“Excellent!” Tension disappeared from Hugo’s face and he smiled happily. “Well, enjoy your potting, you two!”
He turned to go and as the door closed behind him he gave a sudden yelp.
“What the devil was that!” they heard him shout, and this was followed by some rather nasty swear words. Much worse than Northy, Hyslop noted.
“Hugo!” Sandy rose to her feet as Hugo burst back into the room, rubbing his arm. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m not all right!” Hugo was staring down at his forearm, looking furious. “I’ve been stung by a ruddy great wasp. In fact it was bigger than a wasp. The biggest I’ve ever seen. It was a hornet, I’m sure of it. Probably a queen hornet!”
“Probably not,” murmured Hyslop.
“I’ve got some stuff you can rub on it, hang on a sec,” and Sandy rushed to the other side of the room and began rifling through a drawer. “I know there’s a tube somewhere. Now, are you sure it was a wasp and not a bee?”
“Hurry up, could you! I’m in absolute excruciating agony! As I said, it was a hornet – a huge great thing!””
Sandy raised her eyebrows to Hyslop but said nothing. She found a small tube of some sort of salve and took it over to Hugo.
“Here, let me put a blob on it,” she said. “Now rub it on gently.”
“D’you have a nest of them near here or something?” Hugo sounded accusing as well as angry, as he rubbed the white ointment onto his arm. “Oww! It still hurts. The pain’s getting worse by the minute. I’d have thought we had enough insects round here without people encouraging wasps and hornets to build nests. I’m going to put a stop to all these vermin around the place, I’m telling you, Sandy, whether any of you like it or not!”
With that, and with a string of swear words, still rubbing his arm, he stormed off.
“Pardon me, Hugo,” said Sandy, addressing the door which Hugo had just banged behind him. “Well, of course I breed them here on purpose just to sting you!”
Hyslop looked up, and to her surprise her Godmother winked at her and they both returned to their work.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Zak Finds that Happiness Can Have a Nasty Smell
When Zak Judd woke up on that hot morning in late July he felt at once that something was different.
His first instinct was to spring up from his bed and be ready to defend himself, but then he decided it might be safer to play dead until he had worked out what it was that was different. He opened his eyes very slowly. There was a knack to doing this. It was important to ascertain first of all that no one was watching, so he peered through the bottom tenths of his eyelids, giving sleepy breathing noises to pretend he was still asleep. They were not very good sleepy noises. They were rather exaggerated, a sort of imitation of his father’s snores after several pints of beer. He was not sure why he did this, but he felt that it was safer to feign sleep until he knew what was happening. All seemed to be safe on this occasion: he opened his eyes fully and no one was there. His messy room with its peeling flowery wallpaper looked the same as always. There was the damp patch on his ceiling still in the shape of a whale. There was the broken chair in the corner, and the cardboard boxes for his clean and dirty clothes. He wondered if he just felt this way because it was the summer holidays and there was no school for weeks ahead. Or perhaps it was because so far neither his grandmother nor his father had burst into his room to shout at him.
All of these were good things, but not enough to explain why he felt slightly dizzy and strange. It wasn’t in a bad way. He didn’t feel dizzy as if he was going to be sick. Zak sat up in bed to see if that would help him fathom it out. The light was streaming in through the gap in his curtains but it was the middle of summer so it might still be quite early. He had no clock in his room and wasn’t good at telling the time anyway. There was no sound of his grandmother crashing around downstairs, so it was probably before seven.
