Tea in Pajamas

  © 2018 Marshall Cavendish International (Asia) Private Limited Text and illustrations © Rachel Tey

  First published in 2015 by Rachel Tey

  This edition published in 2018 by Marshall Cavendish Editions An imprint of Marshall Cavendish International

  All rights reserved

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  National Library Board, Singapore Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  Name(s): Tey, Rachel, 1980- author.

  Title: Tea in pajamas / Rachel Tey.

  Description: Singapore : Marshall Cavendish Editions, 2018.

  Identifier(s): OCN 1050083279 | eISBN 978 981 4841 15 3

  Subject(s): LCSH: Hope--Juvenile fiction. | Girls--Juvenile fiction. | Magic --Juvenile fiction. | Art--Juvenile fiction. | Music--Juvenile fiction.

  Classification: DDC S823--dc23

  Printed in Singapore

  Illustrations on front cover and inside pages by Joseph Tey

  To

  Ignacia

  Tick Tock, Tick Tock . . .

  On Wednesday afternoon at 3 o’clock, Belle Marie sat down for tea. Except she had never been fond of tea. Instead, she fancied coffee, served from a teapot and drunk from a teacup. Into the delicious dark brew she added a spoonful of sugar and dribbled whirls of fresh milk. And though she liked the smell of her mother’s freshly baked butter scones, Belle preferred the soft, flaky texture of croissants.

  There was yet another important component of teatime – she had to be in pajamas. If you thought it odd that at exactly 3 o’clock every Wednesday, eleven-year-old, auburn-haired Belle from the tiny town of Michelmont would come home from school, change into night clothes and savor croissants and coffee at teatime, you shared the sentiments of her parents, Mr and Mrs Marie, and her older brother, Éric. Unlike her, they were perfectly content with buttered raisin scones, washed down nicely with cups of Earl Grey. They also never wore pajamas in the afternoon or went about barefoot.

  To all this, Belle paid little attention, for there were more pressing matters at hand. Unbeknownst to her family (and the rest of the world), a midweek tea session at home in sleepwear was no ordinary affair. It was the crucial step to unlocking the doors and stepping into a wondrous place of magic – Belzerac.

  7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 … Belle finished the last of her croissant and put down her teacup. She dusted the flaky pastry crumbs off her striped cotton pajamas and smoothed down her mane of ginger curls. “I’m ready now,” she whispered, “let’s go.”

  It always happened quickly from that point. The last thing she remembered hearing was Éric asking, “What’s for tea?”

  Easy as Pie

  “You have exactly one hour left!” bellowed Monsieur DuPorc through the loudhailer. “If you haven’t already started on your pie filling, now would be a good time!” The talking pig was presiding over the day’s pie-making competition as both host and judge. He also happened to be the mayor of Belzerac. Monsieur DuPorc was certainly smartly dressed for the occasion. Clad in a powder blue suit, he would have looked very handsome were he not perspiring so profusely from the unrelenting heat of the afternoon sun.

  Pie filling? Belle opened her eyes and saw that she was standing behind a table, alongside some familiar faces, and some others she was only seeing for the first time. Scattered haphazardly in front of her was a weighing scale, a mixing bowl, flour, sugar, salt, a single vanilla pod, butter cubes on a glass dish, a jug of milk, a lemon, and a large basket of whole pitted cherries in the most vivid of shade of red. She also saw that she had on a blue-and-white gingham apron over her pajamas, the same one donned by the other contestants around her.

  Did she have enough time to finish? Belle took a moment to gather her thoughts. Her pie dough had been formed and rolled into two beige spheres – she now had to flatten each ball into a disc, a job for the rolling pin she found clutched in her flour-specked hands. She did this quickly so she could move on to her filling. Into her mixing bowl went the sugar and a pinch of salt, followed by the cherries, seeds from the vanilla pod, and the juice of half the lemon. As she stirred the pretty ruby mixture with her wooden spoon and breathed in the syrupy scent of vanilla, she couldn’t help but notice the empty table to her right where it looked as if another contestant should have been. “Tess Brown” read the name on the place card. Tess! Where could she be?

  Tess and Belle were best friends and classmates in the same elementary school. They also lived in the same neighborhood, rode the school bus together and between them, there were no secrets. Their shared discovery of the extraordinary village of Belzerac via the passage of Tea in Pajamas laid the foundation for many a colorful and exciting experience away from their hometown of Michelmont – an adventure they each swore never to embark on without the other. They had decided that at 3 o’clock after school every Wednesday, they would change into their pajamas and sit for tea in their respective homes. And without fail, the girls would show up together in Belzerac. This Wednesday should not have been any different, but strangely, Tess was nowhere to be seen.

  “Half an hour to go!” The booming voice of Monsieur DuPorc jolted Belle back to her present task at hand. Quickly, she laid part of her dough at the bottom of the pie dish, trimmed away the excess, then poured the cherry filling over. Next, she arranged strips of dough in a crisscross fashion over the glistening crimson mixture, and sealed the edges of her pie with her fingertips. In swift but steady motions, Belle brushed her pie lightly with milk before the final flourish – a modest sprinkling of sugar.

