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    The Gift
    The Gift
    The Gift
    Ebook187 pages3 hours

    The Gift

    By Peter Dickinson

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    A boy with psychic powers struggles to save his loved ones

    When Davy’s mother deserts their family, Davy’s father packs his children into a rickety old car and takes them on a vacation. They drive to their mysterious old grandparents’ house in the sprawling Welsh countryside, a place so rural that running water is a novelty. It is there that Davy learns he has the gift. He has always seen the pictures—images in his head that tell of the future or the past—but his grandmother explains that the gift is both a remarkable power and a terrible curse. It was the gift that killed Davy’s great-uncle—and it is the gift that could save his life.

    Seven years later, Davy is in high school, and for the first time he can remember, life is almost normal. But when he starts having troubling visions of his father’s new employer he knows that only he can save his family from destruction.

    This ebook features an illustrated personal history of Peter Dickinson including rare images from the author’s collection.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateFeb 24, 2015
    ISBN9781504002998
    The Gift
    Author

    Peter Dickinson

    Peter Dickinson is one of the most acclaimed and respected writers of our time and has won nearly every major literary award for his children's novels. THE KIN, his first book for Macmillan, was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal in 1999, as was THE ROPEMAKER in 2001. Peter is currently writing the sequel to THE ROPEMAKER, due October 2006. His most recent book for Macmillan, THE GIFT BOAT, was described by Books for Keeps as 'a masterpiece, gripping, the work of a major writer at his very best.' Peter was one of the three shortlisted candidates for the first Children's Laureate. He lives in Hampshire.

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    Reviews for The Gift

    3.5/5

    19 ratings6 reviews

    What did you think?

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    • 4/5
      To start off, I have to say the blurb is very misleading. It sounds as if Daisy's gift is at the center of the story, but really this is a story about three girls being haunted by a ghost, and I think the blurb does an injustice to the real heart of the story.Gift was a really quick read. I finished it in about two days, and that's both good and bad. It's good because the pace was fast, things moved quickly and I didn't have time to get bored. But it's also a downfall because I think there was a lot of missed opportunities to develop the characters and their relationships more.Daisy is likable enough (despite the whining about being so poor), as are the other characters, but I couldn't quite figure out why they were so connected. The exception is the budding romance between Daisy and Kevin, as the more we learn about him the more understanding it is that he, a senior, is willing to hang out with a sophomore. I especially like how Buchanan has Kevin deal with Daisy's actions, it felt very realistic in a book of paranormal events. It's really the relationships between the three girls or at least their relationships with Daisy that I struggled with, especially between Daisy and Vivi. I wish there had been more individual interactions between them that could make me understand why they so easily made some of the choices they did.There are so many twists in the story, that it was hard to put down, simply because it always felt like I was on the verge of learning something else that would be vital to figuring out what would happen in the end. Definitely a recommended read for people looking for a quick non-horror ghost story.
    • 3/5
      I found this book competently written and characters engaging, but YA supernatural is not my usual cup of tea. Those who read this genre regularly, might give it a higher rating.
    • 1/5
      From the moment I read the synopsis I was intrigued by the premise. It truly was one that I hadn't heard of before and I just had to read the book, because I nosily wanted to know what her gift was. So I began reading... And then I couldn't stop. I finally found out that the main character's gift is the ability to mess with (or mess up) electronics, like cell phones, microwaves, and radios. Unfortunately, this is where my liking for the book stopped. But then as I got to the meat of the story, I began to get confused. Daisy's powers were discussed in the beginning of the story, but they weren't EXPLAINED until way later in the story and I was confused about some of the things she could do. Also with her powers I noticed some details that didn't make sense. She can't use a cell phone or anything like that, but the fact that she can use a house phone.... Yeah last I checked that was electronic as well. I also did not like the plot. It seemed like the further I got through it the more I wanted to put it down. I was definitely let down by this book. I made it through the first 2/3rds of the book and I just couldn't finish it.
    • 4/5
      Gift was a nice quick read. The writing style was good and It kept my interest throughout the entire book. The concept was interesting and had like-able, unique characters. Gift had a great mix of paranormal, suspense and mystery. I will definitely be reading more from Buchanan. This was a clean read that is suitable for young adults and older.Special Thanks to Netgalley and Open Road Media for providing an e-galley in exchange for an honest review.
    • 4/5
      Review: Gift by Andrea J. Buchanan 4 STARSIt was good story with some twists to it. I kept waiting for a while wondering what her power was and where did she get it. It was slowly panned out.Daisy is the new kid in town. Daisy is a Sophomore at Castle Creek High.The story opens when Mr. Terry asks Daisy to go look in the bathroom for Vivi who should have been back by now. Daisy finds Vivi on the bathroom floor not making sense saying its the only way to be with Patrick. Vivi had taken the whole bottle of Advil PM.Vivi is a loner always seems to be drawing in class. When she is back in school she wants to talk to Daisy at lunch outside where the seniors hangout. Vivi is a no show but Daisy meets Kevin a senior and he knows her and what her papers are like in english. He is Mr. Terry aide.Danielle is the only person she has told about her powers. Danielle and Daisy start having the same dreams at night. Vivi says Patrick is showing them the dream and he has been her friend since she was little. Now she can only see him when Daisy is around.The three girls meet to try and figure out what is going on. Who or what is Patrick? What do the dreams mean? Kevin is now coming to their meetings to help figure out stuff and he really likes Daisy.It kept my attention I wanted to see how it would all play out in the end.I was given this ebook to read in exchange for honest review from Netgalley.03/27/2012 PUB Open Road Media
    • 3/5
      GoodReads Synopsis: High school sophomore Daisy Jones is just trying to get by unnoticed. It doesn’t help that she’s the new girl at school, lives in a trailer park, and doesn’t even own a cell phone. But there’s a good reason for all that: Daisy has a secret, unpredictable power—one only her best friend, Danielle, knows about. Despite her “gift” (or is it a curse?), Daisy’s doing a good job of fitting in—and a cute senior named Kevin even seems interested in her! But when Daisy tries to help Vivi, a mysterious classmate in a crisis, she soon discovers that her new friend has a secret of her own. Now Daisy and her friends must deal with chilling dreams and messages from the beyond. Can Daisy channel the power she’s always tried to hide—before it’s too late? My Thoughts: I totally got sucked into this when Daisy goes to check on a classmate in the restroom and finds what looks like a suicide attempt. Who could close the book on that? I had to find out what the deal was! What I found so interesting was that there were a few different supernatural elements at work.The characters were vivid and fully fleshed out as was the storyline. While the main story was about the 3 girls, it was Patrick that brings them all together to figure out who and what he is. The story moved at a steady pace and touched on a lot of different issues which added depth. There is plenty of suspense as well as a few twists that surprised me. Overall, it was an enjoyable read. I’d be inclined to read more from Buchanan!

