The Restless Girls Read online

  Alberto eventually recovered from his fit of giggles. He’d realised two things: firstly, that his daughter had been cleverer than him all along, and secondly, that his time as king was indeed over, and he could have some fun. Laughter seemed the best solution to these two realisations, and he packed his own suitcase and went off for a year or two of sightseeing. He took the diamond.

  That was several years ago, in fact, and the princesses are still wondering if he’ll ever come back. They each secretly, bafflingly, miss him. That’s parents for you. The lioness was right: Alberto wasn’t bad. No one’s entirely bad, but they do get a little lost. And perhaps – just like his eldest daughter – in leaving, Alberto has found him self. He sends postcards from every country that he visits, and the palace fridge is covered with his missives.

  Polina was appointed palace astronomer, and Delilah is head gardener; she still keeps a strong supply of dorm idon, just in case, and advises the citizens on their herbs and vegetables. Bellina is chief of foreign affairs, and since her appointment Kalia’s wars with neighbouring kingdom shave ended. Emelia is a vet, and oversees the health of Kalia’s livestock. Ariosta is a famous artist who shows her paintings around the world. Mariella keeps the kingdom’s budget in order, and Chessa gives singing recitals and occasionally tours. When she’s home in Lago Puera, the palace doors are open every afternoon for musicians to come and play. Lorna has established several schools for the people of the city, where lessons are available for all Kalian boys and girls. Vita runs a theatre on the beach, and every summer the famous Kalian festival lasts for weeks on end. If you time your trip well, you can see some excellent plays. Flora is the palace librarian, and people flock from miles around to come and find a cosy nook, where they while away the hours with her excellent choice of books.

  And Agnes? The one with the typewriter, who wanted to tell stories?

  Let’s just say I managed it.

  As for the tree palace, you may well be wondering whether it really existed. People often do. The old king’s adviser Bernard claimed it didn’t, but that was only because he couldn’t find it.

  The truth is, we were so tired the night after Frida’s coronation that we completely forgot to check if the door was still there. And with Frida crowned queen, and so many things for us to do, we never looked for that particular door again. We got older, became women of the world, our energies directed to the lives we had made. Yes, often, we thought about the tree palace, about Saleem and the lioness, and the toucan waiters, and the fun of dancing. But we were so busy upstairs that I must confess our thoughts about it lessened as the years went on. I think it is also true to say that none of us particularly wanted to revisit that windowless room, where we’d been so unfairly cooped up for months on end.

  That is, until yesterday, when a strange thing happened, and I had to write all this down.

  Yesterday morning, a huge box was delivered to the palace door. I enquired as to who had delivered it, but the guard on duty had seen nobody. Neither was there any message. Except – next to the box, a feather had been laid, belonging to a peacock. And by its side, marked in the earth, was a paw print the size of a dinner plate. Gingerly, I opened the box. Inside was a pyramid of jam doughnuts.

  I stood there, looking at the doughnuts – suddenly so familiar! – and my heart was thumping hard. I rem embered the way Frida whirled and twirled under the multicoloured lights, the way Ariosta swam across the lagoon, the way Emelia saved that little fox. It felt so long ago, and yet it could have been last week. Was someone watching me? I turned around, scanning the horizon – the Kalian sea, the shore, the green hills – but there was no one to be seen.

  That afternoon, I took the box to Frida, who had just finished a meeting in the throne room with Clarence. The other princesses were all out of the city on various missions. Queen Frida’s eyes lit up when she saw the doughnuts, and I told her how they’d appeared earlier in the day with no explanation, but for a peacock feather and a paw print.

  Frida reached into the box and lifted one out. It was newly baked, and the sugar that dusted it glittered like tiny diamonds. ‘You don’t think … ?’ She trailed off.

  I looked at her. ‘That’s exactly what I think,’ I said.

  She hesitated. ‘Do you know, Agnes, there are times when I might be brushing my teeth, or about to hold a meeting, or writing a letter – and I swear, I swear, I can hear a lioness’s roar.’

  ‘Me too!’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness. I thought I might be mad.’

  ‘It feels very far off, but strangely, I can feel it deep within me.’

  My sister the queen looked at me. Time had barely aged her, and she still wore exquisite shoes. ‘That’s exactly how it is for me too,’ she said. ‘And I’ve been thinking about it, Aggie. I’ve no doubt that the tree palace is still there, that Saleem and the lioness and the toucan waiters and the jazz band are waiting for their next necessary guests. For although some things exist in places out of reach, that doesn’t mean they cannot be.’

  (My sister really is a wise queen.)

  ‘I always thought I’d never be able to go back. But shall we… shall we go and look tonight?’ she went on, nibbling the doughnut. ‘Shall we go to that poky room and look behind Mother’s portrait?’

  I thought of Bernard the old adviser, pushing aside the portrait of Queen Laurelia and finding nothing but a solid wall. I thought of the twelve of us when we were younger, finding the cold staircase and descending the five hundred and three steps to a world that gave us so much happiness. I was frightened to think of what we might find, but then I remembered the box of glittering doughnuts.

  I must have been silent a long while, for Frida looked at me with concern. ‘Wise to pursue?’ she asked me.

  I smiled. ‘Wise to pursue,’ I replied, and we agreed on a time when the rest of the palace would be fast asleep.

  And as I look at my clock, I see the hour has come. It’s very dark and quiet outside in Kalia at this time of night; thanks to Bellina’s international efforts, a peace has reigned for years. Frida’s footsteps are coming up the corridor, and I see the golden glow of her lantern pooling. I can feel the old thrum of excitement in my heart. We’ll walk the corridors of her palace together, my sister and I, hand in hand, the lioness’s cry an echo in our ears. We’ll find that old room and approach that portrait of our mother. We’ll push it aside. And we will see.

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  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Text copyright © Peebo & Pilgrim Ltd, 2018

  Illustrations copyright © Angela Barrett, 2018

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  ISBN: 978-1-4088-8691-5 (HB)

  ISBN: 978-1-4088-8690-8 (eBook)

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  Jessie Burton, The Restless Girls