Read Dream a Little Dream (The Silver Trilogy) (F) for Free Online Page A

as it turned out, wasn’t going to be so simple.
    “There’s only something small for a starter.” When everyone was sitting down, Florence smiled warmly at Mia and me from the other side of the table. “Mrs. Dimbleby bought far too many quails. I hope you like quails with celeriac purée.”
    Oh no—here we went. Celeriac. Eeugh! “That sounds … interesting,” I said in as politely adult a tone as I could manage. Interesting was always a useful word.
    “I’m afraid I’m a vegetarian,” claimed Mia, proving cleverer than me, as she often did. “And I have this silly allergy to celeriac.”
    Also, you’re stuffed full of Christmas cookies , I added silently.
    “Oh dear, never mind. I’ll make you a sandwich if you like.” Florence smiled so radiantly, it positively hurt your eyes. “You’re staying in the Finchleys’ apartment, aren’t you? Is Mrs. Finchley still collecting those charming china figurines?”
    I wondered whether I could say “Yes, they’re so interesting” again without sounding negative about it, but once again Mia had chipped in ahead of me. “No, these days she’s collecting the most dreadfully vulgar-looking dancers.”
    I quickly looked down at the plate with my starter on it, so as not to giggle. What on earth was the stuff on it? I could identify the thin, red slices as some kind of meat, but what was the mushy pile beside it?
    Grayson, who was sitting beside me, seemed to have read my mind. “Chutneys are Mrs. Dimbleby’s specialty,” he told me quietly. “This one is green-tomato chutney.”
    “Oh. Ah. Interesting.” I put a lavish forkful into my mouth and nearly spat it all out again. For a moment I forgot my good intentions. “Are those raisins in it?” I asked Grayson incredulously. He didn’t reply. He had taken his iPhone out of his jeans pocket and was looking at the display under the table. I’d have looked too, purely out of curiosity, but I had enough to do swallowing the weird chutney stuff. As well as raisins, it contained onions, garlic, curry power, ginger, and—yes, no doubt about it, that was cinnamon. And something that, when I bit it, felt like crunchy buttons of some kind. Mrs. Dimbleby had probably stirred in everything that needed to be used up. If that was her specialty, I hated to think what the thing she didn’t cook so well would taste like.
    Mia grinned at me maliciously as I washed the chutney down with a gulp of orange juice.
    “But aren’t the Finchleys coming back from South America next month, Dad?” asked Florence.
    “Yes, they are. They’ll be needing their apartment back from the first of October.” Ernest glanced briefly at Mom and took a deep breath. “In fact, that’s exactly what we wanted to discuss with all of you this evening.”
    The display of Grayson’s iPhone flickered. When he noticed me looking curiously at it, he held his hand farther under the table, as if he was afraid I might read the message with him. I wasn’t even particularly interested in his text message. I thought the tattoo on the inside of his wrist was far more intriguing. Black lettering, half hidden by the sleeve of his T-shirt.
    “You’re one of that blond boy group from school,” I whispered. “That’s why I thought you looked familiar.”
    “What?”
    “We’ve met before. I saw you and your friends in school today.”
    “Really? I don’t remember that.”
    Of course not. He hadn’t so much as looked at me. “Never mind. Pretty tattoo.” Sub um  … Unfortunately I couldn’t make out the rest of it.
    “What?” His eyes had been following my glance. “Oh, that. It’s not a tattoo, only felt pen. Er … notes for Latin.”
    Yes, sure. “Interesting,” I said. “Show me!”
    But Grayson wasn’t about to do any such thing. He pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt down over the “notes” and turned back to his iPhone.
    That was really interesting. Without thinking, I put another forkful of chutney into my mouth. Bad