    Book preview

    The Gift - Peter Dickinson

    1

    GRANNY

    Davy Price had first learned about his gift long ago—oh, he must have been seven or eight, a skinny dark boy wearing brown corduroy trousers with green patches on the knees. No, he couldn’t have been quite eight because he still came out of school earlier than the other two, and he remembered that because it had been the first time Mum had got really fed up with Dad—everybody did, in the end—fed up enough to see the kids off to school, and ask the Mum next door to look after Davy until Ian and Penny got home, and …

    Davy couldn’t remember that neighbor’s name—they’d moved house so often and had so many neighbors. But he could still see in his mind’s eye how her square, cheerful face went blank when Ian had come into her kitchen and said in gossipy tones, I’ve come to fetch Davy. Thank you for having him. Mum’s run away. She left a note on the mantelpiece for Dad, but I read it.

    That neighbor’s face had closed the gates of friendliness and become a wall, shutting them out. She wanted no dealings with families whose Mums ran off because their Dads were hopeless.

    (Later, after the next few times, Davy had learned that families with runaway Mums and hopeless Dads wanted few dealings with neighbors. Some might be kind, and some cold, but the kindness was worse than the coldness—eager, inquisitive, excited. Nothing like love. But he hadn’t realized that, first time.)

    In fact, being not quite eight, he hadn’t realized anything much except that he was getting off school for three weeks in the middle of term, and going away on a long, long car journey.

    Davy often thought about how they had all changed since then—except Dad, of course. Now it seemed to him that three quite different children had been driven all the way to Llangollen in that smelly old car. (Dad usually managed to change his car at least twice a year, but though they rattled differently, they always smelled the same.) Penny had sat in the back, singing to her one-eyed doll. Ian had sat in front talking football with Dad and laughing with triumph when he caught Dad out pretending to have seen some match or player he’d never really seen. Davy had sat in the back with Penny and had slept quite a bit because of the early start but, when he was awake, had been caught up in the high spirits of the whole jaunt and perfectly happy.

