'The Surprising Seeds' - a children's book

Prologue

 

Now, before you snuggle up in bed under your favourite dinosaur duvet, we need to have a serious chat. It won’t take long! Don’t worry! But I need to give you what the lawyer called “fair warning.”

So - I don’t want to scare you, but it is my duty to tell you about THE RISK that you are currently, right now, this very minute, in danger of. Because just you holding, reading, heck, even touching  this book has exposed you to a substance that is – let me get this right – “potentially volatile and medically unregulated.”

 I’m very sorry about that.

So be prepared. Over the next few days you might experience some unusual sensations. You might be walking to Maths with your best friend and be so thirsty that you polish off six glasses of water, right after the other.  You might have a strong desire to dance about in the sunshine, even when you’re just about to brush your teeth and it’s snowing outside. You could find yourself running about the playground for hours, even if you’re normally the world’s laziest couch potato, or feel a painful tingle on your head that feels like a whole swarm of bees are munching away on your scalp. And finally – ahem – really, nothing to be alarmed about – you might develop some growths about your body.

But wait! Don’t fling the book away in horror! Come back! There’s no point rushing off to the bathroom to scrub your hands! The chances of what happened to us happening to you are really small. Like 1 in a million, or a billion, or something. (Or 1 in a 100. I’m not brilliant with fractions.) I only put that warning in because the lawyer told me to! Honestly, it’s really unlikely anything strange will happen to you.

But if they don’t… and you get tired of being gawped at, then you can always come and live in our town, Little Sterilis, where no matter how odd you become, you’ll fit right in. Because it happened to us too. We all look a little strange here.

 

Or, as my mum would say diplomatically, haven’t we GROWN?

 

Chapter One

 

I don’t know what it was, exactly, that drew me to that red bargain bucket. Or why I felt the urge to explore the deepest darkest back room in Mrs Shah’s hardware shop last April. Perhaps because it was a hot day and I needed to find somewhere nice and dark to cool off. Perhaps because I wanted to check out the latest innovations in the world of rawl plugs.

Or maybe because Mum and Mrs Shah were having a long chat about the latest batch of mould growing in our bathroom, and there’s only so much of that a ten year old girl can take.

Anyway, they didn’t seem to mind as I mumbled my excuses and took off. I found myself in a small room right at the back of the shop. It smelt of damp and old cardboard and the sounds of the shop and the street outside were completely muffled – all I could hear was my breathing. Every wall was lined with shelves, and every shelf was lined with boxes, and every box was labelled neatly. I sat on a stool and stared at the boxes. My mind felt blank, and empty, and strangely calm. Like the room itself - a dark space, waiting.

 

Then after a while something seemed to happen in the darkness around me. It seemed to shift.  And I realised that the boxes had faded away and I was looking at a bright red bucket. Where had that come from?

Taped to its outside was a handwritten label that said simply: BARGAIN BUCKET.

I couldn’t remember having ever seen it before. Mrs Shah must have used a special pen to write that sign because it glowed as brightly as the planet stickers on my ceiling when the light had just been turned off. In fact the more I looked at it the brighter the words glowed. Within a few seconds they were almost as bright as the luminous signs above a cinema.

Wow, that bucket really wanted to be noticed.

Without really thinking about it my legs stood up of their own accord and I found myself wandering over and peering inside. I had the sensation that something was waiting for me.  Through the gloom, I peered hard to see what that was. It looked like – could it be - a couple of cans of dog food which had expired in 2008?

That’s exactly what it was. I was looking at a job lot of DOGGY GOURMET. I gave a shaky laugh, felt my heart beat normally again. Then I heard Mum call, from somewhere at the front of the shop - “Sorrel Fallowfield – time to go!” That’s me, by the way. Yes that is my actual name. Mum has this thing about fresh herbs and decided to name me after her favourite. It could have been worse, I suppose. She also loves parsley.

I stood up. As I turned, my right arm jerked out in a move I definitely hadn’t planned and plunged straight back into the bucket. And then a tiny voice inside my head said: “Go on. Take a closer look. You might find something you really need.” It was a gentle voice, and although it sounded human, it also sounded bigger than just one person. Like millions of voices blended into one. And with a slight echo, as if it was coming from deep within something. For a tiny second, I saw in my mind’s eye a patch of vivid green moss, damp with dew. A tangle of tree roots.

All the while, my right hand rummaged through the bucket in a frenzy. Was my arm under a spell? But from what? And why?

“Where are you?” said Mum, sounding impatient. In a voice that hopefully sounded super casual I replied: “Err – just – doing up my shoelaces! With you in a tic!”

 

My hand threw things out of the bucket impatiently. Soon I was in a little circle of things that the world had rejected. Blunt vegetable peelers. Sprouting daffodil bulbs. A brown teapot with no spout. My hand didn’t seem to mind – it was, I realised, looking for something. Something it knew was there.