  “FIFTEEN MINUTES!”

  By this time, most contestants already had their pies in the oven – any further delay would be cutting it too close. Pie in hand, Belle made large strides across the open green field to the enormous common oven where her pastry joined the rest of the contending creations, some quite handsome and others not quite so. Phew!

  “I must say you stand a mighty good chance of winning. I hear Monsieur and Madame DuPorc love cherries.” Belle turned to see Cheesy Bear, his apron still on and paws in oven mitts which he looked to have no intention of removing. “But to have done a cherry pie would just have been taking the easy way out. Everyone knows I love a good challenge,” he continued.

  Cheesy Bear was the first friend Belle had made in Belzerac when she first turned up two years ago, bewildered and petrified. Until then, she had never traveled outside Michelmont, so to have found herself amid talking animals in an idyllic setting without cars or tall buildings was astonishing to say the least. Havi
ng caught sight of a red-haired, pajama-clad girl standing in his rose garden, Cheesy Bear had invited the visibly shaken Belle into his cottage and soothed her frazzled nerves over a plate of cheese nibblets and a glass of warm milk. They then spent the afternoon chatting away, until the sun’s receding rays signaled the point at which Belle was (and would subsequently always be) brought back to the kitchen table of her Michelmont home.

  On her next visit, Belle brought with her a hitherto unconvinced Tess, and Cheesy wasted no time introducing them to the company of fellow Belzeracians, Monsieur and Madame DuPorc. Belle and Tess never knew what magical adventures awaited them each Wednesday afternoon in Belzerac. Up until then, they had, with their new friends, canoed down the Doreine (a glittering river that cut through the rolling fields and meandered beyond the distant mountains), explored mysterious caves, and enjoyed lazy picnics in the warm sunshine. Today’s activity was a cinch for Belle, for she was a naturally gifted baker, though she wasn’t sure if she was good enough to win a competition.

  “Cheesy!” she exclaimed, reaching over to lock her furry friend in a tight embrace. “It’s so good to see you again. I’ve missed you.” That was true. To Belle, the other six days of the week away from Belzerac always felt like an eternity – particularly of late, since she had been feeling increasingly bored and restless with her life in Michelmont.

  “Come on, let’s take a breather before they announce the results,” she said, taking the bear’s oven-mitt-clad paw and leading him to a shady spot under a large elm tree. The DuPorcs, who were the organizers and judges of Belzerac’s annual pie-making contest, were busy tasting pies and deciding on the winner. Each year, the champion was awarded a generous supply of butter, along with a much-coveted golden trophy, fashioned in the likeness of a rolling pin.

  “What are your general thoughts on cheese as a pie filling?” Cheesy persisted, finally removing his apron and laying it on the grass for them to sit on. “I wanted to go for peaches as they are in season, but a savory pie is so much more flavorful.” They rested, his thoughts on pastries and hers on her missing best friend.

  “By the way, where’s Tess?” Cheesy asked, as if having read her mind. At this mention, Belle felt a knot in her stomach. Since they started on Tea in Pajamas, Tess had never failed to turn up.

  “I’m not sure, to be honest,” she replied. “She should be here by now.”

  Cheesy Bear placed a reassuring paw on Belle’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’s alright,” he said. “I suppose she forgot or is just a little delayed … had to run a few errands and will be here soon.”

  “Unless …” someone interjected in a low voice.

  “Unless what?” Belle asked, turning to face Monsieur DuPorc, who had come to join them under the elm tree. Studying his grave expression, she almost dreaded to hear the answer.

  “The Musicians,” he said, matter-of-factly. “They may have something to do with a number of cases in which Belzeracians went mysteriously missing.” He paused, studying Belle’s quizzical expression. “Their music is believed to be so beautiful and beguiling, it entices the listener to seek its origin … and thence, disappear into oblivion.”

  Belle could feel an unsettling mix of impatience and skepticism welling up inside her. It was easier to accept that her best friend had let their weekly Tea in Pajamas ritual slip her mind and was presently home in Michelmont, than to imagine she could be in the company of these mysterious Musicians.

  “Well, technically, these have all been third-party accounts and cautionary tales,” Cheesy Bear chimed in, folding his burly arms. “However, some have spoken of a certain Monsieur L’Arbre who helps the lost find their way back home. Perhaps he could tell you where Tess is.”

  “Who is this Monsieur L’Arbre?” Belle asked, anxious for answers.

  Monsieur DuPorc held up his right front trotter to pause the conversation and indicate that he had to return to the judges’ bench to announce the results of the pie contest. She watched as he hurried back to the makeshift podium and retrieved his loudhailer.

  “Contestants, if you would all gather back here, please, for the results!”

  It was prize-giving time. Belle could not help but marvel at the three rolling-pin-shaped trophies set before everyone. Arranged in descending order of height, they gleamed so brightly it hurt to even look at them.

