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Diana Wynne Jones
THE Game
This one is for Frances
Contents
Title Page Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve More Than A Story House Of Many Ways Other titles by Diana Wynne Jones Copyright About the Publisher
When Hayley arrived at the big house in Ireland, bewildered and in disgrace, rain was falling and it was nearly dark. Her cousin Mercer had called the place just “the Castle”. As far as Hayley could see, peering up at the place while Cousin Mercer was paying the taxi, the building was a confusing mixture of house and castle and barn. She could see turrets and sharply sloping roofs, tall chimneys, a wooden wall and a stone part at one side that seemed to have been patched up with new bricks. Then the taxi drove off in a spurt of mud.
Cousin Mercer – who had confused Hayley all along by turning out to be a grown up youngish man and not a cousin her own age – picked up Hayley’s small old-fashioned suitcase and hurried her into the house, where it was more than ever confusing.
They came into a large stone-floored dining room full of people milling about around the enormous dining table, or in and out of the big kitchen beyond. Most of them were children, but all older-seeming and larger than Hayley, while distracted-looking ladies, who were probably aunts, pushed this way and that among them with piles of plates and baskets of bread.
Nobody took any notice of Hayley at all. True, somebody said, “Good. She’s here. Now we can eat at last”, but nobody really looked at her. Cousin Mercer left Hayley standing beside her suitcase and threaded his way to the kitchen, shouting, “Mother! Sorry about this. The plane was late and the taxi driver lost the way!”
Hayley stood. Her arms hung slightly outwards from the rest of her and her hands dangled, useless and floppy with strangeness. She had never been in the same room with so many people in her life. She was used to the hushed and sequestered way Grandma and Grandad lived, where nobody ran about or laughed much, and nobody ever shouted. These people were so lively and so loud. She didn’t know who any of them were, apart from Cousin Mercer who had brought her here from England, and she missed her friend Flute acutely, even though it was probably Flute’s fault that she was here and in disgrace. She still didn’t understand how she had made Grandma so angry.
Hayley sighed. The other main thing about these tall, rushing, shouting children was that they all wore jeans or long baggy trousers with lots of pockets down the sides, and bright stripy tops. Hayley sadly realised that her neat floral dress and her shiny patent-leather shoes were quite wrong for this place. She wished she had jeans and trainers too, but Grandma disapproved of trousers for girls.
To add to the strangeness, there were more boys here than girls. Most of the boys were fair and skinny, like the girls – and the girls were so pretty and so confident that Hayley sighed again – but two of the boys stood out by being dark. One was a tall, calm boy who didn’t seem to shout as much as the others. He was obviously popular, because the others were always trying to get his attention. “Troy!” they shouted. “Come and look at my new trick!” or “Troy! What do you think of this?” Troy always grinned and went obligingly over to look.
The other dark boy was smaller and he struck Hayley as a perfect little beast. He spent his time slyly pulling the beautiful streaming hair of the girls, or stamping on people’s feet, or trying to steal things out of the pockets in the baggy trousers. Hayley learnt his name too, because every minute or so someone screamed, “Tollie, do that again and you’ll die!”
These people are all my cousins! Hayley thought wonderingly. And I didn’t know about any of them until this moment!
Here she found that Tollie had come to stand in front of her, jeeringly, with his hands hanging in exactly the same useless position that Hayley’s were and his feet planted the same uncertain six inches apart. “Yuk!” he said. “You dirty outcast!”
“You’re my cousin,” Hayley said. Her voice came out small and prim with nerves.
“Nim-pim!” Tollie mimicked her. “I am not so your cousin! Mercer’s my dad and he’s your cousin. But you’re only a dirty outcast in a frilly dress.”
Hayley felt things boiling in her that she would rather not know. She wanted to leap on Tollie and pull pieces off him – ears, nose, fingers, hair, she scarcely cared which, so long as they came away with lots of blood – but luckily at that moment a large lady bustled up and enfolded Hayley against her big soft bosom hung with many hard strings of beads.
“My dear!” the lady said. “Forgive me. I was making the sauce and you know how it goes all lumpy if you leave it. I’m your Aunt May. Tollie, go away and stop being a pain. You have to forgive Tollie, my dear. Most of the year he’s the only child here, but this is the week we have all the family to stay and he feels outnumbered. Now come and be introduced to everyone.”
Hayley, who had gone limp with relief against Aunt May’s many necklaces, found herself tensing up again at this. Now they were all going to despise her.
Although nobody did seem to despise her, the introductions left Hayley almost as confused as before.
The loud, fair cousins were the children of two different aunts. But, beyond gathering that some were Laxtons and belonged to Aunt Geta, and that the rest were Tighs, which made them sons and daughters of Aunt Celia, Hayley had no idea which were which – let alone what all their names were.
Aunt Geta stood out a bit by being tall and fair, with an impeccable neatness about her, like a picture painted very strictly inside the lines. Grandma would approve of Aunt Geta, Hayley thought. But Aunt Celia was a blurred sort of person. Aunt Alice, who didn’t seem to have any children, was like a film star, almost unreal she was so perfect. And the tall, calm Troy turned out to be the son of another aunt who had stayed at home in Scotland. Most confusingly of all, the slender brown lady, whose little pearl earrings echoed the curves of her long cheeks and the shine of her big dark eyes, turned out not to be an aunt at all, but Troy’s elder sister, Harmony. Since Harmony had been bustling about just like the aunts, setting the table and telling Tollie and the Tighs and Laxtons to behave themselves, Hayley supposed it was a natural mistake. But it made her feel stupid all the same.
“Supper’s ready,” Aunt May announced, tucking her flying grey hair back into its uncoiling loose bun. “You sit here, Hayley, my dear.”
Everyone