Suddenly the strange feeling became clear, because he realised that it was the opposite of when he felt scared about the day ahead. Most days were bad, but some days were particularly scary, like when his father had been drinking heavily, or when he was cornered by Tristan Pringle and his gang. Some days when there were too many chores to do, and he knew he was going to be bullied at school, he would wake up feeling tired of the day before it even began. He would want to curl up in his bed and just stay there. Today, however, he had woken up early and wanted the day to begin at once. The strange sensation he was feeling was looking forward to something. He had heard other kids at school use that expression: looking forward to something meant that they were excited about a day out or a treat they were going to get. Those kids in his class were always getting treats and they were always looking forward. Zak had tried to understand their feelings. Perhaps it was as if you were on a path, heading through the woods, and you knew that just ahead of you, just out of sight through the trees, someone had left you a wonderful present and it would be sitting there waiting for you, all shiny and wrapped up with your name on it. His grandmother, on the other hand, seemed to be always looking back to something. She preferred looking back to where she’d come from, rather than forward to the road ahead. Her whole conversation seemed to consist of how much better things had been in the past, before his father met his mother, before he was born. Especially before he was born. She must have had nice presents left in her path then, and now they were all too far away in the past for her to ever get back to them, and there was nothing much ahead of her any more. No wonder she was always in a bad mood. No one had ever left stuff out on the path ahead of Zak before, nothing worth rushing to get to, but today there was something good, something waiting for him just ahead.
Today he was going to see The Emperor.
He was going to be with the girl Hyslop all day.
His father often drove the old man around in the ancient Mercedes that Zak had to help polish. Now there was a job he hated. However hard you scrubbed and rubbed and dusted, it was never enough. There was usually a smack from his father at some point. Only once had Zak accompanied his father and Sir Northcote on an outing. It had not been a happy occasion. Zak had spent most of it staring miserably out of the car window. No one spoke much, apart from the old man shouting his strange word in the funny accent, and swearing all the time. His father and his grandmother said swear-words too, though never in front of the folks at the big house. They cursed and said the bad words in a different way from the old man, like when they were angry at something or someone, usually him. Zak knew that if he swore like the old man did, his father would smack him one. Maybe the old man had been too posh to have been smacked or told off when he was a kid and no one had told him it was bad to shout swear words. Maybe he just didn’t know. Or maybe if you were posh and rich you could say whatever you liked and it wasn’t considered rude.
Today, however, and this was the shiny, exciting thing just ahead on Zak’s path, the girl Hyslop was going on the trip, and she had said that he could join them. The girl Hyslop was ahead of him and behind him too. She was everywhere: she was his path. He could look back and comfort himself with thoughts of the smiles she had given him, with memories of her spooky eyes and her wonderful hair. He could relive the best bits of her telling him about butterflies, even when she used big words that he did not understand. He could look forward to smiles in the future. Today they were driving to a wood a whole hour away and they were going to look for The Emperor. Perhaps the Beauty would turn up too, and he would be the first to see it. Oh, how Hyslop would smile at him then. All sorts of wonderful possibilities lay ahead of him, mysterious parcels wrapped up and strewn on the path, things he could look forward to.
Zak jumped out of bed. His dirty clothes lay on the floor all around him. He looked in one of the cardboard boxes and found one clean T-shirt, and put it on. He even thought about having a shower, but then decided that you didn’t need a shower if you were wearing a clean T-shirt. Anyway, his grandmother
would be suspicious if she heard him in the noisy shower that was always more cold than hot. She might discover that he was keen to go on this trip, looking forward to something, and then she would stop him.
The thought of his grandmother finding chores for him to do that would prevent him from accompanying Hyslop on the Emperor trip was terrifying. Zak put his jeans and his dirty old trainers on and crept out of his room. No one was stirring and he decided it must be really early. The birds were singing in a very early morning kind of way and the lazy butterflies were not up and about. He found a packet of biscuits on the kitchen unit with two biscuits in it and stuffed it in his pocket. It was best to get outside as quickly as he could. He would hide until his father appeared and then join him once they were out of sight of his grandmother.
