"Diana Wynne Jones - The Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jones Diana Wynne)

hugged her mightily and said, “You courageous child! We won’t
forget this in a hurry!”
Hayley had never known anything like it. The warmth from it
was still with her when Cousin Mercer carried her up to bed and
she fell asleep, into warm, sunny, contented dreams.



6
«^»
The next day, it was hard to believe that it had ever rained. Hayley
woke to find the sky a bright heavenlike blue with great snowy
clouds hustling across it. Aunt May woke her by coming in with an
armload of clothes.
“Here, dear. Most of these should fit you. Try them on and make
sure you’re warm enough. The wind’s chilly today. Breakfast in half
an hour.” Aunt May’s hair, because it had been soaked last night,
was wilder than ever that morning. Half of it fell down as she
crossed the room. And she seemed to have found a whole lot of new
necklaces. Red amber beads dangled clacking on her shapeless
maroon dress when she threw the clothes on Hayley’s bed and went
dashing away downstairs.
Hayley got up and examined the clothes. There were shorts with
pockets, trousers with pockets, jeans, socks, T-shirts, jackets with
pockets, sweatshirts with both hoods and pockets, knitted things,
but not a single dress or skirt. Hayley could feel her face settling
into a beaming smile. She made a careful selection: trousers with
pockets, because those were like the ones Troy wore, a T-shirt that
said heads i win, tails you lose, thick yellow socks, because the
trainers were rather big, and a red cardigan, because she suddenly
discovered that red was her favourite colour. Feeling baggy and
strange and comfortable, she looked in the mirror to do her hair
and wondered what Grandma would say. Her hair had gone right
out of control in the night. It radiated from her head in curls,
tendrils, ringlets, and long feathery locks. Hayley had a moment of
terrible guilt. She was never going to get it neat! Then she thought
of Aunt May and realised there was no need to bother. She dragged
a hairbrush through the wildness and went downstairs.
There she was greeted as if she was the most important person in
the place. It was almost overwhelming. Aunts jumped up from the
big table and bent over her asking anxiously if she was all right and
would she like sausages with her bacon and egg or just beans and
fried bread. Harmony hurried over with a glass of orange juice for
her, and cousins crowded forward with packets of different cereals.
“These chocolate ones are gorgeous !” one of the girls said. “No, try
the nutty kind,” someone else persuaded her. “Or would you prefer
porridge?” asked Aunt Geta.
“I bet she wouldn’t,” said Cousin Mercer.
He was right. Grandma had always insisted on porridge. Hayley
looked round at the faces leaning eagerly towards her. She gave a