by Sylvia Waugh
The car passed by.
Joshua stood up ready to walk on, but the left leg shot forward before the right one was properly balanced. Down he fell on his bottom on the pavement, his mittened hands shooting behind him to stop him falling further. Two of the children in the back of the car saw this and pointed and giggled. But the car with the objectionable youngsters was soon out of sight.
From behind the net curtains in her front bedroom window, Mrs Jarman at number 4 saw Joshua fall. She knew him vaguely by sight, the shape of him anyway. If he had not got straight up she would have gone down to see if he needed help. As he disappeared behind her hedge, she had a glimpse of the funny-walk, but put it down to awkwardness after his fall and thought no more about it. The Mennyms were known to keep themselves to themselves. Well, let them.
Vinetta was already at the front door looking out for him. When she saw his funny-walk coming up the drive, she pursed her lips in annoyance.
“What do you think you are playing at? Do you want everyone looking at you?” she snapped. “Where on earth have you been all this time?”
As he drew closer and she saw the misery on his face, she realised that something was really wrong. She ran to him and supported him on her shoulder into the house.
5
* * *
The Leg
WHEN VINETTA SAW Joshua’s leg and heard the tale he had to tell, she was all concern and sympathy. She had never seen a rat except in Aunt Kate’s encyclopaedia. But she knew she would have been ten times as terrified as Joshua if the same thing had happened to her.
“You were very brave,” she said soothingly. At the same time she looked at the damaged leg and thought silently that he had made a very poor job of taping it up. A neater job would have been more easily undone. As it was, the leg from the thigh nearly to the top of his boot was swathed in crumpled sticky tape. Obviously done in a panic. Removing it would not be pleasant.
Staying matter-of-fact, Vinetta helped Joshua to his usual armchair and turned on the television where the morning news was slowing down to a trickle. She gave him a pretend mug of tea and he went through the usual, reassuring ritual of make-believe drinking.
“That was nice. You do make a good cup of tea,” he said as he put the mug down on the little table by the side of his chair. Vinetta could make everything seem manageable and normal. As the news finished, she turned off the TV.
“Now,” said Vinetta cautiously, “I will have to do something about that leg.”
Joshua looked as if he had much rather not, but he knew that he would have to accept the inevitable.
“First I’ll remove all of that sticky tape,” said Vinetta firmly. She tugged at it ruthlessly till tape and kapok and bits of leg were strewn all round his feet. Joshua watched in dazed dismay.
Ignoring the expression on her husband’s face, Vinetta said in her most business-like manner, “I’ll have to go to the Market and get a length of material and some filling to renew that leg.”
It was easy to shop in the Market with a hat or headscarf pulled well over one’s face, a pair of tinted spectacles to hide the button eyes and a coat collar turned up to give more shadow. Vinetta often went to the Market. But Market days were Thursday and Saturday. Joshua knew that well enough.
“What about work tonight? I’ll need my leg before then.”
“Can’t be done,” said Vinetta. “You’ll just have to be off sick. That’s something you haven’t done before. You are within your rights.”
Joshua looked unconvinced. In fact, he looked positively worried.
“I don’t know how to be off sick. Somebody would have to be told. That firm trusts me.”
“Phone them,” said Vinetta practically, “or let me phone them for you.”
Joshua’s expression became pained.
“Apart from that first interview, which was mercifully short, I’ve never spoken to them. I don’t want to speak to them. They might get friendly. They might send Charlie round to see how I am. It’s too involved. It’s dangerous.”
Vinetta could see the point of this.
“We’ll ask Appleby,” she said at last. It wasn’t that Appleby was wiser than anybody else. It was just that the whole family knew, as after forty years of living together they were bound to know, that their adolescent member was better than any of them at creating plausible fictions.
“Appleby,” called her mother from the foot of the stairs. “Appleby!”
Vinetta’s voice rose an octave and sounded irritated.
“What do you want now?” snapped her gangly daughter, leaning over the banister.
“Is that any way to speak to your mother?” said Vinetta crossly. “You’re getting worse. I wouldn’t have called you so early if it weren’t important. Come down here and I’ll explain.”
Appleby came slowly down the stairs. She was a long, thin girl doll dressed in jeans and a very long, narrow sweater (not made by Kate or Vinetta, but bought quite recently at the Market).
“Well?” she pouted. Kate had somehow put truculence into Appleby’s soul. It took different forms at different times, but it was always there. She was nearest in age to Soobie, but they were so totally unalike that it was difficult to see them as members of the same family. Her face for a start was flesh pink and Soobie’s, unique even in this odd family, was completely blue. It was stocky, sturdy Soobie, with his silver button eyes and suit of striped blue linen, who sat quietly, day in day out, at the bay window watching the birds and the trees and the people who passed by their wrought-iron gate. Soobie never went out at all. He would watch Appleby as she came and went to the Market or the Post Office. Appleby was always coming or going somewhere, once the streets had been aired. She had never in forty years seen the dawn of any day.
“Try to be a bit more civil,” complained Vinetta, knowing that the appeal would fall on deaf ears. Appleby clattered down the stairs and dropped to the floor in front of the fire. If the state of her father’s leg puzzled her she managed not to show it.
