Twice upon a time, p.1
Twice Upon a Time, page 1
What happens when you find yourself trapped inside a story?
What happens if the only way out is to solve the riddles of the Very Bad Very Good Storyteller, Mr Aesop Sod?
And where, oh where, is Pop?
Ginny and her strange new friend, Digger Dagger, must navigate their way through this upside-down, topsy-turvy world where Don’s Dairy has become Nod’s Diary, the fish and chip shop is full of tropical fish tanks and wood chips, and the ghost train at the fun fair really is a ghost train.
How will the story end? Will Ginny and Digger Dagger find the answers they need?
Sometimes the answers are right there in front of you.
Award-winning author James Norcliffe has written a delightful story full of wordplay, old-world charm and imagination, reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland.
Contents
1. SPOOKY
2. MISSING
3. THE PEACH TREE
4. BEYOND THE BACKYARD
5. THE VERY GOOD VERY BAD STORYTELLER
6. THREE TOGETHER
7. INTO THE RAIN
8. BADGER
9. THE FIGURES IN THE GARDEN
10. THE VERY BAD VERY GOOD STORYTELLER
11. THE FIRST HURDLE
12. A NOD’S AS GOOD AS A WINK
13. NOD’S DIARY
14. THE FIRST RIDDLE
15. NOD AGAIN
16. SOD AGAIN
17. THE CHIPS AND FISH SHOP
18. THE AXOLOTL
19. TO THE UNFAIRGROUND
20. CANDY FLOSS
21. THE GHOST TRAIN
22. ANOTHER CHAPTER CALLED NOD’S DIARY
23. NOD’S STORY
24. BADGER AGAIN
25. ONE AND ONE MAKE ONE
26. ON THE RIGHT TRACK
27. THE END
About the Author
Copyright Page
Follow Penguin Random House
For our grandson,
Elías Guarín
In which a mysterious visitor interrupts Ginny’s nap
Digger Dagger came from nowhere.
Ginny was lying in the hammock strung between the old peach tree and the apricot. It was one of those surprising evenings in late autumn when it seemed for a few hours that summer had returned. She was in that dreamy state halfway between being asleep and being awake, when she became aware of a presence nearby.
She thought at first it must have been Pop, her grandfather. He lived next door and was always popping over. Pop by name and pop by nature.
But when Ginny opened her eyes all she could see over the edge of the hammock was the top of what might have been a red hat or might have been a red sock.
A head in a hat, or a foot in a sock?
Or a head in a sock, or a foot in a hat?
Curious, Ginny pushed herself up, and this started the hammock rocking like an unsteady rowboat. Up and down, up and down. Each time it swung down, Ginny could see a small unsmiling figure wearing a long red beanie, standing as still as the hammock was lurching.
His deep brown eyes stared at her fixedly.
‘Hello,’ he said. At least, Ginny thought the figure was a he. It wasn’t easy to tell. She tried to answer but was too surprised to say a word.
The figure was small, not nearly as big as Ginny herself, who was among the smallest and youngest in her class. He looked to be wearing a dark red jump suit and a red hat that did look like a droopy football sock.
A head in a sock, then.
Ginny thought it must have been some kind of nightcap.
His face was pale with a quizzical expression, but it was hard to say whether it was the face of a child or the face of a grown-up.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ the figure asked. The voice, too, was difficult to place. It could have been a child’s voice as it was high-pitched, but it had a deeper quality as well, the voice of somebody who had lived long and experienced much. It was not threatening or frightening, though, and this gave Ginny a little more confidence.
‘Who are you?’
She thought perhaps she should have asked ‘what are you?’, but that might have sounded a little rude.
‘Digger Dagger. Who are you?’
‘Digger what?’
‘Dagger, and you didn’t answer my question.’
‘I’m Ginny.’
Ginny rubbed her eyes. Still, the little creature stared at her with that soulful expression. It seemed to Ginny that he was as puzzled by her presence as she was by his.
