To her astonishment, however, when she opened the door into the cottage, her mother was up and about, dressed in “going out” clothes and high heels.
“Where have you been, Hyslop?” The tone was irritable rather than angry. “I’ve been waiting for you. I hope you haven’t been collecting insects for God’s sake. I have to go to London, so you’re going to Sandy’s.”
Hyslop felt a surge of panic.
“I’ll be all right here on my own,” she said.
“Well, you probably would be,” said Vanessa, “but as I said, you are going to Sandy’s.” She patted her hair to check it was perfect. “It’s not the done thing to leave children here on their own and there are no staff to dump you on. Believe me, I’d be quite happy to leave you with your creepy crawlies, or hiding under bushes, or whatever it is that you do, but Sandy insisted you go there. She is doing some sort of tedious ceramic activity with a couple of the neighbours. They all get together and make funny little pots and things. I said you’d love to join in, so smile and pretend to be enthusiastic.”
“I don’t want to go,” said Hyslop looking down at the floor.
“What you want or don’t want is quite irrelevant,” said Vanessa. “We all have to do things we don’t want to do. You’re going, and you’re going to take that surly expression off your face. It’s amazing what you can achieve in life if you smile at people. I’ve told you that before. Learn to use your smile.”
“I don’t know these people,” said Hyslop.
“Well, then, get to know them,” Vanessa’s voice was cold. She opened the door, indicating that Hyslop should follow her. “And I want you to be pleasant and look interested in this pottery thing that they’re busy with. Pretend, act the part, smile and simper. And remember, you’re to call me “Mummy” here. Not “Vanessa” like you did in Italy. Do not talk about our life in Italy by the way. Just smile and join in.”
The thought of “Sandy and a couple of the neighbours” and having to “smile and join in” filled Hyslop with horror. Why had she come back to the cottage, she wondered. How could she have guessed that her mother would be up and about with plans for her? She had hoped to come in, find some bread to toast and perhaps some jam, before rushing out to see the butterflies again.
For a moment she considered running away, but she knew that there was nowhere to run, and her mother would punish her if she did. As she looked up at the sky, she saw an orange butterfly soaring up towards the trees and wished, with an aching longing, that she could fly up and join it.
Vanessa walked briskly ahead, and Hyslop followed in a zig zag fashion behind her.
“Don’t dawdle!” Her mother turned round to scowl. “I have to get to the station and catch a train.”
“I don’t feel well,” said Hyslop. It was worth a try, though in truth it was not something that had ever worked before with her mother. “Can’t I go back?”
“I’m so not interested,” snapped Vanessa. She knocked at the door of Sandy’s pottery, and put on her radiant smile.
“Sandy!” she called. “Hi, can I come in!” She pushed the door open and went inside. “Wow, what a busy scene, and my goodness, what a wonderful place you’ve got here!” Her voice was full of laughter and fun. The others were going to be charmed of course. People always were. “And look at all these amazing things you’ve made! I wish I didn’t have to go to boring old London – this is incredible. I could spend all morning here watching you all.”
Hyslop stood still, poised on the doorstep, not wanting to go in. She really did feel sick.
“Nessie!” Sandy called from inside the room. It was odd to hear her mother called by this short form of her name. It must have been her nickname at school. “Penny, Ilga, this is Vanessa, the old schoolfriend I’ve been telling you about!”
Hyslop lingered outside as she heard her mother being introduced to two people, called Penny and Ilga. She waited to hear if there was a man’s voice. If there was a man in there she would take off. However, as she listened intently it seemed there were just these two women and Sandy: three adults to cope with.
“Where’s Hyslop?” she recognised Sandy’s voice and her mother turned round in a kindly way, using the in-front-of-other-people voice: “Come in, darling! Come and see this lovely pottery!”
Hyslop walked in and the first thing she was aware of was Sandy’s beaming face.
She found herself in a huge, bright room with shelves and shelves of plates and jugs and mugs and vases, all in colours of blue and terracotta and olive green. There was a large table in the centre of the room and two women Hyslop had never seen before were seated there, looking up at her mother with interest.