“Come on love,” Mum shouted. “Or we’ll miss the bus!”

 

I tried to tug my hand out. Instead, it plunged deeper into the bucket, rummaging like a blind spider on a mysterious mission. My fingers brushed over something soft. A jolt of energy surged up my arm. My hand closed tightly over something. I tugged my arm again. This time, it came out freely, clenched in a triumphant fist, like it had won something. But what?

I felt an eerie feeling wash over me, like when Mum took me to the seaside and a huge wave knocked me over and tumbled me about underwater for ages, thrilling and scaring me all at once. When my breathing had slowed down, I realised the pain in my right hand was caused by clenching something so tightly my knuckles were bright white and bloodless. Flinching slightly at the pain, I slowly uncurled my fingers. I was holding a…

 

… brown paper envelope. And what’s more, it felt empty. All that fuss for a packet of nothing. Yet my hand waved it about proudly like it wanted applause.

 

“There you are,” said Mum, looking anxious. “We’ve got two minutes before the bus – ” Something stopped her in her tracks as she took in my face. “What’s that you’ve got there?” she asked slowly.

I held my hand up to show her and in the half-gloom around us I read the writing on the packet for the first time. 

 

<PICTURE OF A PLAIN BROWN SEED PACKET.

THE WORDS SAY SURPRISING SEEDS.

THE FONT IS OLD-FASHIONED, LIKE THE WRITING YOU SEE ON THE SIDE OF CIRCUSES

UNDERNEATH SURPRISING SEEDS ARE THE WORDS:

‘PREPARE TO BE SURPRISED’>

 

“Surprising Seeds,” I read aloud slowly. The packet went warm in my hand as if I had taken it out of the oven, not an old bargain bucket.

 

I said something I hadn’t planned. “Can you buy it for me?”

Mum shook her head and her lips went a bit funny, the way they always did when we talked about money. “Pennies are a bit tight this month. Sorry. Next time. Maybe.”

We walked back down the corridor towards the exit and Mrs Shah looked up from the newspaper in front of her.

“Found something?”

 I showed her the packet.

“Fancy that,” she said slowly, looking a bit puzzled.  “Where’d you find that then?”

“In the bargain bucket in the back room,” I said.

She frowned. “What bargain bucket?”

I half-smiled, not sure if she was pulling my leg.

Mum started to fidget and make noises about getting the bus again so Mrs Shah just smiled kindly and said: “Have it for nothing. On me. Hope you grow something nice.”

I stammered out my thanks and put the seeds carefully into the back pocket of my jeans with a shaky hand. 

 

We stepped out onto the busy high street, a jumble of buses and shops and car-horns and grown-ups pushing prams on crowded pavements. And still I remembered that voice, and the flash of green moss.

 

Chapter Two

 

So when the newspapers and journalists first got hold of my story they wrote quite a few lies. And the biggest one was that I came from a ‘broken home.’

Now, I don’t know what a broken home is, exactly, but ours worked just fine. Apart from our washing machine. And the fridge. And the freezer. All of which leaked, burped, and groaned a lot because they were ancient. Okay, so we were guilty of neglect towards our kitchen appliances. But that didn’t mean our house was BROKEN.

They also made a big deal out of us being a one-parent family. Yes, it was sad that Dad had died when I was little. But I loved living with Mum and our tabby cat, Miss Balmforth. And my best friend Neve lived two minutes walk away. It could have been worse.

Home was our admittedly messy house on a dead end street called Brecknock Road which everybody called Breakneck Road because everybody was always in such a rush to leave it in the morning.

 

When we got back from Mrs Shah’s, Mum went into the kitchen and started making tea, and I curled up on my bed next to a purring Miss Balmforth and frowned up at the ceiling.

What had gone on in that little room, exactly? Where had that mysterious bargain bucket come from? Why had I so desperately wanted to bring home an empty sachet? And what should I do with it now?

 

The questions whirring around my mind were interrupted by a knock on the door. I ran downstairs and opened it and tried not to stare too much.

“What was it this time?” I asked eventually.

“Hydrogen peroxide and sodium iodide,” Neve said casually, stepping into the hallway. “I threw some soap into the beaker to see how much gas there was and – BOOM!”

“Bad reaction?” I asked sympathetically, glancing at the weeping sore where her right eyebrow used to be.

“Only from my parents,” she muttered. “The experiment itself went perfectly.”

Neve’s Life Goal lay in finding the perfect experiment. What that was exactly seemed pretty vague. Every so often she’d gaze into the distance and say only that it would be something that would change the world as we knew it. In the meantime she went through a lot of eyebrows looking for it. (This was the third she’d burnt off this year alone.)

I shut my bedroom door saying: “I’ve got something strange to tell you,” and Neve’s face instantly brightened. By the time I got to the bit about the packet getting hot when I said SURPRISING SEEDS out loud, she was grinning widely. “That’s amazing.”

