Free The Winter Wedding by Abby Clements

her name – LILA – written in purple ink.
    ‘They did?’ I said, smiling. ‘Well, bring it over here, then. Let’s open it together.’ With a spring in her step, Lila came over to where I was sitting, and
gingerly fingered the sealed envelope. ‘Perhaps we should tell someone,’ she said.
    ‘Like Mum?’
    ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Is there a fairy society? Natural History Museum maybe? I don’t think this is common, you know,’ Lila continued
earnestly.
    ‘I think it’s OK for us to keep it secret,’ I replied. ‘Anyway, let’s open it first and see what it says. It might not even be from them.’
    ‘It IS,’ Lila said, confidently. ‘I just know it is.’ Inside was a pretty card with a picture of a fairy on it, and a neatly written note. Dad had clearly worked hard to
disguise his handwriting, and while you could still tell, a little bit, Lila didn’t seem to notice, or was choosing not to.
    Dear Lila , it read. Thank you for believing in us. It means an awful lot. We always enjoy your visits to our home, this part of the garden, even though most of the time we hide from
you. Don’t take it personally. It’s just what fairies do. You’re very big, compared to us, after all, so there’s always the risk of being trampled on – or, well, you
telling someone about us .
    ‘Like the Natural History Museum,’ I chimed in. Helpful like that. Lila nodded. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘ We need to keep this a secret.’
    ‘How did they sign off?’ I asked, genuinely curious.
    ‘Love, Your friends, the fairies.’
    I smiled. Dad had excelled himself. Lila clutched the card to her chest and smiled broadly. ‘It’s the most, most special thing that’s ever happened to me,’ she said.
‘I’m going to write back to them right away.’
    ‘You were right to believe after all, I guess.’
    ‘I was,’ she said, proudly.
    Over the course of that summer, Dad must have written to Lila a dozen times. As the autumn leaves began to fall, and Ben and I raked them in the September sunshine, Lila got her last letter from
her friends in the garden.
    ‘They’re flying south for the winter,’ she explained to me. ‘They said they need to do that, like birds.’ She shrugged as if it were nothing but I could see her
eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘I didn’t actually know that about them. But it makes sense. They say they’ll have to go to another garden next summer. That’s how it works I
suppose. They can’t stay with us for ever.’
    I glanced over at Dad, and caught his eye for a split second, but then he looked back down at the rake he was holding. Beside him, Ben was sweeping piles of cut grass up in his hands, and
letting it fall around him, letting out a gurgle of toddler laughter.
    It seemed harsh but I knew Dad had done the right thing. Even Lila couldn’t go on believing forever. This gave both of them a way out.
    That evening, I went downstairs for some water, and overheard Dad talking to Mum in the kitchen. ‘We should do something for Hazel,’ he said. ‘Something special. Like the
fairies.’
    ‘Oh no, Simon,’ Mum said, laughing lightly. ‘There’s no need. She’s not dreamy like Lila. You know as well as me, they’re quite different.’
    ‘A surprise, though . . .’ he said, mulling it over.
    ‘I don’t think so, Simon,’ Mum said. ‘Hazel’s always been happier looking after the others; she’s not one to be made a fuss of. Let’s just be grateful
for that – she’ll always be our easy child . . .’
    Lila coughed, and my attention was brought back into the room. She was looking down at my iPad and the Pinterest boards I’d put together for her, and frowning
slightly.
    ‘They’re not right for you. I can see that now,’ I said. Her relief showed immediately, the lines between her brows smoothed out, her shoulders went from hunched to
relaxed.
    ‘What about wildflowers?’ I suggested, drawing the images from our childhood