  The next twenty minutes or so went by in a blur. There was much clapping and many happy gasps from the crowd as names were called out and speeches were made. Belle could only presume she wasn’t among the top three since no one was as much as looking in her direction. Instead, her thoughts drifted to the last time she had seen her best friend.

  They had both taken the school bus home earlier that day, and Belle had been the first to alight. Oddly enough, neither of them had spoken of Belzerac, their conversation instead centering on the new boy in class, Julien, whose crop of spiky, seemingly gravity-defying blond hair had drawn manifold guffaws from the other children.

  “Do you suppose he puts something in it to make it stand?” Tess had wondered aloud. The rest of the journey home went by uneventfully and when the bus pulled up in front of Belle’s home, the girls said their usual goodbyes.

  Maybe I should have reminded her about Tea in Pajamas, she thought, regretfully. For now, though, there was the question of Monsieur L’Arbre.

  “He is said to be a 2,000-year-old tree that resides in the Sapphire Forest. And like a lighthouse, he guides lost travelers back to safety,” said Monsieur DuPorc in answer to Belle’s burning question. Their conversation had resumed now that the prize-giving ceremony was over and the crowd had dispersed. A strong buttery smell continued to linger in the air.

  Belle felt herself cheering to the prospect of meeting this formidable, magical tree. “Let’s go to him – he’ll know for sure what happened to Tess. I just hope it’s not too late.”

  “Hold on, there’s a catch. Actually two,” Cheesy Bear cut in, his lips now pursed and brows knitted in a tight frown. “As Monsieur DuPorc said, he resides in the Sapphire Forest – a dark and dangerous place. Only half of those who have ever ventured in have made it back unscathed, while the rest remain unaccounted for.”

  “And the Musicians may have something to do with that,” added Madame DuPorc.

  They were right. It wasn’t going to be easy. Belle looked down at her bare feet, feeling the cold, damp grass beneath her soles. How am I supposed to trek through the woods, fraught with obstacles and menacing characters, without any shoes? she wondered.

  “Don’t be discouraged, there is hope yet,” said Madame DuPorc, reaching over to lock Belle in a motherly embrace. “Why, it’s almost sunset. You’ll soon return to Michelmont and find out for certain if Tess is home.”

  “Yes, exactly,” agreed Cheesy Bear. “We’ll look out for her here until your return next Wednesday, by which time I’m positive she would’ve shown up on either side. If not, we can both go into Sapphire Forest to find Monsieur L’Arbre.”

  “Count us in,” echoed the DuPorcs, clearly in support of Cheesy’s plan.

  “Thank you,” Belle said, holding back grateful tears. “I couldn’t ask for better mates.”

  Together, they sat under the old elm tree, till the last vestiges of daylight faded into the rusty glow of evening. Any time now, she would be back in Michelmont.

  Belle closed her eyes, basking in the promise of a new day.

  Julien Hedgehog

  Julien had never understood why the hairs on his head perpetually stood on end as if willed to do so by an inexplicable force of nature. He’d tried everything – washing it up to five times a day, slicking on his father’s hair gel, combing, brushing, even arranging his pillows into a boxed formation around his head as he slept – but the result was always the same. The reflection in the mirror consistently showed a pale young lad with linear, sandy spikes for hair.

  One time, his mother had the barber shear it down to a uniform one-inch height, but as if in protest, the bristles
grew back taller, thicker, and thornier within a week. Actually, Julien had come to accept and even embrace this unique feature about himself. If anything, it drew attention away from his rather freckly face, another aspect of his appearance he could do without if he so had the choice. However, this was not to say he disliked everything about himself – in fact, he was happy with his eyes, slightly close-set but in the most intriguing shade of stormy gray.

  He was also proud of his photographic memory – once an image, sound, or object was imprinted in his mind, he possessed the unique ability to recall all of it with amazing precision. This gift earned him such good grades that he wasn’t short of offers from schools when his family relocated from Suffingshire to Michelmont following his father’s new job posting. Eventually, Julien was enrolled in Lutetia Elementary School for Boys and Girls.

  Julien Hedgehog. He was not new to nicknames – in his former school, he had been called everything from Daggerhead to Spiky Spud – he just hadn’t expected to be given a label on his first day at Lutetia.

  It began innocently enough during attendance-taking. Mrs Wilson was doing the routine roll call and by the time she got to his name, it was just par for the course.

  “We have a new student joining our class,” she said, smiling in his direction. “Stand up, Mr Edgehawk.”

  The subsequent chortles that filled the classroom left Julien red-faced. He rose from his seat amidst a chorus of taunts that only grew louder as more joined in.

  “HEDGEHOG! HEDGEHOG! HEDGEHOG!”

  He sighed. Why did human beings have to be so predictable?

  Julien looked down at his lunch tray and felt quite pleased with the variety of offerings available at Lutetia. If anything, his chicken casserole with green beans and raspberry pudding dessert looked much more appetizing than the usual peas-and-mash or tuna fish sandwiches served back at his old school. Now if he could just find a quiet, inconspicuous spot to enjoy his meal undisturbed.