“Sandy, you are a sweetie lending me your car and looking after Hyslop for me,” said Vanessa, laying her hand on Sandy’s arm. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. And Hyslop’s terribly excited to be meeting you all and seeing the pottery. What a treat for her! Oh dear, I wish I could stay too but I’d better run, I’ve got tedious business appointments in London.”
She did not say goodbye to her daughter, but included Sandy and the other two women in her gushing farewells and was off, leaving just the smell of her expensive perfume behind.
Hyslop stood by the door, inhaling the last of her mother’s scent, not daring to meet anyone’s eye.
“Right, Hyslop,” said Godmother Sandy. “The first thing I need to do is get you an apron or something to protect your clothes.”
She bustled about in the corner and fetched a torn old green shirt.
“Pop this on,” she said, “it’s a bit messy in here, especially if you’re going to be doing a bit of throwing.”
Hyslop had no idea what “a bit of throwing” meant. It sounded rather alarming, but she obediently put the large shirt on over her T-shirt.
“This is Penny,” said Sandy, and Hyslop looked sideways at a slightly older looking lady, whose eyes were tired-looking but smiley, “and this is Ilga.” Ilga’s eyes were not so smiley. She wore thick make-up, huge shiny earrings and she looked more like her mother’s usual sort of friend. Hyslop scowled.
“Welcome to our pottery class,” said the lady called Penny. “Though ‘class’ isn’t really the right word for it I’m afraid. We’re truly awful at pottery.”
“Speak for yourself!” said the Ilga woman.
“I am speaking for both of us,” laughed Penny. “Sandy is of course a wonderful teacher, Hyslop. It’s not her fault that we’re so untalented. In fact, if I’m to be really honest,” she leaned towards Hyslop and said in a loud whisper, “don’t tell Sandy, but we only come here for the tea and the chat.”
“That’s enough, Pen,” said Sandy. “You’re on the wheel today. I’ve prepared some clay for you, so get on with it. You can show Hyslop your throwing skills.”
Hyslop had no idea what “on the wheel” meant and she watched as Penny got up to sit at a blue plastic contraption in the corner of the room. She placed a lump of clay on a round silver disc. Penny sat down on the seat and put her feet on a pedal. It was all very strange, and Hyslop dreaded being asked to get involved in the process. She moved into the corner of the room, as far out of their way as she could. She hoped no one would notice her. She wished they would forget about her altogether and let her slip outside, back into the wild garden.
“The pedal controls the speed,” explained Sandy, smiling over at her.
Hyslop wriggled further into the corner, trying to make herself invisible. Usually it was easy to do this with adults but Sandy kept looking at her and talking to her directly. She kept noticing Hyslop.
“I’m going to paint my effort from last week,” announced Ilga, who was sitting at the table. Her voice was loud and booming. “Sandy, how very attractive your friend Vanessa is. Quite unbelievably stunning! I can see why she was queen bee when you were all at school. I want to hear everything about her. Hyslop – is that your name, child? – she doesn’t look old enough to be your mother!”
Hyslop ignored h
er and stood watching Penny and Sandy.
“You have to centre the clay before you can work on it,” said Sandy, addressing Hyslop again, as Penny, her foot on the pedal, made the clay go round and round in a circle. She hunched over it, intense concentration etched on her face, with her hands each side of the wet lump.
“Faster, Pen,” said Sandy. “Don’t let me down now. You know you can do it.”
“I know I can’t,” wailed Penny.
“Come on, faster still,” urged Sandy. “Faster, and stay in control. You’ve both centred dozens of times. You know how to do it.”
“Do we?” Ilga brandished a tiny paintbrush. “Well, it’s not my strong point either I must say.”
“Ilga, you managed to centre that last pot perfectly well,” said Sandy.
“Sheer luck, I assure you,” said Ilga.
“Mmmm,” said Penny, the clay wobbling under her hands. “Me too. It’s the clay that’s in charge, not me, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be silly, you have to stay in control,” said Sandy.
