The Mennyms

by Sylvia Waugh

  Vinetta looked reassured and began to feel enthusiastic about the latest pretend.

  “We’ll set the table like they do in books. I could buy some real fruit. It won’t matter that we can’t actually eat it. I might even get a bottle of wine and we can get out Aunt Kate’s wine glasses. Then there’s the damask table cloth we’ve only used once – the last time we celebrated Appleby’s fifteenth birthday.”

  Vinetta was feeling happier herself and the others became more cheerful too.

  “I’ll write a note to Miss Quigley and invite her for Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh no!” protested Joshua. “Let’s pretend she’s celebrating Christmas in her own home this year.”

  “No,” said Vinetta firmly. “It is Christmas after all. A time of good will. Aunt Kate would be so sad if she knew that poor Miss Quigley was supposed to spend Christmas alone in Trevethick Street.”

  Soobie was beginning to feel sorry he had set them off on this pretend. He resisted the temptation to mention the hall cupboard.

  “At least,” he said bleakly, if somewhat irrelevantly, “when you feel sad, you are feeling something. That is real enough.”

  When Christmas Day finally came, they all enjoyed it. The real presents were purchased at a generous staff discount from Peachum’s. Everybody got something nice and new, shawls, slippers, books, a trainset and a real doll for a doll that wasn’t real.

  “It can talk,” said Wimpey when she pulled out the string at the back.

  “I’m-Polly,” grated the doll in a flat voice with a distinct American accent. “What-are-you-called? Would-you-like-a-Chocolate-Milk?”

  This appealed to Appleby, who took up the accent immediately and kept on asking them if they would like a Chocolate Milk till they all screamed at her to stop.

  “Settle down and be more quiet, all of you,” said Vinetta when the squabbling had gone on too long. “You’re upsetting Googles. And I don’t know what Miss Quigley must be thinking of you.”

  Miss Quigley was sitting on a high-backed chair near the lounge door. She had her presents clutched on her knee.

  “They’re just a bit over-excited,” she said. “It has been a lovely Christmas. I’ve never had a nicer lunch.”

  She stood up and pushed the presents into her large shopping bag.

  “I’m afraid I will have to be going now,” she said. “It’s getting dusk. My poor little cat will be thinking I’m lost. Thank you for everything.”

  Vinetta took her to the front door. They all called their goodbyes, apart from Soobie, who was reading his Christmas book, and Tulip who was busy in the kitchen, up to her elbows in rubber gloves and soap suds. The dishes that were taking up so much of her attention were already clean, of course, but washing them was a nice, solitary occupation, and even clean dishes can be made to shine a bit more brightly.

  Ten minutes later the back door opened quietly and Miss Quigley tiptoed past Tulip and slipped into the hall cupboard. This time nobody, not even Appleby, gave any sign that they had seen her.

  12

  * * *

  Albert’s Second Letter

  “WHAT ON EARTH are you doing?”

  Vinetta stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at Appleby who had trudged snow into the hall and was busily, guiltily, trying to cover the traces. It was seven-thirty on Saturday morning in the middle of January.

  “Nothing,” said Appleby, giving herself time to think.

  Vinetta came down the stairs, still in her dressing-gown, and eyed her daughter suspiciously.

  “And what might nothing be?” she demanded.

  “I went out the back door to look at the snow and when I came back in I saw the postman had been and I went to pick up the letters and I forgot I had snow on my boots and I . . .”

  “And why are you up this early?” interrupted her mother. “It’s not even daylight yet. I doubt if you have ever seen the world before at this time of the morning.”

  Appleby looked only slightly embarrassed, then plunged on with her explanations.

  “It was so cold in my room I couldn’t sleep and I got up and got dressed. That’s all. I don’t need anybody’s permission to do that, do I?” she asked vigorously, finding her usual form. “Then I thought, since I was up and dressed, I might as well go and see how much snow had fallen. I thought about making a snowman to surprise Poopie and Wimpey but I got a bit nervous out there in the dark.”

  It was a plausible explanation. Vinetta shrugged and put her hand out for the letters Appleby was holding.

  “One from Harrods. Gran will be pleased,” commented Vinetta, looking down at the top of five or six envelopes. The next was a bill, and the next. Then there was one for Sir Magnus, obviously from a publisher. Finally, with a start, Vinetta came to the last envelope. It was an airmail letter. The stamp was Australian. It was addressed, in a neat handwriting that by now looked very familiar, to Mr Joshua Mennym and Family.

  “As if we haven’t enough worries,” said Vinetta.

  “I think I’ll go back to bed,” yawned Appleby, making for the stairs.

  “That’s right,” said Vinetta tartly. “I don’t suppose we’ll see you again till teatime now. I bet this hour’s been a shock to your system!”

  “No need to be sarcastic!” snapped Appleby. “I can’t do right for doing wrong in this house!” So saying, she flounced back upstairs to her own room and banged the door shut behind her.

