Free The Swallow by Charis Cotter

pumps.
    “Ooo, these are so soft,” I murmured, holding one against my cheek and closing my eyes dreamily.
    Rose rolled her eyes and laughed.
    “They’re just shoes, Polly!”
    I don’t know why, but I’ve always loved shoes. I beg Mum to buy them for me but, “There’s no money in the budget to waste on shoes you don’t need,” she says. So I cut pictures of shoes out of magazines and draw outfits to go with them. If I were rich I’d have a closet full of shoes, just like Mrs. McPherson.
    The next box contained black leather lace-ups, with pointy toes and two-inch heels. I tried them on. Just a little tight.
    “My feet are bigger than yours and your grandma’s,” I said sadly.
    Rose was admiring a pair of green suede slingbacks in the full-length mirror. They looked funny with her gray school uniform skirt.
    “Did your grandma go to a lot of parties?” I asked, opening another box and reaching through the rustling tissue to pull out a pair of white satin dancing shoes with the cutest little pearl buttons you ever saw.
    “I don’t think so,” said Rose distractedly. She had just dumped another four boxes on the floor. We had a lovely mess going, tissue paper and shoes littered all over the rose-covered carpet. Rose had turned on the lamp on the dressing table. It had a stained-glass shade of mauve and yellow and cast a soft glow.
    “They must have had money, to buy all these shoes. What did your granddad do?”
    “He was a doctor,” said Rose, rummaging in the closet for more boxes. “I think he was kind of strict, from things my father has told me.”
    She plopped herself down on a scrap of empty carpet and opened another box. “My father said my grandmother never argued with him, always said, ‘Yes, dear, you know best.’ When my father finished university he wanted to be a journalist, but his father didn’t like the idea and that was the end of that. He didn’t think it was respectable, so my father went to teacher’s college instead.”
    “But now he’s not a teacher, he works at your mother’s company, right?” I asked, running my finger along a smooth black velvet shoe.
    “Yes,” said Rose. “And he travels all the time. I miss him.”
    I looked at her. She looked sad again.
    “I miss my dad too,” I said suddenly. I’d never thought of it that way before, but it was true.
    “But your dad is home every night,” said Rose.
    “Yes, but when I was little I spent more time with him, before Moo and Goo came, when the twins were younger. Mum would be busy with them, Lucy would be off doing her homework and Dad and I would have long talks in his study. I used to sit at a little table and pretend it was my desk, and he gave me paper and pens and I drew all these squiggly lines and pretended I was writing, just like he did. I used to be his special girl …” My voice faded away and I looked up, shocked at what I heard myself saying.
    Rose was giving me an odd look.
    “Baby stuff,” I said, trying to laugh. “Silly baby stuff.”
    “What happened?” she asked quietly. “Why did it change?”
    I felt the familiar anger rising up inside of me and I couldn’t help myself.
    “Moo and Goo happened,” I said bitterly. “Apparently they’re a lot more fun than I am. They’re always bouncing around the place, giggling, whispering, teasing—my dad just switched over to them and forgot all about me.”
    My voice was shaking and I guess I was talking way too loud, because Rose suddenly said, “Sshhhh!” and cocked her head, listening. Then she jumped to her feet.
    “Come on, let’s go up to the attic,” she said and bundled me into the closet.
    I was halfway up the ladder when the Door Jumper returned. I felt the breath knocked out of me as surely as if someone had walloped me with a baseball bat. But this time it didn’t knock me over. I clung to the rungs of the ladder and closed my eyes.
    “ BEGONE, FOUL BEAST !” roared Rose from behind me in a terrible voice. I could