Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1: The Invitation
33A Treadlemill Road was a basement apartment beneath a shop on the other side of town. A boy named Ben Makepeace, who had eyes as sharp and dark as a sparrow’s and tousled tawny hair, lived there with his mom. Sometimes Ben helped in the shop. Other times he helped in the apartment. That morning, when he went to bring in the milk, he found an envelope propped up behind it.
Ben was always wary of letters. Occasionally mail still came addressed to his dad, but he saw with relief that this wasn’t one of those. And it wasn’t addressed to his mom either. In fact, it wasn’t addressed to anybody at all. The flap of the envelope was unsealed. Ben hoped it wasn’t another bill. He peeked inside.
At first, seeing only a piece of thin card with a picture on it, he guessed it was an advertisement. He sneaked it out to see it better because the picture showed lots of animals. Ben liked animals — though he didn’t have any pets: they weren’t allowed to keep pets in that apartment. In any case, these weren’t the sort of animals you could have kept at home. There was a giraffe, and a hippo, and a grumpy-looking owl, and in the bottom right-hand corner was a shrewlike creature with a pendulous nose. Ben’s heart began to beat faster as he gazed at the picture, for it stirred his most secret memory — a secret that he had never told to anyone at all.
“What are you doing out there? ” called Mom.
Ben guiltily slipped the card back inside the envelope. Then he brought the mail to the table and laid the envelope beside it.
Mom had the same eyes as Ben but different hair, and she ran the shop upstairs. “What’s that? ” she said, glancing down.
“It came with the milk.”
She opened the envelope, then went very still. Yet all she said, after glaring for a while, was “I thought the old Gee Museum had closed down.”
Ben took the card from her and examined it as he munched his crunchy almond flakes. The shrew in the picture was holding a pen as if it had just finished writing the motto at the bottom, which read:
COME INSIDE SOMETIME.
“It looks like an invitation to get in for free,” he said. “Maybe it’s reopened.”
“Maybe,” said Mom. She was biting her lip.
“I’d like to go,” said Ben.
“Would you? ” Mom sounded tense.
“It says admit two.”
“But I’m not sure when I’d have time.” She looked rather pale. The rest of the mail was on the table, and as she glanced through it, Ben could tell there were a lot of bills. He knew Mom was worried about money. He knew she couldn’t often leave the shop.
Their shop was called Perfect Pastimes. Once it had been simply a craft shop, but nowadays Mom sold a bit of everything: art materials and embroidery thread, buttons and yarn, stationery and stickers, and the kind of model kits that you took home and painted, and some interesting books, and all sorts of oddments that children liked. Sometimes it was busy. More often it was not, though Mom liked Ben to help on Saturdays in case there was a rush.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
Ben waved the invitation. “Could I go myself on Sunday? ”
Mom frowned at the bills and said nothing.
“You’re always saying you used to go everywhere on your own at my age.”
“True enough,” said Mom, though her voice was unusually gruff.
“Well, then . . . can I go on my own? ”
“It’s . . . I don’t think it’s . . . Look, I like you to be independent, but it’s a bit far on your own. Anyway, I don’t think you’d like it.”
“Where is it? ” Ben turned the slip of paper over. There was no address on the back, only those five tiny handwritten words:
Come now or come never!
He peered inside the envelope and found a small brown feather nestled in the bottom — nothing else.
Mom said, “It’s down by the river on the other side — close to the bridge, I think — not far from the weir, but I certainly don’t want you going near that.”
Ben sighed. “I won’t go anywhere near the river. I’ve prom-ised you I won’t a million times. I want to go to this museum. It’s not that far. Why don’t you want me to go? Is there something you don’t like about it? ”
Mom began unpacking a box of art equipment to take upstairs. She hadn’t finished her cereal. Ben was afraid she wouldn’t say any more, as she so often went silent when she wanted to end a conversation. But after a moment she continued, “I never said I didn’t like it. It’s just . . . Anyway, since when have you been interested in museums? ”
“I’m interested now. Could we have a look for it online? ”
