Free 2: Chocolate Box Girls: Marshmallow Skye by Cathy Cassidy Page B

Sellotape.
    ‘Skye, I’m sensing a sadness about you today … am I right?’ Mrs Lee says.
    ‘I’m not in a great mood, if that’s what you mean,’ I sigh.
    ‘It’s more than that, though, isn’t it, pet? There’s something on your mind. You look … haunted.’
    ‘What d’you mean?’ I squeak. I’m used to Mrs Lee, but that’s a bit close to home. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts!’ I say shakily.
    ‘Who knows?’ she says. ‘There are a lot of things out there we don’t fully understand … shadows from the past … echoes of unhappiness and sorrow from long ago. Those things are real enough, Skye, and tragedies can leave their mark on the present day. I’ve seen it again and again. For sensitive people, those with a sixth sense, an empathy with the past – like you and me, Skye – well, maybe ghosts aren’t as far-fetched as the scientists make out!’
    My mind floods with possibilities. I’d almost forgotten about Clara and the letters what with all the drama at home, but Mrs Lee has brought it all back. Could I be tuning into some kind of sadness from the past, something that surfaces in my dreams? Are sorrow and unhappiness folded around the velvet dresses and cotton petticoats just like the lingering marshmallow fragrance?
    But I don’t think it can be that. The dreams don’t feel sad or scary, just the opposite. It’s tearing myself away from that world that is the challenge. Perhaps the clothes a girl once wore can hold on to some of her energy, some of her memories, even years and years later … but if the clothes were heavy with sadness and pain, wouldn’t I be able to feel that too, if I really am as sensitive as Mrs Lee says?
    I blink, and Mrs Lee laughs. ‘That’s not actually what I meant, though, pet … I was just saying, you look upset. Haunted, you know. It was just an expression!’
    Colour floods my cheeks. ‘Of course,’ I mumble. ‘Obviously. I had a fallout with my sister …’
    Two of my sisters, actually.
    ‘Ah,’ Mrs Lee says, weighing and stamping the packages. ‘Families … they’re complicated things, Skye. People say and do things they regret.’
    I push a couple of notes across the counter to pay, but Mrs Lee ignores the cash and picks up my hand, turning itover to study the palm. I am very glad there is nobody else in the post office.
    ‘Goodness,’ she says. ‘You’re growing up so fast, Skye. I see romance!’
    I laugh. ‘I don’t think so …’
    Mrs Lee purses her lips. ‘I’m never wrong,’ she says huffily. ‘I have the gift, you know. I learnt how to read palms from my mum. She was half Romany gypsy!’
    ‘OK,’ I grin. ‘I’m sorry! Only I am not all that interested in boys, really.’
    Unless they are boys like Finch, of course, but they don’t exist outside my dreams, I am pretty sure of that.
    ‘Perhaps you haven’t met him yet,’ Mrs Lee concedes, frowning. ‘But he’s here, all right … clear as day. I’m seeing something else too …’ She peers more closely at my palm. ‘A small bird? A finch, maybe?’
    I pull my hand away as if I’ve been burnt.
    Finch. A dream boy, a boy who must have lived almost a hundred years ago … if he existed at all.
    This is way too weird, too freaky.
    If Mrs Lee is right – how can a boy who belongs to the past be a part of my future?
    Mrs Lee counts out my change and I take my receipt and run all the way to the bakery, where I try to pull myself together. I pick out cream cakes for everyone, including Honey’s favourite – a chocolate eclair – and I’m just on my way out, balancing the two boxes carefully, when I am ambushed by Alfie Anderson. Possibly the last person on earth I want to see right now.
    ‘Skye,’ he says cheerfully. ‘How’s it going? I’d buy you a milkshake, only I’ve got no money …’
    ‘I’d buy you a Porsche, only I don’t have any money either,’ I sigh, and Alfie laughs and falls into step beside me.
    ‘Playpark?’