“You don’t think I’m a weirdo for hearing voices in my head?”

“Well, I didn’t say that –” she dodged the unwashed socks I threw at her. “But what are we waiting for? Let’s take a look.”

In the light of the afternoon sun streaming through my window, the packet looked even older than it had at Mrs Shah’s. Perhaps the most surprising thing about the Surprising Seeds was they’d survived the bus trip without falling apart.

 “Surprising Seeds,” read Neve aloud in a spooky voice.

We giggled. “What’s on the back?” she asked.

I turned it over and this is what we saw:

 

<PICTURE OF THE BACK OF THE PACKET, WHICH IS BROWN AND PLAIN AND HAS ONE SENTENCE, WHICH IS THIS:

 

“THESE SEEDS ARE SELF-SEEDING.” >

 

“What does that mean?” asked Neve.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Beats me.” 

“Perhaps it’s a riddle.”

“Perhaps,” I said uncertainly.

“And you said that it was empty?”

“Yep,” I said.

“Well – it’s not empty now.”

Startled, I looked down at my hand. She was right. The packet was full and plump now.  I frowned, remembering how empty it had been back in the store room. Or had I imagined that?

Then it started to get warm again, just like it had before, except this time it was much hotter. I dropped the packet on the floor, wincing. As we stared at it, the following words appeared on the brown paper, as if written by an invisible hand:

 

“WHOEVER FOUND THIS PACKET MUST SOW THESE SEEDS.

THAT MEANS YOU, SORREL FALLOWFIELD.”

 

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Neve gasped.

 I couldn’t reply because something even stranger was happening to my hands. They started to twitch. My hands moved and danced in the air in front of us, like they were playing a tune on an invisible piano.  It was as if they were trying to tell me something, like they wanted to send me a message. And after a few moments, I knew what it was.

My fingers wanted to sow. They wanted to sprinkle and scatter and shower and shake over. They wanted to dash and drop and dust and drip and dance and dribble. They wanted to send off and send loose and send flying. And they really, really wanted to sprinkle those seeds.

“Wow,” said Neve. “Your fingers are going mental.”

A fully-formed thought bubbled up inside my brain as if somebody had planted it there. The Surprising Seeds did not want to be sealed up any longer. They wanted to get out into the world. And who needed to make that happen? I did, that’s who. All hail Sorrel Sprinkle Seed, said a voice inside my head. At least it’s got my name right, I thought wildly, fighting the urge to cackle.

 

Breathing carefully, I opened the packet and peered inside. I saw a whole galaxy in there; the seeds seemed to shimmer in the darkness like tiny stars.

Then I heard that voice inside my head again. This time, it was singing. “They might be smaller than crumbs from toast, but sow these seeds you need them most,” it chanted. “They don’t need soil, they don’t need water, so let them go just where they oughter.”

Despite the thudding of my heart, I knew.

“They need to go on our heads.” My voice came out as a surprised squeak. We stared at each other. Had I really just said that?

We burst out laughing.

Then Neve caught sight of something in my face and stopped.  “You mean it,” she said slowly.

I nodded. “I can’t explain exactly how I know –”

She grinned. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I gulped. She was right. What was the worst that could happen? They were only a couple of mouldy old seeds.

Still, I hesitated. “What are you waiting for?” she asked gently.

“Maybe we should play it safe and plant them in a flowerpot or something,” I suggested.

“Play it safe?” repeated Neve scornfully. What was left of her eyebrow crinkled in disgust. But then she glanced at my trembling hand. “I’ll go first if you like,” she offered. 

I sighed with relief. “Thanks.”

“It’s alright,” she said modestly. “It’s what scientists do.”

I reached in and took out a big pinch of the seeds between my thumb and forefinger. And the room seemed to fill with a golden light. Miss Balmforth’s purr got louder. All the sounds I could normally hear from my room – the television sets, vans reversing, ringtones beeping, car doors slamming – went miraculously quiet. I couldn’t even hear the belch and gurgles from our dishwasher downstairs. Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, I rubbed my thumb and finger together and sprinkled the tiny seeds on to Neve’s head. They flew down quickly onto her dark brown hair, and for a brief moment remained on the surface as tiny small black dots and then they vanished. As if they were swallowed up whole by her scalp.

And for a split second, in my mind’s eye, I again saw a carpet of moss. A tangle of roots. I had the feeling that something large, infinite and mysterious was laughing with glee. I shook my head, confused, trying to think straight.  “Your turn,” said Neve.

I reached inside the packet again. But as I brought my hand out Neve wriggled back on the bed and sat on Miss Balmforth’s tail, who wailed in protest, shot up in the air and landed on my lap with her claws out. The next few seconds were a dizzying mixture of meows, shrieks, hands and claws, and in all the kerfuffle, the seeds fell out of my hand and landed right on top of Miss Balmforth’s head.

 

“They’re on the cat!” I gasped.