    For Dad possessed a gift, too—not quite as mysterious as Davy’s but just as treacherous to its owner. Dad always managed to feel that everything was going to be all right, and somehow made anybody he was with feel just the same. All his schemes would make money, all his smelly old cars were a real bargain, every flitting from house to house was the beginning of a new, rich, carefree life. And he worked his gift hardest when things were at their worst: just after he’d been sacked from his latest job; or when the finance company men had come to repossess the fridge. He’d been like that on the road to Llangollen—probably, Davy now realized, because he hadn’t been as sure as he pretended that Mum was going to come back at all, ever.

    Only as the long hills of Wales began to swell and swell on the horizon had Dad’s high spirits flagged. He fell silent. The late afternoon sun was well to the west, and all the hither slopes were streaked with shadows; Davy became sleepy again, but even as he closed his eyes and longed for the journey to end, he saw one of his pictures, a house with a blue slate roof. The wall of the house was low and built of mottled, flattish stones. The windows were small. A woman in a blue dress with a black apron was pumping water into a bucket by the door. It was a picture full of grief, of longing, and with that longing in his mind Davy fell asleep.

    Wake up, kid. We’re there!

    (Ian’s voice, cheerful and teasing. As it used to be.)

    Davy had woken from a nonsense dream about rabbits to the dry-throated discomfort of having slept sitting. He eased his tingling legs to new positions and peered out. Tall hedges screened the sides, and ahead rose an incredibly steep and narrow lane up which Dad’s car, smellier than ever, was growling in bottom gear. The engine didn’t sound at all happy, and the exhaust behind them swirled dark as a thundercloud. And then the road leveled, the growling stopped, and Dad let the car drift to stillness in a place where the lane widened. On Davy’s side of the car was a steep field of cropped grass with gorse bushes dotted about it; on the other side were farm buildings and a house with a low stone wall, small windows, and a blue slate roof. Not really blue, not as blue as it had been in the picture; dark gray, really, with bluish and purplish tints in different slates. And the woman who stood at the door was wearing a pink dress with a yellow apron and there was no pump.

    She stood unsmiling on the white doorstep and watched them climbing out of the car. Davy could smell hot metal, a sharp tang in the fresh hill air.

    You’ve boiled her dry, Dad, said Ian. I told you so.

    It’s a long way up, said Dad. Hello, Mam. What’ve you done with the pump?

    We have pipes now, she said.

    You got the telegram? said Dad.

    She nodded, and looked in turn at the three children. Davy stared back. Her face was closed. She looked as though she had never smiled, nor ever would. It was a flattish face, wide at the top and pointy at the chin. Her eyes were dark and wide-set, her nose and mouth small. Her hair was gray and held into tight curls with a lot of different-colored hairpins, some brown, some black. She was no taller than Ian.

    We’ll have them, she said. I hope your wife is not sick.

    Rita? said Dad. Oh … no she suddenly decided that she had to have a holiday. She’s had a lot of bother, you know.

    It was the first time Davy had heard Dad tell a lie so awkwardly—and it was hardly even a lie.

    Ian, said the woman. And Penelope …

    Penny, muttered Penny without looking up from her doll.

    Penny it is, said the woman. And David.

    Davy, said Davy. In those days he had usually preferred to be called David, because it made him sound less babyish. But at that moment he’d copied Penny in asserting his own individuality.

    Who chose it that way? said the woman, smiling less than ever.

    This is your Granny, kids, said Dad quickly. My Mam. You’re going to stay with her for a bit, till Mum comes back from her holiday, and if you don’t treat her right, I’ll do you.

    It was his usual threat, a family joke. There, in the hill lane, in the May evening, it sounded feeble.

    You’re our other Granny? said Penny, looking up with sudden interest from her doll. Real Granny? Dad’s Mum?

    I am real enough, she said. You can call me Nain if you want to tell me apart from your other Granny. That’s the Welsh way.

    We’ll call you Granny, said Penny.

    We call the other one Granny when she’s there and Grumble when she isn’t, explained Ian perkily. (That had begun as Dad’s way of teasing Mum, but the children had taken it up and now Granny in Watford was more Grumble than Granny.)

    Not respectful, that is, said this new Granny sharply. Her lips stayed straight as ever, but there was something odd about the glance she flashed at Dad.

    Where’s Dadda? he asked.

    Milking, she said. You come in, children. Tea’s been waiting for you two hours.

    She turned into the dark doorway. Davy waited for a moment, breathing the hill air that was faintly sweetened with cow odors, and watching Dad pick a path in town shoes through a miry gateway beside the house. Then he found his way to the kitchen by the smell of new-baked bread.

