Chapter one.
The garden is covered in frost and there is a mist over the trees, I can't see the town from here. With my forehead pressed up against the cool glass of the window I drum my fingers along the pane. My parents were arguing again, I could hear them downstairs. When I was younger I would go seek the comfort of my sister – Cynthia - at this point, but she doesn't really seem to care anymore.
I swung my legs off of the ledge where I sat and scrambled around my chest of drawers for a coat that would keep out the chill.
Creeping down the corridor I was still getting used to the pattern of the squeaking floorboards, I tentatively avoided creaking as I stepped so as not to alert my family.
My hand slid against the railings as I went down the stairs and out the back door, through the kitchen, avoiding the living room.
The grass crunched under my wellingtons as I made my way across the garden, beyond this there was a stretch of forest that I had yet to explore. My family and I only moved to this area within the last month, my mum says that I'm going to have to start at the local primary school after Christmas.
I entered the expanse of trees and navigated my way under low branches and over fallen logs.
The frost hadn't made it this far, my mum always said that fairies who live in the tallest trees create the frost in the winter mornings but obviously wouldn't want to frost their own homes.
Obviously my sister shut down the 'ridiculous' notion.
The woodland went on for a long time, slowly getting steeper and I realised I was going further and further down towards the town.
I dawdled, letting the leaves and twigs rustle under my boots and I thought back to the picture books I had of a honey loving bear. Soon I started to imagine that Pooh and his friends were walking alongside me.
When the woods cleared, there was a steep hill, and then just as it began to go up, it was cut off and there was a small drop, where someone had built a brick wall. After the brick wall there was a dusty patio, with gangly plants hanging all over the walls and in broken pots along the floor.
Chickens were scattered around the patio and a skinny goat was nibbling on the hedge around the side of the house.
Standing at the top of the brick wall – where the hill was cut off – you were almost level with the roof of the house.
Despite the cool breeze, almost all of the windows of the house were open and a boy was sitting on the roof, with a tin whistle, facing towards the town – playing a tune I wasn't familiar with.
He had wavy blonde hair down to his shoulders; it was knotted and quite clearly not brushed. He wore a faded, oversized, red t-shirt with a small rip in the back, and what looked like striped pyjama trousers.
I folded my legs underneath myself and sat at the top of the brick wall, listening to him play.
The tune was like nothing my parents had ever played to me, the melody was sweet and slow, out of place in the wintery atmosphere.
Suddenly a door creaked open, and I was startled. I sprung from my sitting position and fell backwards off of the brick wall, rolling into the dip in the two hills.
The boy on the roof stopped playing and stood up; I tried to position myself so that I was not seen by him but it was too late, he called out to me.
"Hey! Hey what are you doing?" Despite the calm nature of his voice I was frozen in place, embarrassed but not injured.
Muttering came from beyond the hill as I lay in silence with my face pressed against the grass. I debated pushing myself up and running back towards the cover of the woods but I couldn't will my muscles to move.
Eventually the muffled voices stopped, and I assumed they'd gone inside.
I slowly looked up and saw the boy was now standing at the top of the hill, beginning to walk down. His face was grubby and he had a cut above his left eyebrow, obscuring the pale blonde hair.
When he reached me, he held out his hand.
"Are you okay?"
I was embarrassed. I didn't take his hand, and stood up, brushing myself off.
"I'm fine." I muttered, staring at the ground.
He looked down on me, from this proximity I could see all of the imperfections on his face, but his age was still indecipherable. I could tell that he was older than me but inwardly hoped that our ages matched and he'd accept me as a friend.
My sister always looked down on me whenever she had friends with her, to make me seem small or to make herself seem big.
"Are you hungry?" He asked.
I nodded.
He told me to follow him, and led me back to the top of the hill.
We stood side by side on the wall until he unexpectedly jumped off, and I squeaked involuntarily.
I heard him laughing from below, and looked down to find he'd landed on a closed compost bin; he then proceeded to jump the rest of the way down.
I stood at the top of the brick wall, frozen as he looked up at me, expecting me to follow I assume.
"It's not as far as it looks," he called to me and then hopped up to the bin again.
I was still unsure. He then held out his arms, "I'll catch you, you won't fall. I promise."
I was finally able to will my legs to move and awkwardly hopped off of the wall, landing on the bin, steadied by the boy's hands.
He grinned down at me as I clutched at his arms terrified, "see? Easy!"