Vinetta explained the problem. Appleby’s manner changed at once. When her special skills were called into play, nobody could be nicer.
“They must have word today,” she said decisively. “They’ll be livid if the warehouse is left unattended tonight. I don’t know what’s so wrong about phoning.”
“I’m not phoning,” interrupted Joshua in a determined voice.
“All right! All right! Nobody said you had to phone!”
“And you’re not phoning either. Nobody’s speaking to anybody there. Understood?”
“Well, if you would shut up for a minute, I can tell you what we should do,” said Appleby, becoming disagreeable again. She stood up and flounced over to the chair by the window, passing Soobie on the way and accidentally-on-purpose knocking his book out of his hand.
“Give over,” growled Soobie, retrieving the book and returning to his reading without another word.
“All right,” said Vinetta patiently. “We’re listening, Appleby. What do you think should be done?”
Appleby gave her father a token dirty look and decided to return to the topic more graciously.
“Simple. I’ll write you a note and Mum can hand it in at the gatehouse and hurry away.”
The note was written as if it came from Vinetta.
“Dear Sir,” it began.
“Do we need to say dear anything?” grumbled Joshua. “I’m just the nightwatchman you know. There’s nobody there I’d call dear. Or sir for that matter.”
“It’s the way it’s done, Dad,” explained Appleby with some irritation. “Ask Granpa. He knows. I don’t know why you two know nothing.”
Vinetta gave her daughter a sharp look but did not speak.
Appleby read out the whole of the note in clipped tones and double quick time:
“Dear Sir,
My husband will not be able to come to work for a few days. He has a very heavy cold and is running a temperature.
By the way, he says he saw a
rat in the warehouse last night. He thinks you should get the ratcatcher before any damage is done to the stores.
Yours sincerely,
Vinetta Mennym”
“Why mention the rat?” demanded Joshua crossly.
“You do want to go back there, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. It’s my job. It helps pay the bills.”
“Well, you don’t want any more trouble with rats when you do go back. It’s a pity really that you can’t claim compensation.”
“Don’t be so stupid,” shouted Joshua. “You’re supposed to know so much, Miss Bighead. How would I explain about the stuffing in my leg without giving everything away? Tell me that!”
At that moment, because he was agitated, more of the kapok fell to the floor.
“I’ll have to do a temporary repair on that,” said Vinetta. She returned in a few minutes carrying a woolly hat and a big old bath towel.
“See,” she said matching actions to words, “I’ll pad the hole out with this old hat and then I’ll wrap the towel round your leg and fasten it with four safety pins. It can stay like that till I’ve been to the Market.”
After she had finished she helped Joshua up to bed and told him firmly that he must stay there all day and all night.
“Appleby can take the note along to Sydenham’s and she’ll get you a newspaper on her way back.”
Appleby, however, had exhausted herself writing the letter.
“I’m not going out this morning. In fact, I might not go out at all today. Why should I run about after everybody? You got me up too soon. I’m tired.”
It was easy for Appleby to go anywhere. If there were any chance that she might be looked at too closely, she wore a black felt hat with a floppy brim that hid most of her doll’s face. She had also taken in recent months to wearing rather exaggerated make-up. In fact, green button eyes apart, she looked like any other teenager.
Vinetta was used to Appleby’s rudeness. She had suffered it in various forms for forty years. If the current phase seemed even worse than all the others put together, Vinetta could only wait and hope it would pass.
So she did not insist or argue. She simply said in an acid voice, “If it is so much trouble to you, I’ll do it myself. Mind you, I won’t be in a hurry the next time you want something stitched or washed at short notice.”
6
* * *
Redundant
Dear Mr Mennym,
Thank you for your note explaining your unavoidable absence. This letter is in no way connected with your illness. We have been well satisfied with your timekeeping and attention to duty and will be pleased to recommend you to any future employer.
It has, however, been pointed out to us that, since the installation of the new security system four months ago, the position of nightwatchman is now redundant. You have seen the system through its early teething troubles and we express our sincere appreciation of your work. Your information about the rat was dealt with on Friday afternoon. It turned out to be just one stray animal that had come up from a drain at the back of our premises where the Gas Board workmen have been digging.
The enclosed cheque is to cover payment in lieu of notice, redundancy money and a gratuity for your promptness in spotting and reporting the vermin problem.
Please accept our best wishes for a speedy recovery and a prosperous future.
Yours most sincerely,
Clarence & Joseph Sydenham
Joshua let the cheque flutter to the floor and almost wept as he read the letter. He had enjoyed being nightwatchman at Sydenham’s; it had become an important part of his life. It was not a well-paid job. Sir Magnus made far more money with his writing. Vinetta’s needlework also paid well. No one ever knew how much Tulip earned. But Joshua liked to feel he was doing his share. Even rag dolls have bills to pay and things they want to buy.
The leg was completely whole again and he had a new pair of trousers which Vinetta had bought from a stall in the Market and altered to fit her husband’s shape and size. He really looked quite smart. And Charlie would never have a glimpse of the new trousers! And the warehouse keys would never be in Joshua’s hands again.
