Clover Moon

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I lightly stroked her little pencilled face and fondled her fluffy hair. I was filled with a strange mixture of joy and sadness. It was magical that I could conjure her up on the page, but dreadful to remember I’d never see the real Megs ever again.

  The girls came crowding round to see my drawing and seemed impressed.

  ‘Draw me,’ Mary-Ann demanded.

  I flattered her as I sketched, exaggerating the curls and length of her hair and adjusting her features, making her eyes much bigger, with long lashes, so that she looked like a real fairy princess. Mary-Ann smiled at herself, thrilled.

  Now every recreation time I had a queue of girls lining up to have their portraits sketched. Millie was the last to get hers done, and I tried extra hard with it, elongating her little squashed-up face and giving her a fancy new hairstyle.

  ‘Is that really me?’ she breathed when I showed her.

  In truth it wasn’t really a proper likeness but I nodded solemnly all the same. Millie stared at the page, her plain face glowing. ‘Me!’ she repeated happily. ‘Me!’

  I sketched the four little girls too. Elspeth and Moira were enthusiastic, both managing to sit still long enough for me to capture a likeness. Jane was another matter.

  ‘Draw me, draw me – me, me, me!’ she demanded, but she couldn’t keep still for a single second. In the end I drew her running wildly round and round the room, arms out, legs leaping, hair flying out behind her, deliberately blurring her features to show that she was moving fast. It was unmistakably her and Jane kept pointing at it, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Now Pammy,’ I said.

  She shook her head, putting her hands over her face, making it impossible. I had to sketch her a few lines at a time when she didn’t realize I was watching her, and then she didn’t seem to like her portrait – though I’d given her longer hair and made her look less lost and lonely.

  ‘It’s you, Pammy. Don’t you look pretty?’ I said, but she shook her head vehemently.

  I tried drawing as a way of helping the four little girls to read. Sissy had tried to teach them their A B C but with no success. Jane wouldn’t listen, Pammy wouldn’t look, and even Elspeth and Moira couldn’t seem to understand that the black squiggles Sissy wrote on their pages had any meaning.

  ‘Could I try something, Sissy?’ I asked. ‘I just need to nip to the kitchen.’

  ‘I don’t think dough letters would be a good idea,’ she said quickly.

  ‘No, this won’t make any mess whatsoever,’ I promised.

  I ran downstairs to the kitchen where Cook, now totally recovered, was making a large apple crumble.

  ‘Could I please borrow an apple for five minutes, Cook?’ I asked politely.

  ‘Borrow it, missy? I think you mean eat it – and you’ll be sorry, because it’s a sour cooking Bramley and you’ll be doubled over with stomach ache for the rest of the day.’

  ‘I’m not going to eat it, I swear,’ I said, grabbing it quickly.

  I ran upstairs and produced the apple. Of course Jane wanted to eat it, so I wasted a lot of time persuading her that it wouldn’t taste nice. She didn’t agree, so eventually I let her have one small bite. She screwed up her face, shuddered and spat it out immediately.

  ‘Nasty apple!’ she said.

  ‘Yes. I told you! But clever you for knowing that this is an . . .?’

  ‘Apple,’ said Jane.

  ‘Yes, apple. Now, I’m going to draw the apple for all of you. Watch!’ I took a bright green crayon, sketched a big round apple on the page and let them take turns at colouring it in. They weren’t very good at it, of course, and went over the lines, and inevitably the pencil lead got broken, but it was soon sharpened.

  ‘Now, we’re going to write the word apple underneath. Watch me do it. A-p-p-l-e. What does the word say?’

  ‘Apple,’ said Elspeth and Moira.

  ‘Apple,’ said Jane, after much prompting.

  Pammy didn’t say anything at all, but she did look at the picture and the word.

  ‘Now let’s write the word apple again on a fresh page. I’ll write it first. Then you take turns copying it. You can each choose a different colour.’ I wrote the word apple. Then Elspeth. Then Moira. Then Jane made an attempt, though her letters went wildly up and down and looked like scribbles. I tried to encourage Pammy to have a go. I put a coloured pencil in her hand but she wouldn’t close her fingers round it.

  ‘Never mind. Maybe you’ll try to do some writing tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Let’s read our words now. Elspeth, what does this say?’ I pointed to her word.