The wet clay was wobbling around now quite violently, and it did not seem to Hyslop as if Penny had any control over it at all.
“Darlinks,” said Ilga. Hyslop decided that Ilga was German or Hungarian and was putting on a silly exaggerated form of her own accent. She was showing off, and it made Hyslop scowl. “Darlinks, I assure you I only ever centre by luck. I think that is what is meant in English by pot luck!”
Penny giggled at this, with disastrous results for the clay beneath her hands. It now wobbled all over the place, and Penny stopped the machine by taking her foot off the pedal. Hyslop was not sure what was meant to have happened, but it didn’t seem to be right.
“Oh dear, I’ve made a blob,” said Penny, surveying the wet mess of clay.
“I think it might be best if I show Hyslop myself how to centre,” said Sandy, shaking her head and then smiling over at Hyslop. “That, my dear Goddaughter, is a lesson in how not to throw!”
Hyslop shrank back against the wall. She wished they would just leave her alone and let her be invisible. With adults around, it was the safest strategy. Sandy, however, persisted in paying attention to her in a way that Hyslop found rather disconcerting. It was also strange, though not unpleasant, to be addressed as a “dear Goddaughter.”
“Well, let me put the kettle on,” said Penny, washing her hands at a little sink. “I can do that at least. I’m rather good at it in fact!”
“Have you had breakfast?” Sandy asked Hyslop. “You can’t have much stuff in your larder, though we did leave bread and milk and teabags I think.”
“And some homemade damson jam,” added Penny. “Made by my own fair hands.”
Hyslop did not know what to say. Her stomach was rumbling with hunger but she did not want to admit that she’d eaten nothing. Her mother became very angry when she told strangers things like that. She looked down awkwardly and mumbled that she was fine.
“I have some muffins,” said Sandy. “Blueberry muffins!”
“Not for me, darlink!” cried Ilga. “Let the child eat those. We shall have your funny old Earl Grey tea and Rich Tea biscuits. It’s our tradition.”
Hyslop felt wistful as she thought of Penny’s home-made damson jam. She would have to investigate the kitchen cupboards back in the cottage.
“Hyslop!” said Sandy, addressing her suddenly, making her jump. “I don’t expect you will like our Earl Grey tea, but how about a glass of milk or orange juice and a blueberry muffin? They’re just mini muffins, so do tuck in!”
“May I have orange juice, please?” said Hyslop, her eyes not leaving the muffins.
Sandy busied herself helping Penny make the tea, and while they chatted and ate rather boring looking biscuits, she handed Hyslop a glass of orange and a plate with four muffins on it.
Trying not to look too greedy, Hyslop ate two of them in rapid succession and sat staring at the remaining two.
“Sandy!” Ilga held her dry biscuit aloft. “Are we allowed to dunk?”
Hyslop had no idea what was meant by this, but the others laughed.
“God, yes, we have to dunk Rich Tea,” said Penny, dipping her biscuit into her mug.
“So very English,” said Ilga, thrusting her own biscuit into her steaming mug of tea.
“Yes, though not the sort of thing we were allowed to do at school,” Penny smiled over at Sandy and Sandy smiled fondly back at her. Hyslop decided that Penny and Sandy must have been at the same school as her mother, and that they were proper friends. How unusual for adults, she mused. They were friends in a way that was different from the way her mother related to her friends. There were jokes and teasing, but it was all meant kindly. The teasing was not meant to hurt the other person. It made her feel sad, though she did not know why.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sandy nibbled her soggy biscuit. “I seem to recall dipping our bed-time biscuits into our hot chocolate in Matron’s study.”
“Well, Sands,” laughed Penny. “You are nine years younger. Standards must have slipped in those nine years!”
“Yes, back to your schooldays,” said Ilga. “Now, I demand to know my share of all this. Are you telling me that Vanessa was in your year at school, Sandy?”
“Yes, Ilga,” said Sandy. “Now, don’t you dare say it! I know. I know. She looks so much younger.”
“Well, darlink, I wasn’t going to say so,” said Ilga.
