The Faeries of Dulwich Woods

Chapter 11 - On Midsummer's Eve Near The Tower

It was a lovely Tuesday evening in June, and Avery was sitting at the kitchen table finishing on her English homework. She shut her hardback copy of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with a snap and put it in her school bag, along with her exercise book and her fluffy, purple pencil case.

I'm doing an essay on "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and it's almost Midsummer; isn't that weird? she mused as she tucked everything away. She pushed her chair back with a scrape and headed for the family room where Mum was folding a pile of laundry while watching the television. Granny was fast asleep in her favourite chair, snoring away with a gentle murmur. Mum winked at Avery and reached for the TV remote.

'Shh! Don't wake her! Do you think she'll notice if I turn off "Holby City"?' she whispered, 'There's an action/fantasy film with that handsome Chris Evans over on the movie channel.' Avery went behind the sofa where Mum was perched, surrounded by neat piles of socks and T-shirts, and gave her a big hug, resting her chin on her mother's shoulder.

'Handsome? He's ancient, he must be at least forty!' scoffed Avery with the blithe tactlessness of a tween.

'How rude! If he's ancient, I must be really past it!' laughed Mum, whacking Avery with a pair of her own jeans, 'Anyone that's too old for a K-Pop band is a pensioner to you.'

'Why you don't appreciate the Bangtan Boys, Mum? Now, those guys are handsome! Go ahead and watch your movie, don't worry about waking Granny. She's out for the count; at least until it's time for "News at Ten",' said Avery, 'I finished my essay and now I'm going to do some music practice.'

'Good girl!' Mum said approvingly, 'that new teacher, Mr Finch, is bringing out the best in you and it's great to see you so enthusiastic. He's quite a find!'

'He's amazing. And he said that he might have some time to teach Rorie as well if you like,' Avery added, giving Mum another squeeze.

'If he can fit both of you in, that would be brilliant!' said Mum, 'Maybe Granny can have a chat with him about it the next time she picks you up from the Croft. Can you thank him for me?'

'Will do,' said Avery over her shoulder as she walked towards the old-fashioned, run-down conservatory at the other end of the kitchen. This had once been her 'playroom', full of bits of Lego, dressing-up costumes, her 'doctor's' kit, her wooden 'play stove' and an orange space hopper but it had now risen to the lofty status of 'music room' (although Riordan's Action Men, footballs, cricket bats and all his other bits and bobs were still in situ). Avery unpacked her viola, propped her book of practice studies on the stand and wiped her sweaty forehead with her hand. Although the sun was low in the sky on this dry, sultry evening, the plastic-roofed conservatory felt as hot as a sauna so she flung open the doors to let the breeze in. When she had cooled off she began to play, working hard to hold her bow just as Mr Finch instructed. She was only four lessons in but she was keen to impress him, he was so funny and wise. At the end of each class, he played her one of his favourite pieces, and for the first time, she began to connect with the sweet, mellow sound and the 'feel' of her instrument. And she no longer cared when snobby, overly competitive Antoinette Jones made mean-girl jokes about viola players (and how they were always 'second fiddle' to violinists) because Finch had given her some real confidence. During their hour together Finch would tell her stories about his Romany ancestors who spent the summer months on Gipsy Hill and all around the Great North Wood. The most noteworthy of these was his great-great-great-grandmother Margaret Finch, the Queen of the Gypsies and leader of the Zingari folk, who died in 1740 at the ripe old age of one hundred and nine. She was so renowned that high ranking gentlefolk would travel from all over London to have their fortunes told, including the wife of famous diarist Samuel Pepys, and the Prince of Wales (later George III) himself.