  ‘Apple,’ she said.

  ‘Yes! Well done. It says apple!’ I said, making a big fuss of her.

  Moira read her word. Jane shouted her word at the top of her voice. Pammy didn’t read but she looked at the four words that said apple on the page as if she knew what they were.

  ‘The word apple is made up of all these letters. The one at the beginning is a. A is for apple. Remember!’ I said.

  The next day I took a brush and gave each child’s hair twenty strokes. I counted each one aloud – they might as well learn their numbers too! I wasn’t sure Pammy would let me brush her hair but she stayed still when I attempted it. I brushed very carefully indeed because she still had big patches of bare scalp, though there were now little fine downy hairs growing.

  ‘You’re going to have pretty curls soon, Pammy,’ I assured her.

  Then I drew the brush and had each child draw some bristles. It became a very, very bristly brush, but still recognizable. I had them tell me what it was, and then I wrote the word brush, and three of them wrote the word too. Then we read the word.

  ‘Brush! And the letter at the beginning of the word is b. B is for brush.’

  Just before bedtime I gave them another impromptu lesson because I happened to see a big white cat prowling in the little back yard. I bribed him with a sliver of cheese, picked him up in my arms and rubbed my cheek against his furry head until we’d properly made friends, then lugged him indoors and up the stairs.

  Elspeth and Moira and Jane were all desperate to stroke him. I took Pammy’s hand and tried to make her touch him too but she clenched her fists.

  ‘What is this lovely furry creature called? Is it a . . . dog?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s a cat!’ said Elspeth, giggling.

  ‘Of course it’s a cat. Shall I draw it?’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Sissy, bustling in. ‘What’s a cat doing here?’

  ‘He’s part of our reading and writing lesson, Sissy,’ I said.

  ‘Well, can’t it wait until tomorrow? It’s nearly bedtime.’

  ‘But the cat might not be here tomorrow. Please, Sissy! Just this once can they be a few minutes late for bed?’ I cried, and the little girls begged too.

  ‘Well, Miss Ainsley isn’t going to be at all pleased if she finds out,’ said Sissy. ‘But very well, go ahead, Clover. I can’t quite see how puss here is going to help, though. I’ve heard all the girls in your dormitory say you can do magic tricks. Have you taught him to miaow the alphabet?’

  ‘Don’t laugh at me, Sissy. You watch! Who’s going to hold the cat on her lap to keep him still while I draw him?’

  Elspeth and Moira wanted to be picked. Jane was desperate, shouting, ‘Me, me, me!’

  ‘Ssh, Jane! If you’re going to hold him you have to be very quiet and still or you’ll frighten him. Do you think you can manage that?’

  Jane nodded emphatically. I wasn’t so sure but decided to take a chance. I put the cat on her lap and she stroked him carefully, making sure not to ruffle his fur the wrong way. The cat fidgeted anxiously at first, but then settled down and started purring.

  ‘He likes me!’ Jane whispered.

  ‘Yes, he does!’ I said, sketching quickly, just in case the cat changed his mind.

  ‘He doesn’t need to be coloured in because he’s white, and the page is white, but you can each draw a whisker,’ I said.

  Pammy didn’t dra
w one, but she watched the others.

  ‘And what shall we write underneath our drawing of the cat?’ I asked.

  ‘The word cat! Can I go first after you?’ said Elspeth.

  ‘Of course. Cat is just a little word, c-a-t. C is for cat. There now, Elspeth, you copy it out. Then you, Moira. Then you, Jane. And how about you having a try, Pammy, to show Sissy how clever you are?’

  Pammy still wouldn’t join in, but the other three wrote their words. Then I turned the page and wrote the word cat and each girl read it aloud.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Sissy, clapping her hands.

  ‘And now, which word is this? It starts with an a,’ I said, writing it out carefully.

  ‘Apple!’ they chorused.

  Then ‘Brush!’ And finally ‘Cat!’

  ‘Oh, you’re such clever little things!’ said Sissy. ‘I couldn’t read till I was a great girl of fourteen, and I struggled dreadfully at first.’

  She gave each child a hug and then she gave me one too. ‘You’ve worked wonders with them, Clover. Well done!’