  Vinetta sighed. She went into the dark lounge, switched on the light, turned on the gas-fire and sat in her favourite armchair. She put all of the letters, except the Australian one, in the brass letter-rack on the bureau. The letter from Albert Pond she opened apprehensively. She extracted the two flimsy blue sheets and let the envelope flutter to the floor.

  Dear Joshua and all of you,

  I can’t say how pleased I was to get such a friendly letter from my English family, for that’s what I think of you as now. I delayed replying because I knew you would be in Canada and I reckoned there wasn’t much point in writing to your doormat!

  Can’t say how sorry I was that you had to go away just at the time when I had all but arranged to visit.

  As it happens, it turned out for the best after all. Mate of mine from Queensland decided on a Christmas wedding and asked me to be best man. We go way back – kids at school together. So I didn’t like to refuse. In fact, to be honest with you, I was delighted. Never thought Dewey would ever want to settle down, bit like me really, a born loner, but he’d met this nice girl who works in the City Library and they hit it off right away. She’s called Edna, but she can’t help that. She don’t look like an Edna. She’s tall and elegant with long blonde hair and a very sweet face. Dewey’s a real lucky fellow.

  I’ll bear in mind what you said about finding a wife, but I’m afraid I’m like a lot of Aussies. I’ll just hang around till someone decides to marry me. Course, I would have to hit it off with her, like Dewey with Edna. But I’m not going looking. It’s not in my nature.

  The wedding turned out to be really something. It took place on Boxing Day. The weather was sweltering. Edna’s folks have this real big house with a lovely stretch of lawn. They had two huge marquees on the lawns, one for the food and one for the fun! There was dancing to an eight-piece band and there must have been getting on for five hundred guests. Probably doesn’t seem much to you, but to me that is some big party!

  Now the jamboree’s over. They’ve gone on honeymoon to Japan of all places. And I’m back home here sorting out a few things and making a few plans. The station has a good manager in Toby Masters (fellow in his fifties, been with Uncle Ches for years and more than happy to stay on, especially as he knows I know I can trust him and will give him no trouble). So I’m sparing myself these two months away that I planned earlier. I’m having a lazy beach holiday in March and I’m really looking forward to spending April in England.

  They tell me I’d do better to wait till June or July weatherwise, but weather’s never bothered
me much. If you’re a slave to the calendar, you don’t get so much fun out of life.

  I hope that you and all your family are keeping well, especially the old folks. My own pa died ten years back and I lost my ma when I was fifteen. I’ve never been really lonely though. I’m not the type. But a jolly family, three generations in one big house, is something to admire.

  Can’t say how much I look forward to seeing you all. I’ll send you more details of when I’ll be coming after I’ve made all the arrangements. In the meantime, perhaps you’ll find time to send me a line or two. Hoping you enjoyed your Christmas and are having a happy New Year,

  Kindest regards,

  Albert

  Vinetta stooped down and picked the envelope off the floor. Carefully she folded the pages and put them back. Her lips were tense with worry. The clock on the mantelpiece said ten past eight.

  “Ten past eight,” she sighed, “and I’m not even dressed yet. What a start to the day!”

  13

  * * *

  More Problems

  “WHAT ARE WE to do?”

  Vinetta pulled the cords to open Granpa’s curtains. It was ten o’clock and the winter sun streamed in. Outside was a brilliant white world. Inside it was a bit shivery, but beginning to warm up with the heat from Granpa’s two-bar electric fire that Vinetta had thoughtfully switched on even before she let the light into the room. The counterpane, she noticed, was carefully draped over the foot that still protruded over the side of the bed.

  Vinetta handed Granpa the letter as he grunted into consciousness and pulled himself up higher on his pillows. He read it quickly without a word. Then, still without speaking, he slid it back into the envelope.

  “Has Joshua read it?” he then demanded.

  “No, of course not. He’s still sleeping. I never wake him up before ten-thirty on a Saturday.”

  “It’s addressed to him,” said Granpa huffily. “He should have had it first by rights.”

  “It’s addressed to all of us,” explained Vinetta. “We are included in the ‘and Family’, aren’t we?”

  “Only Joshua is mentioned by name,” insisted Sir Magnus a little jealously.

  “That’s because Joshua’s name was on the letter we wrote. Remember, we thought it safest to keep you in the background.”

  Sir Magnus gave her a grumpy look but contented himself with saying, “I suppose so.”

  “Well,” said Vinetta, going back to her original question, “what are we going to do?”

  “Not much we can do,” said Granpa in a defeated voice. “Get the others up here and see what we come up with if we pool our ideas.”

  At that moment Tulip came in. She had been downstairs in the breakfast room since eight-thirty and had already read Albert’s letter.

  “What do you make of it?” she asked, nodding at the envelope Sir Magnus was still holding. “Not much use telling him another string of lies. We’re cornered this time, and no mistake.”

