217 Babel Street | Roof Garden
...waving pampas grass, statues without eyes, a forest of tiny trees, climbing vines and a pebbled path that went this way, then that, disagreeing with itself. Alicia stepped forward, grateful again for the goodness of pink light from her trainers. She could just see the strand of yarn that teased her toes. She would find the end of it now, surely. Then, on her way back downstairs, she would wind it into a ball and present it to Vivienne. She would tell her of the many people who might have been horribly killed on the stairs had it not been for her. Vivienne will be proud of her. She might even let her play with the skeleton key on her big key-ring. Alicia didn't know why it was called a "skeleton" key but the sight of it made them shiver and giggle together.
In the distance, the screams of teenagers on the pier's ghost train rose into the night. Alicia crossed a flimsy wooden bridge and a shallow pool where goldfish darted like slivers of light. She sidled past a bench and under a bower, all bare and twisty at this time of year. She stepped over bits of rubbish - MacDonald's wrappers, a long clear rubber balloon and a battered tin can. Seagulls' treasure they had carelessly dropped. Her own treasure pulsed in her hands. Perhaps she would forget the Very Important Person and show Vivienne instead. Just as soon as she found the end of the trail of yarn...