at the back of his mind, and continued to embroider the details of a perfect future with Angela.
He sat there now, and dreamed of it. Angela with her golden hair long once more, a perfectly beautiful bride in white. A small cottage, with a fine garden and a little dog just like Barker. A house full of rosy-cheeked children, and the feeling of being truly loved.
* * *
There was a silence. "That was a fine ending," said Peter. "A lovely one. But it's not a true one."
* * *
END CHAPTER ONE
NOTES
1) I am basing Angela and Susan's school on Malory Towers, the boarding school from the Blyton series of the same name. The school here is not going to play a major role in itself, but will provide the backdrop for the next two chapters.
2) Have spelt 'Hello' in the Blytonian, and previously acceptable, way - 'Hallo'. Same goes for 'Hie'... which doesn't really mean 'Hi' anyway, so I guess that's beside the point.
I think that's about it - please do leave a review. I know I sound rather review-hungry, but I experimented with quite a few things in this chapter and am curious as to reader impressions. Next chapter should be up around the same time next week ^v^