The Feather Follower

By Joan Davies

Mattie can hear her mother crying. Wondering if this is because her stepfather's office keys are missing she decides that she must try and find them before he returns from a business trip. She discovers that though she cannot do this in the real world it may be possible to do so in a fantasy one.

A white feather guides her through a magical world where the five holders of the keys live. Not only does she have to find these people but also persuade them to give her their keys. Her quest takes her up a mountain, into caverns, a maze, a wood and a castle. But nothing is what it seems and lots of obstacles are put in her path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: V.J.Davies
• Release date: May 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781783019236

Book preview

Park

Chapter 1 – Grown-Up Things

Mattie was sucking the end of her paint brush and staring at her painting when the jangling, jarring ringing of the phone rent the cosy silence of the kitchen. She pulled a face, plunged the brush into a pot of green paint and began to dab it over the outline of a tree. Breathless her mother bustled in, grabbed the phone and gasped, Rebecca Dulverton speaking. A man’s voice responded. Then her mother moved to the other side of the room. Mattie knew that this meant that she didn’t want her to hear what she was saying, so she pretended to be totally absorbed in her painting and listened.

I... I can’t... that’s impossible...You know my position...We could meet and discuss it, but you can’t come here. Alistair’s mother is living with us...I’ll have to bring Mattie, it’s a Saturday...It’s got to be a place where it’s unlikely anyone we know will see us together...At two thirty then in the Modern Art Gallery. I think that’s Room 62.

Her mother put the phone back in the cradle, undid the apron tied around her waist and declared, Mattie we’re going to do something exciting this afternoon.

But you said we’d make chocolate brownies, Mattie protested.

I know, but wouldn’t it be fun to go to the Quillian?

What’s the Qu...ill...ian?

It’s a museum and art gallery. It’s full of interesting old things and beautiful paintings. You’ll love it.

But it’s pouring with rain. I’d rather stay home and make chocolate brownies.

We can make them tomorrow. After we’ve looked around we can go and have something special to eat there.

Can I have a Coca Cola?

Yes. Mattie’s mother glanced up at the clock, We better get a move on though.

In the museum she whisked Mattie up to the third floor in a lift. Then they started to look at the paintings. To begin with she talked about them to Mattie, trying to make her interested, but kept glancing down at her watch. As they entered Room 62 she exclaimed, Oh! There’s Clive. Why don’t you look at the paintings Mattie while I go over and have a word with him?

Scuffing her feet along the highly polished floor Mattie made her way around the gallery, stopping in front of every picture and cocking up her head to one side before wrinkling up her nose. Then she went and plonked herself down next to an old man on a bench at the far end of the gallery.

For a while she played around with the furled umbrella which she had been carrying – dangling it so that it spun around in circles. As she set the umbrella down on the seat she spoke to the old man, Are you sitting here because you’re tired?

The old man smiled and shook his head.

I’m sitting here because my mum doesn’t want me to hear what she’s saying to that man. Mattie gestured towards a bench at the other end of the room where her mother and Clive sat close together. His name is Clive. He used to come around a lot when we lived in the flat. He made mum cry. But now we live in a big house with Alistair and his mother and... and... Her voice trailed off. She sat silent, kicking her legs backwards and forwards before resuming her chatter. Mum told me to go and look at the paintings. I like that picture over there of the cows. Which picture do you like best?

He inclined his head towards the picture on the wall in front of them.

Oh! Mattie stared at it, What are all those red blotches on all that black meant to be? And that thing in the corner? She jumped up and examined the picture more closely. Returning to the bench she declared, I know what that is... it is a white feather.

The old man made no response. Mattie frowned, I think... I think it’s night time in a garden and those red spots are petals. I’ve got roses on my umbrella. And a little white bird has just flown past and left a feather behind. It’s a pity the artist was too late to see that bird.

The old man spoke, He did see it.

How do you know? Mattie looked at him more closely, at his long, straggly white hair and wispy beard, his paint stained corduroy trousers with their threadbare knees, his baggy sweater. You’re an artist and it’s your painting, isn’t it? And you’re here guarding it. So could you draw me that bird?

The old man raised up his hands. They were like claws with crooked fingers and swollen knuckles. Can’t you draw anymore then? Does that make you sad? questioned Mattie.

The old man sniffed.

I could draw you that bird. I think I’ve got some paper and pencil. Mattie pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and then digging deeper her fingers closed around a pencil stub. She smoothed out the paper and biting her lip drew. It doesn’t look very much like a bird, does it? she said offering it to him.

He took the pencil and paper from her and with a shaking hand drew over her lines, just changing them a little, making the bird fly.

Wow! Can I keep it Mattie exclaimed.

He nodded his head. She carefully put the drawing in her coat pocket. Thank you. My father is an artist, my real father that is. I’ve got a painting he did for me before I was born. It’s hanging on the wall in my bedroom. It’s got a lot of different places in it – a park, a mountain, a cave, a garden, a wood and a castle. Mum said they weren’t happy together. She said that when I’m older I can meet him. He might not be nice though. Are artists usually nice people?

Nice! he snorted. Nice!

I’m so sorry, has my daughter been bothering you? Mattie’s mother was walking towards them.

Mum, he’s an artist, a real artist! Mattie exclaimed. He painted that picture. Isn’t it wonderful?

Her mother studied the picture.

What do you see mum when you look at it?

Mattie’s mother met the old man’s gaze before responding very softly, The black is despair, the red pain and the white hope.

I don’t know what you mean mum.

"Oh I was talking