  ‘I still can’t get Pammy to do anything,’ I said, quietly so that she wouldn’t hear.

  ‘Perhaps she just can’t manage it. She’s clearly had such bad treatment before she came here, poor pet,’ said Sissy. ‘Maybe she has something wrong with her head now and can’t think properly.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, but I wasn’t going to give up on Pammy yet.

  The next day I was ready to start on the letter d. D is for . . . It suddenly came to me. But could I trust the girls? Could I trust Jane? She’d been gentle with the cat, after all. I could usually manage her now, and even divert her when she had a tantrum. But there were other times when she took me by surprise. She’d already torn up one of my drawings when she got bored and wanted attention.

  I decided to risk it all the same. I ran to the dormitory, bent down by my locker and carefully pulled out my pillowcase. I felt inside my shawl and gently unwound Anne Boleyn. I hadn’t had the chance to look at her properly for a while. I was overcome with fresh love for her glossy face, her delicate limbs, her perfectly fitting dress. I kissed her shiny black hair, her red cheeks, her tiny fingers. They were so carefully carved. I thought of Mr Dolly whittling away with such patience day after day with only his dolls for company. I ached to see him and reassure him that I was safe and starting a new life that was safe and in many ways agreeable.

  ‘I’m going to introduce you to four little girls, Anne Boleyn,’ I whispered. ‘One is very boisterous but you mustn’t be frightened. She means well, and I will keep hold of you so that she can’t hurt you.’

  Anne Boleyn smiled back at me, reassuring me that she was made of wood. China dolls might smash and wax dolls might crack but wooden dolls were made of sturdier stuff.

  I held her tight and hurried back to my four small pupils. I held her behind my back as I walked into the room.

  ‘Today we’re going to learn the next letter of the alphabet, d.’ I made the sound der. ‘Can you girls think of anything that starts der?’

  ‘Dog!’ said Elspeth.

  ‘Yes, well done. That’s brilliant. But we haven’t got a dog here at the home, and I don’t think one’s going to jump into the yard the way the cat did. Try again. Der, der, der.’

  ‘Door!’ said Elspeth.

  ‘You’re so clever! D is for door. But perhaps it would be a bit boring to draw a door. It’s a very dull design. I was thinking of something prettier. How about d is for doll?’

  Even Elspeth looked baffled.

  ‘Haven’t you ever had a dolly? Maybe a rag baby? I used to make them for my sisters at home,’ I said.

  My four had clearly never had a big sister to make a doll for them.

  ‘A doll is like a little toy friend. I have a very special doll. Would you like to see her?’

  Elspeth and Moira and Jane nodded.

  ‘But you have to sit very still and you can’t snatch at her because it might hurt her very badly. Will you be good, well-behaved girls?’

  Elspeth and Moira nodded. So did Jane. Pammy put her head on one side this time, almost as if she were agreeing.

  ‘Then come and say hello to four new friends, Anne Boleyn,’ I said, and I brought her out from behind my back.

  All four girls gasped and smiled.

  I made Anne Boleyn do a little dance in the air, her arms outstretched. ‘Do you like her?’

  All four nodded.

  ‘Would you like to take turns holding her?’ I asked. I took a deep breath. ‘Jane, you were so gentle with the cat yesterday. Would you like to hold Anne Boleyn first to show the other girls how to do it?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Jane.

  I passed Anne Boleyn over.

  ‘Hello, Anne-Blin,’ said Jane.

  ‘She’s saying Hello, Jane, but she’s got such a tiny doll voice you probably can’t hear her,’ I said.

  Jane bent her head as if she were listening. ‘I think I hear her,’ she said. ‘You’re pretty, Anne-Blin. You want to be Jane’s dolly, don’t you?’

  ‘She’s just teasing you,’ I said quickly. ‘She’d like to be your doll but she knows she’s mine. Now you’ve made friends, can you pass her to one of the other girls, please, so they can make friends too?’

  ‘She says she wants to stay with me,’ said Jane.

  ‘Well, she can’t,’ I said firmly. ‘Choose which girl she’s going to next, Jane.’

  ‘Well then – Pammy,’ said Jane artfully. She waved Anne Boleyn at Pammy. ‘Want to hold her, Pammy?’

