Herbie Brennan - Ruler of the Realm

‘Who’s he growing them for?’ Pyrgus asked. He still wasn’t sure he believed they really were flowers, but it might be useful to play along with the story.

‘That’s a secret,’ Gela told him severely.

‘Do you know?’

‘Of course I know – I’m Daddy’s pet, aren’t I?’ She sniffed. ‘But I’ve told you far too much already.’ Her head went up again. ‘Now, are we going to the boathouse for our meeting, or have you forgotten all the fuss you made about it?’

‘We’re going to the boathouse,’ Pyrgus said.

It turned out the boathouse wasn’t all that far – he’d remembered his instructions well enough before he’d sidetracked to the glasshouse. He followed her along the lakeside, then up a short path to a smallish jetty. There was a wooden building to one side of it. Gela pushed the door and disappeared inside. Pyrgus hesitated for a moment, then followed her.

It was pitch black inside. Gela’s voice floated imperiously out of the darkness ahead.

‘Close the door.’

Pyrgus closed the door behind him and at once a glowglobe illuminated overhead. It had the low light setting Faeries of the Night preferred, but he was able to see well enough. Gela was standing a few feet away beside two rowing boats and some fishing tackle. She looked stunning.

‘Well,’ she asked, ‘are you going to tell me why we’re here?’

Pyrgus walked across and kissed her.

Henry escaped eventually, slightly consoled by the fact that his dad was even more embarrassed than he was.

Henry could understand perfectly well why his father had neglected to mention his children to a girlfriend who was young enough to be his daughter. It was no big deal. But Dad went on a guilt trip – you could see it in his eyes. He saw his new squeeze sitting on the couch and Henry sitting uncomfortably beside her and you’d have thought he’d been caught with his hand in the till.

‘ Ah, Henry, old man. Wasn’t expecting you today. I see you’ve met my – my – see you’ve met Laura. She’s, ah, staying over for a couple

…’

And as he’d trailed off, Laura said mischievously, ‘ You never told me you had a son, Tim.’ Then blinked and added, ‘ Or a daughter .’

And poor old Tim, who went to discos now he was on his own, launched into an explanation so convoluted Henry couldn’t remember any of it. He’d probably still be explaining if Henry hadn’t said, ‘ It’s OK, Dad,’ and something in his voice convinced Tim it really was OK: if he’d done anything terrible, been disloyal or whatever, he’d been forgiven. He didn’t seem all that worried about Laura, probably because it was clear from her grin she didn’t mind at all.

With the explanation bit over, Dad had suddenly come over all hearty and started to talk about Henry staying the afternoon so they could all go out for a meal later, as if Mum wouldn’t have gone ballistic if she’d ever discovered that cosy little arrangement. Henry just said no and muttered something about Mr Fogarty.

After that, it degenerated into one of those uncomfortable How the hell are you? conversations until Henry stood up and announced firmly he was leaving, which was probably a relief to everybody. Now he was at the head of Mr Fogarty’s street and in a serious worry.

Up to now, he thought he’d taken it for granted that his parents would divorce. They were living apart, his mum had a new partner, so what else were they going to do? But Dad finding another woman somehow made it really final. If there was just the slightest chance Mum and Dad might get back together, it was gone now. Or would be, once Mum found out. Didn’t matter Mum was the one who broke things up in the first place. Once she heard Dad was consoling himself with somebody – somebody young and pretty – she’d never forgive him. After that, it was just the legal formalities.

Including custody.

Henry wondered if he and Aisling would have to turn up in court. If they did, maybe the judge would ask them which parent they wanted to live with. Some nightmare that would be. Henry couldn’t very well ask to move in with his dad now he was honeymooning with Laura. Not in a tiny flat – you were bound to hear stuff. But if he said he’d stay with Mum, he knew his dad would be hurt. Besides, he didn’t want to stay with Mum. He hated Mum almost as much as he loved her and he was sure it was only a matter of time before Anais moved in.

But maybe the judge didn’t ask you. Maybe he just decided what should happen and you had no say about it. Henry shuddered.

‘Hello, Hodge,’ he said mournfully as the old tom emerged out of nowhere to polish his ankles. It was gloomy in Mr Fogarty’s kitchen so he flipped the light switch before taking a pouch of Whiskas from the cupboard. Then on impulse he took out a second. Mr Fogarty didn’t approve of pouch Whiskas, which he claimed was far too good for a cat, but Hodge was looking thin lately – probably needed worming – and Mr Fogarty wasn’t here. The story was that Mr Fogarty had gone to visit his daughter in New Zealand.

If that really was a story.

The thought struck Henry like a thunderbolt. He knew Mr Fogarty was Gatekeeper of the Faerie Realm. He knew Blue was crowned Faerie Empress. Henry had even visited the Realm himself. But standing here in Mr Fogarty’s kitchen, feeding Mr Fogarty’s cat, it all seemed… it all seemed…

The light went out as if the bulb had blown. Henry ignored it. It wasn’t really dark yet and he could change it later. He’d be out of here in a minute anyway.

… It all seemed mad, was what he wanted to say. He was a teenager , for God’s sake. How many teenagers did he know who believed in fairies? There were no such things as fairies, there was no such place as Fairyland. No such place as Fairyland. It echoed like a voice in his head.

The trouble was, he remembered Fairyland. Henry set the Whiskas pouches down beside Hodge’s plate on the counter-top. If he remembered Fairyland, there had to be something wrong. There had to be something wrong with his memory. He stared down at the cat, who was staring up at him in beady expectation. There had to be something wrong with his mind!

All of a sudden, Henry felt very much afraid.

To Hodge’s indignant howl, he walked out of the kitchen into Mr Fogarty’s back garden. There was a constriction in his chest and he needed air. The twilight outside had taken on a bluish tinge and there was a slight vibration in the ground as if there were some heavy lorries passing. Henry felt like throwing up.

No such place as Fairyland, the voice repeated in his head.

It had all started to make a ghastly sort of sense. He knew stress could make you ill – his father had had a grumbling ulcer for years, just because he was in a high-powered job – and a lot of stress could make you mentally ill. Everybody knew that. You just thought it could never happen to you.

And he had been under a lot of stress, hadn’t he? His mother was having an affair. His father had been thrown out of their home. (And had found himself a girlfriend, don’t forget.) His parents were definitely going to get divorced, even though neither of them would admit it. Which meant Henry might be put into some sort of orphan’s home until he was eighteen. Or he’d have to live with his mother and Aisling, which was worse. Of course he was under stress. He was under more stress right now than he’d ever been in his life. All he wanted was to get away, away from his rotten mother and his rotten sister and his stupid weak father and all the hassles at home…

And wasn’t that exactly what he’d done? Hadn’t he escaped from all of it? Hadn’t he created a fantasy world and simply…

No such place as Fairyland.