He sat on a tree stump some distance from their cottage, and munched the biscuits. They were rather stale and he ate them because he was hungry rather than for enjoyment. He had no idea how much time passed, because time was difficult to measure. The woods were full of birdsong from all different sorts of birds. The birds didn’t need to be able to tell the time, and they got along fine. He sat staring into space, thinking of the day ahead, thinking mainly of the girl Hyslop, until he heard the cottage door opening and his grandmother calling his name. She sounded cross as usual. He stayed out of sight, pouring the last crumbs from the packet into his hand and eating them all up. She was going to be mad at him for taking the biscuits so he was certainly not going to show himself. Luckily she never ventured outside in her dressing gown, so she was unlikely to come looking for him. He imagined the swearing and cursing that would be going on inside the cottage.
After some time his father came out of the door, slamming it behind him, and walked swiftly along the path in Zak’s direction. Zak stuffed the empty biscuit packet into his pocket.
“What you doing here?” his father scowled at him. “Didn’t you hear your granny calling?”
“Got up early so I’d be ready to go with you,” said Zak.
His father narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“She’s got jobs for you to do,” he said.
Zak said nothing. He looked up pleadingly. He knew that his grandmother had been angry with his father for drinking too much beer the night before, and there had been raised voices, so things could go either way for Zak. Sometimes his father took his side against his grandmother, and sometimes he shouted at him to do what he was told when she gave him orders.
“Oh, let the old witch do ‘em herself.” His father thrust a polythene bag at Zak. “Here, take that if you’re coming.”
Zak realised he was not being sent back. He hurried along carrying the bag, having to run to keep up with his father’s long strides. It was not long before he became aware that the polythene bag smelt very unpleasant.
“What’s in here?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t lunch. It smelt revolting.
When his father told him, Zak almost dropped the bag. He screwed up his nose and swore aloud.
“Why are we carrying dog… ” His father gave him a sharp cuff on the side of his head.
“Don’t you call it that!” he said angrily. “Not in front of the old man and that foreign girl. Posh folk don’t use words like that.” His father paused, as they both contemplated the fact that the old man did, in fact, shout swear words, and that Mr Braithwaite often cursed in his posh voice too. “You’re to call it dog poo. That’s the word that lot use.”
“Dog poo,” said Zak obediently. He would have called it anything in order to be able to tag along.
He wanted to ask why they were carrying a bag of dog dirt with them. It was just as smelly whatever name you called it.
His father, however, was in his morning-after-drinking mood so it was best not to ask irritating questions. He decided to do as he was told, though he kept the bag as far away from his body as he could. In his looking forward to the outing, Zak had not anticipated a smelly bag of dog’s doings, but it did not spoil his feelings of hope. He was sure that the other things ahead of him on his path were better, and he looked forward, and kept looking forward, as he ran after his father.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Journey to the Forest of the Emperor
Hyslop got up, as usual, before her mother. It was not difficult as Vanessa did not generally emerge before eleven, and she was careful not to make any noise as she crept downstairs. Two wine glasses and an empty bottle of red wine showed that Hugo had been to visit the previous night. She opened the fridge and the larder but there was nothing much to eat. There were three bottles of wine, two bottles of champagne and a little pot of olives. There was a carton of milk but when Hyslop took the top off to have a sniff, it smelt sour. Vanessa drank her coffee black, so rarely thought to buy fresh milk. Although Hyslop was not fond of olives, she took two or three and grimaced as she swallowed them. Adults did eat some funny things, or at least her mother did. There was also Penny’s jam but no bread to spread it on. She wished she could eat at Sandy’s house. She closed her eyes and imagined the delicious treats that there would be in Sandy’s big white fridge, and the bread bin full of fresh bread and croissants.
As she passed the vegetable garden it occurred to her that she could pinch some tomatoes from the greenhouse. They were not as good as the glorious fat tomatoes in Italy, but they were sweet enough to take away the taste of bitter olives. She ate several and they helped fill up the empty feeling inside her. She felt slightly guilty at eating Penny’s tomatoes, but then she decided that they were also Hugo’s tomatoes, and this thought made her eat two more in defiant succession.
