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  'I think you're getting your wires crossed, Sylvie,' said Carl, opening the Glass H u t door.

  I peered around, b r e a t h i n g in t h e lovely slightly earthy smell of the hut. There was somet h i n g slightly strange. The glass collection wasn't arranged with pin-neat perfection. The Glass Boy was facing the wall, his back to us.

  The paperweights were clustered together, the vases were spread out unevenly and one of the tiny glass horses was hobbling along on three legs.

  'Oh, Carl,' I said. 'The horse's leg's broken!'

  'I know. Shame. Still, you know how fragile they are,' said Carl.

  'But how did it happen? Who's been in here moving everything around?'

  W e l l . . .' Carl suddenly seized the feather duster in the corner of the hut. It was me, Miss Sylvie. I'm Plain Jane the Silly Servant Girl and I was a-doing of the dusting and I just flipped 167

  the wee glass horsey with my feather duster and down he toppled and broke his little fetlock—'

  'Shut up, Carl. It wasn't you. You're ever so careful when you dust.'

  'Yes, OK, well, whatever,' said Carl, tickling my neck with the feather duster. 'Let me see my birthday present then!'

  'In a minute. Look, Carl, it's obvious someone's been in here, moving stuff around. It wouldn't be Jules, would it? Perhaps we'd better ask her, because if she hasn't then I t h i n k someone's broken i n — '

  'No one's broken in, silly. Paul was here,' said Carl.

  'Paul?' I blinked at him.

  Tes, he came round for a bit after his match yesterday.'

  'And you let him in the Glass Hut?'

  'Yes. Don't act like it's such a big deal. It wasn't my idea – he asked to see it, he was interested,'

  said Carl, flinging himself on the sofa.

  'So interested he mucked everything about and snapped off the horse's leg?'

  'He didn't do it deliberately. He can't help being a bit clumsy. He was horrified. He says he's going to get me another one.'

  'Did you .. . ?' I swallowed. 'Did you show him our Glassworld book?'

  'No!' said Carl. 'No, of course not. It's ours.'

  I breathed out.

  'Besides, I didn't w a n t him to t h i n k me completely nuts,' said Carl.

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  I grabbed the cushion under his head and whacked him with it. He whacked me back a n d t h e n we were messing around mock-fighting, somehow back to normal again. I still hated the thought t h a t Paul had been bumbling around our private place, poking and prying, breaking things, but at least he hadn't stumbled through Glassworld, smashing everything.

  'Can I have my present now, please?' said Carl.

  I handed it over with a flourish. I didn't need to tell him to be careful. He delicately untied the ribbon, undid the wrapping paper, unwound the bubble wrap.

  I waited, my h e a r t beating fast. I knew Carl would be tactful and say he loved whatever I gave him, but I also knew him too well for him to be able to fool me. It was always risky buying him glass when I knew so little about it. I loved the champagne flute and I was pretty sure it was Victorian, but maybe it was just reproduction, maybe it was j u s t any old rubbish and Carl would secretly h a t e it.

  'Oh!' he said when he saw it. 'Oh, Sylvie, it's lovely'

  'Really?'

  'It's absolutely beautiful.' He r a n his finger very gently along the vines curling round the stem. 'Where did you find it?'

  'It was in the Cancer Research shop n e a r my dentist's. I didn't have enough money on me but I went back.'

  'How much did you pay?'

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  'You're not meant to ask that! Ten pounds. Was t h a t too much?'

  'Total wondrous bargain. Oh, Sylvie, you're the best friend in all the world.' He raised the glass to me and mimed drinking. He breathed in, as if savouring his sip of champagne, and then held the glass solemnly out to me.

  I leaned over and sipped too. It was the way we used to play when we were little, melting ice lollies and pretending they were wine. It was so real I could almost sense the fizz of champagne under my nose, taste the delicate froth on my lips.

  I looked at Carl. He looked at me. His face was soft and gentle, his eyes dreamy. He leaned forward a little. He had only to move a fraction more, angle his head sideways, and we would be kissing. I leaned forward too. Carl blinked and stood up suddenly.

  'Let's play Glassworld,' he said quickly. 'OK, it's King Carlo's official birthday on Friday, but that's a bit of a public bore, all pomp and ceremony, so Queen Sylviana decides to give him a very special unofficial birthday celebration the Sunday before. Sunday is their only day off from royal duties, a day when they can leave off their glass crowns, kick off their glass boots, and indulge themselves. So they sleep late, and when King Carlo wakes, Queen Sylviana has her pet canary trill Happy Birthday to him. She brings h i m a special b i r t h d a y breakfast prepared by herself, golden croissants in the 170

  shape of His Majesty's initial, and a bottle of t h e finest vintage c h a m p a g n e from t h e Glassworld cellars.

  '"But you've forgotten the glasses, my dear Queen," says King Carlo.'

  '"No, no," says Queen Sylviana, smiling, and she h a n d s him a beautiful midnight-blue parcel tied w i t h silver ribbon, a n d inside the parcel King Carlo finds the finest antique champagne flute blown when his great-great-great-grandfather was but a boy. It's the most beautiful birthday present from his dear Queen.

  It makes him very happy. He starts musing on all the past birthdays they've spent together, ever since they were first betrothed as small seven-year-olds. His first birthday present was

  . .. Come on, Sylvie, w h a t was it?'

  'I don't know,' I mumbled. He was indulging me, playing the game I loved most in the world, b u t it was all delicate diversionary tactics.

  'Of course you know,' said Carl. 'Come on, start writing it. On King Carlo's seventh birthday his child bride Sylviana gave h i m — '

  'She gave him a huge set of glass Lego bricks, hand-carved prisms with rainbow reflections, and he set to and made an amazing shiny glass palace. Then he fashioned two small figures out of modelling clay, one a boy, one a girl, and put t h e m on two tiny thrones within the newly constructed glass palace, as representations of the infant newlyweds. He promised they would reign over Glassworld happily ever after.'

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  'And on his eighth birthday?'

  We went through crystal bikes, alabaster snow-skis, a glass aviary filled with lovebirds, a tame snow leopard with a ruby-studded collar, a pair of polar bears with silver claws, a glass fountain with rainbow-hued water, an indoor garden of blue glass flowers, and finally the crystal champagne flute. It was p a r t of an entire sparkling set of glass dishes a n d goblets. King Carlo and Queen Sylviana celebrated the royal birthday by drinking pink champagne out of the birthday flutes and eating strawberries and cream from glass dishes.

  'Perfect,' said Carl. 'Maybe Mum can t u r n up trumps and give us real strawberries.'

  'We've only j u s t had pancakes. And we don't have t h e special glass dishes for t h e strawberries.'

  'Oh fiddle-de-dee, Miss Fussy Knickers. We'll substitute china and use our imagination. .'

  Carl hurried off to find Jules.

  I stayed in the Glass Hut, starting to write up the latest chronicle. I heard a little ching-ching on Carl's mobile. It had fallen out of his jeans pocket onto the floor while we were wrestling. I pressed the little button to see who was sending him a message. I wasn't really snooping. I did it almost without thinking.

  WOT??? NEVER SENT U WAKE UP TEXT, U BERK. IVE

  BEEN IN SNOOZZZZZELAND ALL MORN. U DONE YR

  MATHS HOMEWORK? CAN I COPY? CHEERS. PAUL.

  Mum didn't get home till late afternoon. She came to collect me at Carl's.

  'Wow, look at you! Positively glowing' said Jules. 'So what's he like, this Gerry?'

  'Oh, he's very sweet,' said Mum, ducking h e r head coyly. H e r cheeks were bright pink a n d she giggled.