The Bookshop in the Clouds , livre ebook

Pan Macmillan Children’s Books
www.panmacmillan.co.za


Chapter 1
The smell of old books
Have you ever stolen something?
Oh, come on, stop trying to act all innocent. Tell the truth.
A cookie?
A pen?
An eraser?
A set of wind-up chattering teeth?
A passenger plane?*
* Of course, it’s much easier to steal a cookie, a pen, an eraser or a set of wind-up chattering teeth than a passenger plane. But not nearly as much fun. Stealing planes isn’t recommended for beginners though.

Ella Smith has never stolen anything.
No, not even a cookie.
That’s why she was puzzled when she felt a weird tingling sensation in her fingers while standing in the bookshop that afternoon, with a book in her hand. It felt as if dangerous little sparks were shooting through her fingertips.
The bookshop was called Head in the Clouds. It was quite a strange name for a bookshop, but Ella liked it. The walls were light blue, with white clouds painted on them. You could see that it had been done years ago because there were patches of flaking paint, and the clouds were no longer as snow white as they were supposed to be.
But that didn’t bother Ella. She loved the way the shop smelled. Nothing else on earth smelled quite like that – the dusty, mysterious smell of shelf upon shelf of old books.
That’s right, Head in the Clouds sold second-hand books. There was only one thing that smelled nicer to Ella than a brand-new book, and that was a second-hand book that had been read many times. The smell of old books reminded her of mystery and adventure and daydreams (and a teeny-tiny bit of smelly socks, to be completely honest). Who knew where all the books in the shop had travelled to before landing up on those shelves?
That was why Ella loved hanging out in the bookshop every afternoon. It was close to the coffee shop where her mom worked, and only a short distance from their flat. Besides, it was much more fun to wander around in the bookshop than to be cooped up in a flat that was barely bigger than a broom cupboard.
Ella looked at the book in her hand.

The Wonderful World of Owls.
Yep, a book about owls.
Why owls?
Ella had no idea. Not that she had anything against owls, but she’d never been that interested in them. In fact, she’d seldom given the shelves with the animal books a second glance. But that afternoon that specific one had caught her eye. It was so incredibly beautiful that she simply couldn’t close it. The book was a heavy hardcover, with thick, glossy pages that made a whispering sound when you turned them. The pages were filled with oil paintings of owls, each painted in such perfect detail you could almost feel the fluffiness of the fine down feathers. The owls’ glowing yellow eyes looked so alive that Ella could imagine them blinking at her.
Ella’s eyes ran over the names as she carefully paged through the book: barn owl, eagle owl, scops owl, fishing owl, snowy owl. The names sounded like they belonged in a children’s poem.
There it was again ... the tingling in Ella’s fingertips. Oh, imagine owning a book like this and being able to page through it every night in bed, until you felt your eyelids go heavy ...
Suddenly a loud voice rang through the shop.
‘We’re closing in five minutes!’
Ella nearly jumped out of her skin.
It was Mrs Shivers, the owner of the bookshop. Mrs Shivers was a short, plump woman with glasses that made her look a lot like one of the owls in the book. Her hairstyle fitted the name of the shop perfectly – it stuck out from her head like a greyish purple thundercloud. She was always quite nice to Ella. However, she was like a big dog that seemed friendly but still scared you a teeny-tiny bit.
Ella realised two things simultaneously.
1. If the shop was closing in five minutes, it meant that she’d be late to fetch her little brother from Mrs Moan’s.
2. There was no way that she could put the owl book back on the shelf. It was so beautiful that it took her breath away. But she didn’t have money to pay for it. Even if she spent a whole year collecting all the coins from the wishing fountain on the square, she still wouldn’t have enough money to pay for it.
Ella bit her bottom lip. She slowly slid her backpack from one shoulder. With shaky hands she undid the buckle.
Click .

The sound seemed to echo louder than a gunshot through the shop.
She darted a glance in the direction of the counter. Mrs Shivers was staring at the open till, frowning, as if convinced there should be more cash inside.
In a flash Ella slipped the book into her backpack, between her schoolbooks.
Click .
She held her breath. But Mrs Shivers was still busy at the till.
Ella lifted the backpack onto her shoulder. With reddening cheeks, she headed for the door. She was sure that any moment now she would hear the deafening sound of an alarm screaming Thieeef-thieeef-thieeef-thieeef!
But Mrs Shivers didn’t even look up from the counter.