‘Just a sec,’ she said, and tumbled out of the hammock. She found her feet and stood before him. She was actually slightly taller. This made her feel a little braver, brave enough to ask the question.
‘What are you? How did you get into our garden?’
The creature gave a little shrug. ‘I’m Digger Dagger,’ he repeated, but he made no attempt to answer the second question, and his reply did not really answer the first.
‘What do you want?’
Now that she had taken the initiative, Ginny felt much braver. She even considered shouting out for her mother.
As if he understood what she was thinking, the creature shook his head warningly, and put a slender finger to his lips. ‘Shhh!’
‘Why should I shhh?’ Ginny demanded. ‘Who do you think you are, coming into our garden and asking me silly questions?’
In her whispered outburst, Ginny had overlooked the fact that she was the one asking the questions. If anything, Digger Dagger’s eyes widened even more and he shrugged helplessly.
‘What can I say?’ he said. ‘I don’t know how I got here or why I got here. No idea.’
‘You must,’ said Ginny. ‘You’re here aren’t you? I mean, you must have come from somewhere.’
Digger Dagger looked at her. ‘I could ask you the same question.’
‘What question?’ Ginny asked.
‘How did you get here?’ Digger Dagger said.
Ginny stared at him. Was he serious? ‘That’s such a stupid question. This is our backyard. This is my home. I’ve always been here.’
‘Have you?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘How do you think I got here?’ asked Digger Dagger.
‘That’s what I’m asking you!’ Ginny said. ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea. I just opened my eyes and there you were!’
‘Snap!’ said Digger Dagger. ‘And I just opened my eyes and there you were.’
Ginny stared at him, trying to take that in. What he had just said did not make any sense at all. Was the strange creature suggesting that she was the visitor to her own backyard, that this Digger Dagger, or whatever his name was, was the one being visited by her?
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ she said.
The creature didn’t reply but his expression suggested he didn’t understand any of it either.
It was a stalemate. Eventually Ginny said, ‘Well, you can’t stay here.’
‘Where should I go?’ Digger Dagger asked forlornly.
Ginny felt a little mean. ‘It’s not that I don’t like you or anything. I mean, I hardly know you, and this is really our place, not yours, and …’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Digger Dagger miserably, ‘I get the picture. I’m not welcome.’
‘This is crazy,’ Ginny sighed.
‘So crazy,’ Digger Dagger agreed.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Ginny.
For a moment or two they stared at each other. Neither, it seemed, had an answer to Ginny’s question. Digger Dagger looked as if he expected Ginny to know what should be done, but Ginny just felt confused. Thinking out loud, she went over what she did understand about the strange encounter.
‘So,’ she said, ‘your name is Digger Dagger, but you don’t know why you’re here or how you came here, and you have no idea what we should do next. You don’t seem to know very much at all, do you?’
Digger Dagger shook his head sadly and his sock-like hat swung from side to side like the tail of a confused red cow.
‘In fact,’ continued Ginny, ‘so far the only thing you seem to know is your name.’
She thought about that for a second and then demanded, ‘And anyway, how do you know it’s your name? It’s not a very common name. Actually, I think you’re the first Digger Dagger I’ve ever met – or even heard of, come to that. Where did it come from?’
The little creature looked confused again. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It just is. Some things are, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Ginny, a little more confidently than she felt. She wasn’t a hundred per cent sure, but she did suppose that some things were. All the same, she wasn’t letting Digger Dagger off the hook quite yet. ‘It’s not the first name that just popped into your head, was it?’
‘No!’ Digger Dagger exclaimed, but almost at once his confidence vanished. ‘At least, I don’t think so. It sounds like my name so it probably is.’
‘Well,’ said Ginny, ‘my name’s Ginny and I know it’s always been Ginny.’
Digger Dagger nodded.
‘And I really don’t think you should be here, so if you don’t mind …’
Digger Dagger said, ‘What?’
‘Leave!’
‘Leave?’