“Yes, you were, Ilga, in your normal tactless way,” laughed Penny. “Go on, Sandy can take it. And I don’t mind. I’m the ancient one round here anyway.”
“Well, she does look young,” said Ilga. “You said she was beautiful, Sandy, but I had no idea she would be quite so extraordinary. I would like to get to know her.”
“Oh, she’s just your sort, Ilga – I think she speaks at least four languages,” Sandy now seemed to remember Hyslop again and turned to include her with a smile. “Hyslop, I know you speak French and Italian too. Anyway, Vanessa and Hyslop are welcome to stay at Keeper’s Cottage for as long as they need, thanks to Penny’s generosity, so I’m sure you will have plenty of time to get to know them, Ilga.”
Hyslop frowned. She had no desire to get to know Ilga. She waited until they had begun chatting again and furtively took another muffin.
“I’m not surprised you all had boarding school crushes on her,” said Ilga.
“Well, not exactly,” said Sandy. “No, I didn’t have a crush. It was just that Vanessa was sort of the coolest girl in our year. You know, there’s always one, isn’t there? She was good at games, the prettiest girl in the year by far, and popular with everyone. She was a scholarship girl as I recall, had come from a state school in south London, so she was bright in class too. Everyone wanted to be with her. In fact, I think everyone actually wanted to be her. If she snapped her fingers, we all went running.”
“Really, even you, Sands?” Penny put her head on one side and smiled at Sandy.
“Yes, even me I’m afraid. No one could stand up to Vanessa’s charm-bombing, then or now. It was totally full-on!”
Hyslop listened intently, taking in all that Sandy was saying, whilst reaching for the last muffin on the plate. It seemed that her mother had exerted her magic on everyone even when she was at school.
“And if boys were around, the rest of us might as well have been invisible,” sighed Sandy. “You can imagine it, can’t you? Talk about bees round a honey-pot! No point in being jealous, though. Nessie was a force of nature. Wonder what your Malcolm will make of her, Ilga.”
“I assure you, she won’t charm Malcolm,” laughed Ilga. “I’d rather like it if she did. I wish he would learn to flirt and let himself be charmed. He wouldn’t notice if a glamour model walked into his workshop and began stripping off.”
“He’d probably say in his broad Scots accent: ‘If you’ve nothing better to do, could you plane that piece of wood!’” said Penny in an accent that reminded Hyslop of the old man shouting his strange word at her. The
y all began giggling at the image.
“’Aye, and cover yerself up, lassie, or ye’ll get a splinter!’” Sandy’s accent was even more extreme. Hyslop wondered who this Malcolm was, and if he really spoke in such an extraordinary manner.
“I think, Sandy, your Scottish accent is slightly better than Penny’s but you are both rubbish!” said Ilga. “In any case, I shall be amazed if even such an attractive woman as Vanessa can interest Malcolm.”
Hyslop decided that this Scottish Malcolm must be Ilga’s husband.
“Well, anyway,” continued Ilga, “she will liven up our dull little lives. No doubt she’ll give us something to gossip about over our failed pots.”
“I hope she charms Hugo at least,” said Sandy. “I do feel a bit guilty, Pen, about friends of mine being in the cottage. I know Hugo sort of considered it his mother’s domain.”
“Well, she’ll never be out of the nursing home now, poor old thing,” said Penny. “And Hugo can jolly well butt out of it anyway. I said it would be fine and it is. It’s lovely to have the cottage being used again.”
“I don’t want him being grumpy about it, that’s all,” said Sandy.
“Yes, well, Hugo’s always grumpy about something,” the laughter had left Penny’s eyes. “And as for being charmed, well, I don’t know. If Vanessa doesn’t have a double first from Oxford or a high-flying city job, I can’t see him being interested.”
Hyslop was quite sure that her mother had neither of those things, but it had never prevented her from attracting men before. It sounded as if there were two men, Malcolm and Hugo, and she did not much like the sound of either of them. She hoped neither of them would prove to be Uncle material. As she savoured the last crumbs of her muffin, she decided that she would keep out of their way.
The Summer of the Mourning Cloak Page 5