Ella could hardly believe it was that easy to steal a book. She opened the door of the shop and –
‘Just a sec!’
Ella froze. It felt as if her breath was changing into golden syrup.*
* This isn’t nearly as nice as it sounds. Ask any ant that’s ever fallen into a tin of golden syrup.
‘Er ... yes?’ Ella squeaked like a terrified mouse.
Mrs Shivers’ large owl eyes were peering over the top of the till.
‘What are you hiding in your backpack?’
That was what Ella had expected Mrs Shivers to ask. But that wasn’t what she asked. What she asked was, ‘Please tell your mom that I’d like tuna mayo tomorrow?’
‘Er ... will do, Mrs Shivers,’ Ella stammered. ‘E-enjoy your e-evening!’
Quick as lightning, Ella bolted out of the bookshop.

chimed the bell above the door.
Once outside, Ella immediately started running. Not only because she was scared that Mrs Shivers would call her back to ask what was in her backpack, but also because she was late fetching Robbie from Mrs Moan’s. Her long, dark plait was flip-flap-flopping on her back as she ran.
Like a whirlwind, she dashed past the dirty wishing fountain on the square.

Past Mr Julius, the car guard, who always waved and smiled. ‘Ella, guess what’s brown and hairy and wears sunglasses?’ he called, but today Ella was in too much of a hurry for jokes.

Past The Coffee Bean, where her mom, in her waitress uniform, was weaving between the tables with a tray full of dirty mugs and plates.

Across the busy street, with its hooting, howling, hollering afternoon traffic, all the way to Paradise Court.

The dilapidated old block of flats peeked out rather awkwardly from between a nightclub and a bakery, like a child who had shown up at school with a hole in his jersey and the wrong colour shoes.
As she ran, Ella dug her key from her backpack. She barged through the front door into the entrance hall, which was dimly lit and smelled of stale fries and wet cigarette butts, and ran up the stairs three at a time.

‘I’m here!’ she called. ‘I’m here!’
Mrs Moan was already waiting at the door of her flat, Robbie on her hip. Her foot was impatiently tap-tap-tapping on the floor.
‘Ellie!’ called Robbie when he saw her and reached out for his big sister.
Mrs Moan looked pointedly at her watch, which seemed to be trying to strangle her asparagus-white wrist.
‘ Three minutes late! ’ she growled. ‘Do you know how much I could’ve got done in three minutes?* You know what that means, don’t you?’
* Things that you can do in three minutes:
» Cook a packet of instant noodles in the microwave.
» Listen to the pop singer Dezi Bell’s hit ‘Popcorn in my heart’.
» Boil water for a cup of tea.
» Fold a paper plane.
» Translate this entire footnote into Greek. But only if you understand Greek, of course – otherwise it will take you a lot longer.
‘Please, Mrs Moan!’ begged Ella as she took Robbie from her. ‘It’s only three minutes. I ran as fast as I—’
‘Rules are rules,’ said Mrs Moan. ‘When a child isn’t fetched on time, the parents have to pay a fine!’
The smell of overcooked cabbage was wafting out of the flat.
Everything about Mrs Moan reminded Ella of vegetables. Her yellowy brown teeth looked like corn kernels that had rotted on the cob. Her nose was squeezed in tightly between her two purple, turnip-shaped cheeks, like a small potato squashed in a stew. The few wisps of hair left here and there on her head looked like the fine roots at the bottom of an onion.
Ella groaned. Her mom would skin her alive if she had to pay another fine that week.
‘And tell your mom to do something about Robbie’s habit of biting everything,’ added Mrs Moan. ‘Today he chewed little Refilwe’s teddy to pieces, gnawed at the leg of my kitchen table and bit poor Pumpkin.’

Pumpkin peeped out from behind Mrs Moan’s legs and let out a frightened little growl.
‘Yummy, yummy!’ said Robbie, as if he couldn’t wait to taste the poodle again.
Pumpkin let out a little yelp and ducked back behind Mrs Moan, tail between his legs.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Moan,’ said Ella again. ‘I promise I’ll never ...’
‘Hmph!’
With a loud snort Mrs Moan slammed the door shut.
Wham!
The revolting cabbage smell disappeared into the flat along with Mrs Moan and Pumpkin.
Ella sighed.
She wished they could put Robbie in a real crèche. One where he could learn all kinds of things and play outside and have lots of friends and a nice teacher. But Mrs Moan lived in the same block of flats, and she charged less than a crèche. And Ella’s mom didn’t exactly have heaps of money.
With a heavy heart – and a heavy two-year-old on her hip – Ella climbed the stairs to their flat. ‘Robbie, stop chewing my backpack!’ she scolded.

Robbie was teething. That was why he bit whatever he