  She waited, already sure of the answer. But Pammy was looking straight at Anne Boleyn. She held out her hands.

  ‘There, Jane! Pammy wants to,’ I whispered, scarcely able to believe it.

  ‘No she doesn’t,’ said Jane, hanging on tight to Anne Boleyn.

  Pammy was almost touching Anne Boleyn now, her little fingers outstretched.

  ‘Come on, Jane, you can see how much Pammy wants to hold her,’ I said.

  ‘She has to say so,’ said Jane.

  Oh no, it was all going wrong! Pammy hadn’t spoken since Jane flattened her dough angel. There was going to be a tug of war any minute. Anne Boleyn’s eyebrows were raised and her mouth was in a little O of alarm.

  But Pammy opened her mouth and said clearly, ‘I want to hold the dolly!’

  ‘There!’ I said, scarcely able to believe my ears.

  Jane frowned and pouted, gripping Anne Boleyn hard.

  ‘You clever girl, Jane. You’ve made Pammy speak,’ I said. ‘Well done! You’re so kind. Anne Boleyn wants to kiss you and then she wants to jump into Pammy’s arms so she can have a cuddle with her too.’

  Jane sighed but let me help Anne Boleyn kiss her. Then she unclenched her fists so that I could hand my doll to Pammy.

  ‘There, Pammy. Can you say thank you to Jane?’ I asked.

  ‘Thank you,’ Pammy mumbled. Her hands shook as she held the doll. She made little rocking movements with her arms. ‘My dolly,’ she said.

  ‘She’s my dolly, but I’ll share her with all you girls,’ I said. ‘Now I’ll draw her for you.’

  I drew her quickly while Pammy rocked Anne Boleyn. Jane frowned at her but didn’t try to snatch her back. Elspeth and Moira were as good as gold, patiently waiting their turn. I let them draw Anne Boleyn’s eyes, one each. Then I asked Jane to draw her nose and she made a little dash with my pencil. It was a rather lopsided nose, but it didn’t really matter.

  ‘Now, Pammy, if you hand Anne Boleyn over to Elspeth perhaps you’d like to draw her mouth?’ I suggested.

  Pammy didn’t look very keen on this idea but she managed to pass her on, and tried to hold the pencil. It was a bit of a struggle for her, so I put my hand over hers to guide it.

  ‘We’ll give her a really smiley mouth, shall we, as she’s so happy she’s having such lovely cuddles,’ I said.

  Together we drew Anne Boleyn smiling from ear to ear. Then I wrote the word doll and all four girls did their be
st to copy it. Jane’s writing wavered right off the page and Pammy’s was just a tiny scratch – but it was a start! And when I asked the girls to read the four words they’d learned so far, they all said them aloud.

  When they read them to Sissy later she was so impressed she fetched Miss Ainsley.

  ‘All right, girls, let’s read the special words we’ve learned so far,’ I said.

  ‘A is for apple,’ said Elspeth.

  ‘B is for brush,’ said Moira.

  ‘C is for cat,’ said Jane. ‘Miaow, miaow!’

  ‘D is for doll,’ said Pammy.

  ‘Oh my!’ said Miss Ainsley, and clapped her hands. ‘Well done, Clover. You’ve worked wonders.’

  It felt so good to be praised! That evening, after the little girls were all tucked up in bed, I did one more portrait of Anne Boleyn. I spent much longer drawing her, giving her neat features and colouring her in very carefully, even each little flower on her frock. I tore the picture out of my notebook and then another page to write a letter.

  I knew how to do it properly because Miss Ainsley had given us several classes on letter-writing. I wrote my new address carefully in the top right-hand corner, and then the date. I was about to put Dear Sir – but it seemed such a formal way of addressing Mr Dolly, so I decided to write the letter my own way.

  Miss Ainsley had suggested we finish with Your esteemed servant but that sounded wrong too.

  I added a little green four-leaved clover beside my signature.

  I put the letter with the drawing, and in the morning I went to Miss Smith’s office, asking her if I could possibly have a big envelope and a postage stamp. Then I wrote the address on the front:

  and Miss Smith let me go down the alley to the Strand to the big red pillar box. It was the very first letter I’d ever sent and I felt very grand and grown up.