“I’ve left my mug there,” he said at last. “I’ve a good mind to go and fetch it.”
“That would be just plain stupid,” said Vinetta. “You couldn’t just walk in and grab it. Their security system would see to that. And what’s so special about a mug anyway?”
“It was mine,” said Joshua with unusual feeling. “It had a shield painted on it with the words ‘Port Vale F.C. – 1876’ wrapped round. I used to put hot water in it and hold it cupped in my hands on a cold night and pretend it was cocoa and I was drinking it. I love that mug, Vinetta.”
“There are other mugs,” said Vinetta, deliberately missing the point, “and there’ll be other jobs. Why not go back to Peachum’s and see if they’ll have you as Santa Claus again?”
“That won’t be for at least another four weeks,” grumbled Joshua. “What’ll I do in the meantime? I’m a working man and I want to work.”
“Well, let’s pretend you need a few weeks to get fit. After all, you did have a very bad leg. If you had been flesh and blood you might never have walked again.”
“If I’d been flesh and blood, the rat would never have dared do what it did. Talk sense, woman!”
Vinetta persisted. She was used to persisting. After forty years it had become second nature.
“Never mind that,” she went on. “Just let’s pretend you really are a bit ill, and I can give you make-believe medicine, and you can sit all day in your dressing-gown and carpet slippers reading the papers and watching the telly.”
That sounded quite interesting. Joshua perked up and joined in the new pretend with growing enthusiasm.
“Then I’ll gradually get a little bit better,” he said, “and I’ll take short walks round the block, well wrapped up against the frosty weather. Mother can knit me a new pair of gloves. Green ones.”
At that moment Poopie came running into the room followed by Wimpey who was shouting, “Give me my ribbon back or I’ll never play with you again.”
“Stop that, you two,” said their mother firmly. “Your father is not at all well. He needs peace and quiet.”
Soobie looked curiously from his armchair in the bay window. The blue Mennym was the least given to pretending. He was usually satisfied just to sit and watch, but occasionally the family craze for pretends got on his nerves.
By the time Appleby came down for her make-believe breakfast, the latest pretend was well established. She was told all about it and she entered into the spirit of it with great gusto.
“I can go to the chemist and buy some proper medicine,” she suggested. “That would make it seem more real.”
“What sort of medicine?” demanded Joshua doubtfully.
“The cheapest I can get, of course,” said Appleby. “After all, it’s really just the bottle and the spoon we are interested in.”
Soobie groaned. It wouldn’t have been so bad, he thought, if they had all been mad enough to believe in their own play-acting. But there they were, fully accepting that it was all made-up, and yet going through with it as if it were necessary.
The mention of a bottle reminded Vinetta that it must be feeding and changing time for Googles. She hurried into the little side room where the baby was gurgling in her cot. With loving care Vinetta changed her unsoiled nappy, then went to the kitchen to fetch the bottle that was standing ready, warming in a pan full of hot water.
“Bye Baby Bunting,” she sang. “Your daddy’s gone a-hunting . . .”
Wimpey had followed her mother into the room and was sitting at her feet.
“Our daddy can’t go anywhere,” she said sagely. “He’s not at all well, Googles. He needs peace and quiet.”
7
* * *
A Visit from Miss Quigley
ON TUESDAY AFTERNOON at ten to two, the door to the hall cupboard was opened from
the inside. Vinetta, who was hanging the family’s outdoor coats up on the rack in the hall (no one else in the family could be persuaded to be so tidy), politely turned the other way.
The twins, Poopie and Wimpey, were in the playroom playing Monopoly rather noisily. Soobie was at his window in the lounge. They did not hear the cupboard door open.
Joshua, in the kitchen, still in dressing-gown and slippers, was pretending to make a pot of tea in Aunt Kate’s old brown teapot. He heard the door open, raised his woolly eyebrows, but did not look round from his task.
Appleby alone, coming down the stairs at that precise moment, saw the door open and spitefully stared at it as Miss Quigley emerged. Miss Quigley became aware of her staring and felt quite flustered and embarrassed. The feeling conveyed itself to Vinetta.
“I wish you would learn to hang your coat up, Appleby,” snapped Vinetta. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. The hall table is not the place to put it. We might be having visitors this afternoon for all you know.”
Miss Quigley, in her neat brown tweed suit with brown gloves and shoes and carrying a large brown handbag, slipped gratefully into the kitchen whilst Appleby’s attention was distracted.
In the kitchen, Joshua was pouring imaginary tea into a large, old, slightly chipped cup. He ignored Miss Quigley as she passed him to leave the house by the back door. That was the way it worked, the way it had always worked for forty long years. No one ever spoke to Miss Quigley on her way out to the back. They did not want to embarrass her by making her aware that she just lived in a cupboard and did not really have a small house of her own at the end of Trevethick Street.
The back door closed behind her and Joshua put his cup down and went out into the hall.
“I think I ought to get dressed,” he said grumpily to Vinetta who by now had started polishing the hall table. “We might have company this afternoon. I would feel very stupid going round like this.”