‘Leave,’ repeated Ginny, pointing to the garden path.
Digger Dagger looked even more miserable and his hat drooped.
Ginny’s tone was so firm that Digger Dagger didn’t even bother to argue. He turned and walked slowly back down the garden path that led to the back door and the
Before he turned into the driveway, he looked back over his shoulder with a look of such disappointment, Ginny suddenly felt mean and a little guilty. Digger Dagger turned round the side of the house and into the drive, and disappeared from view.
Feeling even more guilty, Ginny cried, ‘Wait!’ and ran after him.
But when she reached the corner of the house and gazed down the drive, Digger Dagger had completely disappeared.
That didn’t make sense.
It was a long drive.
He had been walking slowly.
He should have been only a few metres in front of her.
Ginny rubbed her eyes again.
She felt bad about ordering the little creature from the garden, but comforted herself with the knowledge that she really had no choice.
At that point the back door opened and Ginny’s mother called, ‘Better come in and get ready for bed, Ginny. Netball tomorrow, remember?’
In which Pop is nowhere to be found
It was just as her mother was closing the fridge door that Ginny decided to tell her mother about meeting the little creature in the garden.
‘I had the weirdest dream when I was half asleep in the hammock yesterday, Mum,’ she said.
‘Mmm?’ said her mother, pouring milk over her muesli.
‘This strange little guy came into the garden and said his name was Digger Dagger.’
‘That’s a funny name. What did he want?’
‘I’m not sure, I kind of think he wanted help.’
‘Help?’
Ginny told her mother all about it.
‘That’s an odd dream, but it doesn’t sound too upsetting. He didn’t sound like an ogre or anything. I wouldn’t like you to be having nightmares again.’
For a long time after her father left, Ginny had experienced nightmares that would wake her screaming and send her into her mother’s room for comfort. However, she hadn’t had any really bad dreams for a couple of years now.
‘It might have been something you’ve eaten – could have been the ice-cream we had at lunchtime. I’ve read somewhere that all the sugar and fat in ice-cream causes wild dreams.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ said Ginny hurriedly. She loved ice-cream. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t really a bad dream. It was just so very life-like. At the time I was sure I was awake.’
‘A little creature wearing a Wee Willie Winkie hat came into the back garden? Life-like? I don’t think so,’ smiled her mother. ‘Anyway, talking about eating, we need some eggs. How about popping across and seeing whether Nan’s hens have laid enough for us to have a few?’
Nan was Ginny’s grandmother. Her grandparents not only had a large vegetable garden but also a henhouse and a dozen or so bushy brown hens, and these kept both families in eggs during the laying season. Ginny was just about to leave when the phone rang.
It took only a few seconds for Ginny to pick up that it was Nan on the other end. It was funny how she could often tell just whom her mother was talking to. This was definitely her mother’s Nan voice. Ginny realised something was wrong.
‘You haven’t seen him since when?’ her mother asked, and then, ‘No, he hasn’t been over here. We haven’t been up that long, anyway.’
From this Ginny guessed that they were talking about Pop. It sounded like Nan didn’t know where he was.
‘I’ve really no idea, Mum,’ said her mother. ‘Perhaps he couldn’t sleep and got up for an early morning walk. He sometimes does, you know.’
Ginny’s mother glanced at Ginny and raised her eyebrows. Nan could be a bit of a panic-pants and often got worked up over the slightest thing. Ginny grinned at her mother, who held the phone away from her ear for a few moments.
‘Look, I’ll tell you what. Ginny’s just on the way over to get some eggs. How about after that she scouts about the neighbourhood to see if she can find him. He probably couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to disturb you. Okay?’
Ginny looked alarmed and pointed dramatically at the kitchen clock. Netball morning. Time. Hurry-scurry was always the pattern. A neighbourhood search wasn’t a great idea.
All the same, this plan wasn’t quite good enough for Nan, because when she spoke again, Ginny’s mother said, ‘Okay, Mum. Hold tight. I’ll come over with Ginny. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.’