We scrambled down off of the bin and he led me into the house.
The first room was a kitchen. The cupboards were high, and the furniture looked worn. There was dog food spilled on the floor, and a skinny greyhound with some sort of neck scarf on was pushing it around with his nose and occasionally nibbling.
A black cat was sitting in the kitchen doorway and another; smaller cat – a tortoise shell – was stalking the counters and rubbing itself up against the short woman by the sink.
She was washing the dishes as we walked in. Her hair was light brown and short, her clothes mimicked those of the boys, she let off an aura of familiarity and calm.
As she turned to see us her hands were soapy and her face formed a warming smile.
"Jasper you've found our peeping tom!" She jested as she wiped her hands on a dishcloth nearby.
The boy – Jasper – wandered into the kitchen and pushed himself up to sit on one of the work surfaces, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the doorway.
"Ah but you don't look like a Tom," she continued, "what is your name little peeper?"
Jasper's smiled mirrored the woman's warmth as they both looked at me.
"I'm Alice." My voice was weaker than I had hoped it would be.
"And has your travelling from wonderland built up your appetite Alice?"
I smiled and nodded, recognising her reference to my favourite book. My Gran had read it to me whenever I went to stay with her, which seemed to be a lot more often these days.
The woman grinned at my enthusiasm.
"How old are you, little Alice?" She asked.
"Five, and three weeks." I replied. My parents made my birthday quite the memorable occasion this year, not for the best of reasons.
"Ah, an excellent age! But now for the real question of importance... Would you like some pancakes?" She pretended to be serious.
I couldn't stop grinning around this woman, she made me feel comfortable and at home in her home.
She laughed as I nodded perhaps a little too enthusiastically once again, and then asked Jasper to show me into the living room.
As I followed him through the house he explained to me that he was six and his younger sister was four, like me. He also told me about his older sister – Mary – and his older brother – Peter – who all lived in the same house as well as his mum and his dad.
In the living room was Jasper's younger sister I assumed. She had long blonde hair falling down her back and was painting some sort of pot with gold and blue.
It wasn't very neat, or artistic, but it looked like fun.
She whipped her head around as we walked in.
"Who are you?" She snapped at me with an unexpected harshness.
"Rose, this is Alice. I found her outside," Jasper replied.
"What was she doing outside of our house?"
"I - I was just exploring. I live up the top of the hill, the other side of the woods," I stuttered nervously.
Rose narrowed her eyes at me, and stalked off, out of the living room.
"She doesn't really get on with new people," Jasper consoled as I stood shocked.
Rose seemed the polar opposite of me from her flowing light hair to her long limbs in comparison to my mop of black hair and short-for-my-age stature. I couldn't imagine ever being accepted by someone as bold and beautiful as her.
Jasper led me through to the kitchen again, where a previously unseen table in the corner was set up with plates and glasses. There was a basket of fresh bread and another with fruit in. Various juices and bottles of water were at one end of the table and Jasper started setting out cutlery before sitting down. I sat down next to him as his mum brought over pancakes, toast and eggs.
She called out that breakfast was ready, and thunderous sounds came from above, quickly travelling to the stairs and down before the whirlwind that was Jasper's family came swarming into the kitchen.
At first they didn't seem to notice me, but as they had all filled their plates, a conversation was struck up at the table. Asking who I was and why I was here.
I answered the questions quietly. No one seemed to notice how nervous I was. No one seemed to mind me being there.
It made me feel a part of what was happening, not out of place at all.
As they all started their own conversations, I looked around the table and worked out who everyone was.
Jasper was next to me, and next to him at the head of the table was his dad. He introduced himself as Jude and Jasper's mum, called Kate, was next to him. Across from me was Mary and next to her was Peter.
Rose didn't show up for breakfast.
I felt as though it was my fault but Kate reassured me that it was because Rose has eaten earlier.
I left after breakfast, Kate said that my parents were probably wondering where I was.
When I got back they hadn't even noticed I'd left.
My mother was crying on the stairs at the front of the house, I heard her when I came in the back door.
"Oliver? Is that you?" She called out.
"No mum. It's just me." I replied and went up the separate staircase at the back of the house, and made my way to the library.
The man who lived here before was my Granddad. He passed away a few weeks ago, leaving us the house and its contents.
I couldn't read much yet, only what he had taught me, but still the library was my favourite room of the house.
I sat on the window seat, and pressed my face against the glass.