    Dad didn’t come in to what this new Granny called tea, but which included boiled beef and apple pie as well as cocoa and doughnuts. They hadn’t finished eating when he called from the hall, I’m off now, and they rushed out into the dusk to say good-bye to him. He rumpled their hair and said to Penny, Smile, sweetheart, and I’ll bring you a new doll when I come back. With two eyes.

    Dolls don’t need two eyes, said Penny. You learned to answer Dad’s promises like that; it gave him an excuse when he didn’t keep them and saved you the ache of disappointment. He got into the car and started the engine.

    Lights! yelled Ian.

    They blinked on and moved away. Two seconds later they were gone, screened by the tall hedges.

    When the children got back to finish their tea, they found their new grandfather sitting at the table, a dark little wrinkled man who smiled at them and said nothing. They were told to call him Dadda.

    Five days later Davy had twisted his ankle, badly, climbing in the huge old slate quarry where they weren’t supposed to go alone. A few yards down from the farm, on the other side of the road, was a gateway which led into the steep field with the gorse bushes in it. You climbed up there, panting before you reached the ridge, and suddenly you came to this marvelous place. The grass stopped at a low, ragged wall of stone; beyond that were heather and bent and blueberry scrub covering a broad, molded spur of the main mountain, Moel Mawr, which hummocked up away to the left. You stood on the spur, gulping the mountain air and looking west across the brown, infolded hills. And at your feet was the quarry.

    First, a vast bite had been chewed from the hillside, leaving a semicircle of blue cliffs, two hundred yards long and about thirty feet high at the southern end. The floor of the quarry was not flat but was a series of terraced levels along which little trucks had once run. Roofless sheds and huts stood about. In places you could see where the quarrymen had mined into the hillside, following the layers of high-grade slate that the shaping pressures of the hills had made there. And from each level, especially below the largest shed, gray screes of waste stone spilled down the slope. Where the quarry had stopped somebody had come and taken all the movable iron for scrap—the winding wheels and the engines and the rails—but you could still occasionally find a lever poking through the obliterating grass, or follow the line where some engine had run back and forth and left a trail of still-poisoned vegetation to show its path. The mining shafts had been deliberately caved in when the men left, but it was still a dangerous place. Dadda had showed them why, on the very first day.

    He had said, Will you come with me, now? and had taken them up the hill and shown them the quarry. Without a word he had led them to the top of the scree below the big shed; he had looked at it, humming, with his head cocked on one side, and then he had taken a fence post and levered free a large stone near the top. The stone crashed away down the slope, slithering at first, then bouncing in increasing leaps; the stones that it had held in place moved, too; with a shuddering grumble the whole surface of the scree had shrugged itself downward and at last slowly resettled—hundreds of tons of grinding boulders. Gray dust hung above it for a moment, like smoke.

    There is water in the hillside, you see? Dadda had murmured when the upland quiet had settled around them again. The stones are heavy, and the water changes the ground under them, and then they fall. You will not be coming here alone, please. It is a dangerous place, for men, even.

    He turned and looked at the jagged curve of the cliffs. Speaking softly as ever he added, My own brother died in this place.

    When Davy hurt his ankle, Ian was helping Dadda mend the milking machine. Penny said Davy mustn’t go to the quarry, which was another reason for doing so, and if he was going to be wicked, Penny thought she might as well, too. And then he put his foot into a hidden runnel and fell, with his foot trapped fast.

    When he finished weeping from the pain, Penny ran back to the farm. Davy waited, moaning a little, and at last Dadda walked along the level below him, climbed carefully up, and stood looking down at him, shaking his head. His thin arms lifted Davy with no effort at all and carried him back to the farmhouse kitchen. Then Dadda started his old, old Morris up. Granny sat beside him with Davy on her lap, and they drove down to Llangollen.

    The X ray showed no bones broken, but the doctor said Davy must not put his weight on that foot for at least four days.

    When they got back, Granny wanted Dadda to take a strap to Penny for letting Davy climb in the quarry.

    It’s my fault, said Davy. I started it. Penny tried to stop me.

    You’re punished already, said Granny.

    If you do anything to Penny, shouted Ian, I won’t forgive you. Ever. Nor will any of us.

    So far, from the moment Davy was carried into the kitchen, her face had not changed at all. But now every muscle in it hardened, her mouth became a thin line, and two red spots appeared on her cheeks. Davy was very frightened indeed.

    Forgiving and not forgiving, sighed Dadda. Enough of that we’ve had, haven’t we?

    Granny glanced sideways at him and started to say something, but Dadda sighed again and shrugged, and she turned away, biting her lip; she moved

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