Ginny had never seen Nan so flustered. When she made a cup of tea the cup and saucer clattered so violently Ginny was surprised the cup didn’t topple over and spill hot tea everywhere.
Ginny’s mother deftly retrieved the cup and saucer and put them on the table.
‘Sit down, Mum,’ she said.
Nan sat down and stared at both of them. Her eyes were filled with worry.
‘I didn’t even hear him get out of bed,’ she said. ‘He must have gone out before I got up.’
‘But he often goes for a walk, Mum. Perhaps he’s run across an old friend or something.’
‘But not this early, and not without his breakfast.’
‘Did he leave a note?’
Nan shook her head. ‘Nothing.’
‘Have you tried phoning him?’
Nan pointed. There on the sideboard was Pop’s ancient cell phone. ‘He didn’t take it with him. Or his wallet. It’s still on the bedside table.’
‘He hasn’t taken Badger for a walk, has he?’ asked Ginny. Badger was Pop and Nan’s little black and white wire-haired terrier.
Her grandmother thought. ‘He may have. I haven’t seen Badger this morning.’
Ginny’s mother sighed, glancing at her watch. ‘A mystery, all right.’
‘It’s not all right,’ said Nan, crossly. ‘It’s not all right at all.’
‘He’s been okay, lately?’ asked Ginny’s mother.
‘When has he ever been okay?’ she demanded. ‘Always off on a dream. And he’s getting worse. Do you know what he did yesterday morning?’
Ginny and her mother waited.
‘He got out of bed, took his pyjamas off and climbed into his dressing gown, went into the bathroom to clean his teeth and shave, and then what does he do? He comes back into the bedroom, takes his dressing gown off and puts his pyjamas back on and makes as if he’s getting back into bed.’
Ginny giggled.
‘I said, “What do you think you’re doing, you silly old moo?” and he said, “Oh, that’s right, it’s morning, isn’t it?”’
Ginny’s mother smiled. ‘Sounds pretty confused …’
‘Confused?’ said Nan. ‘Completely bamboozled, more like.’ Then she added, ‘And that’s what worries me. He’s gone out for a walk and suddenly doesn’t know whether he’s Arthur or Martha and managed to get himself hopelessly lost.’
‘Should we ring the police?’
‘What do you think?’
Ginny’s mother considered the problem. ‘He’s only been gone a short time. He may have met a friend, as we thought. How about we stick to the first plan and let Ginny have a look around the streets. He may not appreciate a police officer escorting him home if he’s not really lost. In any event, he’s most likely just taken Badger out for a walk.’
Her mother’s meaningful glance silenced any protest Ginny might have made. Netball was definitely off this Saturday.
For the next half hour, Ginny scoured the neighbourhood. There weren’t that many people about, but she did stop the few she saw to ask whether they had seen him. Nobody had. She went into Don’s Dairy, but Pop hadn’t been into the shop. He wasn’t at the small park where they often went together. When she was much smaller, Pop would take her, hand in hand, to the playground and push her on the swing. He always pushed her far higher than her mother or father would dare to. But now the swings hung still, a little dew glistening on the chains in the morning sun.
Ginny didn’t go to the park that much these days. She was bigger, of course, so seesaws and slides were no longer so exciting. But since her dad had gone, a lot of places were only rarely visited: the rollerdrome, the ice-skating rink, ten-pin bowling. When she did go to such places, Pop took her, and Ginny loved him for it. He wasn’t much of a bowler and he refused to roller skate, preferring to sit in the stand and watch.
‘If the Almighty had meant for me to skate,’ he once declared, ‘he would have given me wheels instead of toes!’
‘Is that why you drive a car?’ Ginny had asked, and Pop had laughed and laughed.
After the park, Ginny ran out of ideas, so, a little forlornly, she made her way back to Nan’s again – although she did regularly look over her shoulder. However, by the time she reached their letterbox she was convinced the whole exercise had been pointless, hopeless.