As she reached Sir Northcote’s house, the Mercedes was coming along the road slowly towards his gate. Zak’s father, Jack Judd, was driving. He was a surly looking man, but Hyslop decided that she would ignore him as much as possible. She did not want anything to distract her from the joyous day ahead, the day when she might be seeing a Purple Emperor. She strode up to Sir Northcote’s front door and knocked his lion’s head doorknocker loudly.
She heard some muffled shouting from inside, then the old man opened the door, his wispy hair standing on end, his eyes staring wildly. Hyslop was used to his expressions by now, and half expected the glare to be followed by head-slapping and cursing. He was a bit like a dog which barked furiously at visitors but was really quite harmless when you got to know him.
“You’re here, are you!” he said. He started to say his funny word then stopped.
“I’m really looking forward to today,” she said. For a moment Sir Northcote looked so wild eyed and strange she wondered if he remembered about their outing. Then she saw him slap his head once and nod at her.
“Has Judd brought the car round?” he demanded. At that moment the car stopped in front of his gate and he turned his glare towards it instead. “There he is. Jolly good!”
The old man disappeared into his house and emerged, to Hyslop’s joy, carrying what looked like a picnic basket. In fact he seemed to be laden down with all sorts of interesting things.
“Can I help carry something?” she asked, hoping he would let her take the picnic basket and she could have a peep inside.
“You can carry these,” he said, handing her some binoculars. He seemed to be carrying two pairs. “In fact, you can keep them. They’re close focus binoculars for butterfly spotting. I have several pairs and I don’t need all of them. No one else will want them!”
Hyslop gasped as she realised that the binoculars were a gift.
“Northy!” she cried, taking them in delight. “Oh my goodness! Thank you!”
“Well, if you’re serious about becoming a lepidopterist,” he raised his voice to its customary shout, “serious, and not playing the fool, you’ll need them!”
Hyslop took off the lens caps and focused the binoculars on a nearby shrub. The old man showed her how to adjust them and at once the leaves of the shrub became so clear and defined she could see every detail, every vein, every blemish.
“You’ll
need those for spotting the Emperor,” he said. “They’re often high up in the trees.” He gave his head a hard slap. “Dunderheids!” he added.
At this point Judd approached, muttering something that sounded vaguely like “Sinothctt,” and the old man barked “Judd!” back at him.
Zak appeared behind his father and Sir Northcote scowled.
“Is the boy coming?” he shouted. “Hmmm! That boy!”
“Not if you don’t want him, sir,” said Judd.
Hyslop saw the light go out of Zak’s eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, giving Hyslop an anguished look. She had so often had her own hopes crushed and stamped on by her mother, and she knew what he must be feeling.
“I said he could come,” she said, with authority in her voice. “We will need an extra pair of hands to carry stuff. There’s the picnic basket and the binoculars, and you will need your walking stick, Northy. And… ”
“And there’s the dog… poo!” interrupted Zak, producing from behind his back a rather nasty looking plastic bag.
“You brought that, did you!” cried Sir Northcote. He narrowed his eyes at Zak, his tone accusing and angry.
“I thought that I had to… that I was supposed to… ”
“All right, boy!” shouted the old man. “Just keep it away from the picnic basket, could you!” He slapped his head several times and shouted “Dunderheids!” at the top of his voice in a particularly Scottish accent.
Hyslop realised that Northy was about to start a head-slapping rant, that Judd would stand stupidly in one place until given an order to move, and that Zak, awkwardly holding his smelly burden, was looking at her and only her. She took charge of the situation at once, organising where things should go in the boot of the car. She picked up the picnic hamper and looked inside. There was food enough for all of them, delicious treats that no doubt Penny had prepared. Zak’s smelly bag was strapped to the roof rack. She told Northy to get into the front of the car, checked that he had his safety belt on, and instructed Judd to get into the driver’s side, ascertaining that he knew exactly where they were going. It was an extraordinary feeling to be in charge. Sir Northcote, despite his noisy ranting, was quite happy to be organised; Judd would follow orders without comment; and as for Zak, well, he would do whatever she told him to do.
The Summer of the Mourning Cloak Page 17