  “Get the others,” barked Sir Magnus, glowering at his little wife. They were cornered, true enough, but rubbing it in didn’t help.

  Only Appleby failed to appear.

  Soobie came from his chair in the lounge. Poopie and Wimpey came in from the back garden, somewhat reluctantly, with soggy hands and still wearing their damp wellingtons.

  “Out of here!” insisted Tulip. “Go to your own rooms and change into slippers at once. You are dripping all over the carpet.”

  When they returned, Appleby still had not appeared.

  “Where’s the brains of the family?” asked Granpa.

  “Appleby?” queried Vinetta.

  “Yes, who else? I’d hardly mean Googles or even Miss Quigley.”

  “Appleby’s fast asleep, Magnus,” said Vinetta. “I tried to rouse her, but you know what she is like. She was prowling around very early this morning and now she looks set to sleep for a week.”

  Had it been anybody else Granpa would have insisted on the offender being dragged sleeping into his presence. But not Appleby.

  “Leave her,” said the old man charitably. “When we’ve run out of ideas she’ll come up with something fresh. She’s as bright as a button.”

  “I have ideas,” said Poopie. His eyes, bright blue button eyes, glared from under his yellow fringe. “I have lots of ideas.”

  “Well, let’s hear them then,” said Granpa drily.

  “We could close the curtains and lock the doors and windows and hide up here till he goes away.”

  “Brilliant!” drawled Magnus and didn’t even bother to explain how futile that would be.

  “What about you, Soobie? Can you produce some stroke of genius?” Granpa’s tone was just sarcastic enough to nettle the blue Mennym.

  “You’re supposed to be the one with all the pearls of wisdom,” Soobie said. “Haven’t you got one to fit this situation?”

  Granpa looked furious. “We’ll have less of that, young man, or I’ll have you put out in the snow.”

  “Now, now,” said Vinetta soothingly, “let’s not get upset. Tell Granpa you are sorry, Soobie.”

  Soobie’s face turned bluer than ever as he suppressed his temper.

  “I’m sorry,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound sorry a bit.

  Granpa chose to ignore the tone and said loftily, “Your apology is graciously accepted. Now produce an idea.”

  Soobie looked thoughtful.

  “Not one of us has thought of anything sensible yet. The only thing I can say with certainty is that we will eventually. Necessity is the mother of invention. That is one of your pearls of wisdom, Granpa.” He kept a very straight face.

  “Humph!” said Granpa. “At least you are thinking. The rest of them are either numb or dumb.”

  “Well,” said Soobie, “for a start, I’ll have to hide in the attic till he’s gone. The rest of you might manage some sort of disguise, but a blue Mennym is impossible to pass off as human, even with glasses and a beard.”

  At that moment, Appleby put in an appearance. Granpa’s door opened wide to the wall and she flounced in.

  “What am I missing?” she demanded in an accusing voice. She stood there looking all stiff knees and stiff elbows in a pose that was deliberately impudent. “What are you all doing behind my back?”

  Vinetta gave her a withering look. Joshua, more tolerant, was about to explain. Before he could speak, however, Sir Magnus raised himself up from his pillows and beckoned to his favourite in a friendly fashion.

  “I hear you got up a bit too early this morning,” he said in tones far more pleasant than he would have used to any other latecomer. “Feeling rested now?”

  “Yes, Granpa,” replied Appleby sweetly. “Now, what exactly is the problem?”

  Granpa explained very briefly. He knew it was not necessary to hammer points home with Appleby. For all her little faults, she was a sharp lass, worth two of any of the others.

  Appleby brightened.

  “There’s all sorts we can do. Soobie’s right about hiding in the attic. We can put Googles there too, and Miss Quigley. I’m sure Miss Quigley could look after Googles and keep her quiet. That leaves Granpa, Granny Tulip, Dad and Mum, and Poopie and Wimpey. And me, of course!”

  “I can be a spaceman with a helmet on,” said Poopie.

  “Idiot!” said Appleby. “That’s no better than being a rag doll. Can you imagine what Albert would think if you stood there with a helmet on and never showed your face?”

  Sir Magnus glowered at Poopie but said nothing.

  “I could pretend to be a doll,” said Wimpey. “I’m not as big as the rest of you. I can stay in the basket chair in Appleby’s bedroom and if Albert Pond decides to look around the house, I know I could stay ever so still when he came to Appleby’s room.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Appleby, “and Poopie will just have to go in the attic with the others. I’m not sure whether Albert Pond knows you two exist, but we’ll tell him that the twins are at boarding school, just in case.
”

  “So far, so good,” said Granpa, chewing his moustache, “but what about the ones who have to meet the fellow? How are we going to pass ourselves off?”

  “You will stay in bed, Granpa,” said Appleby, as if he ever did anything else. “We’ll buy some thicker net curtains and we can keep the velvet ones nearly shut. You can have a pair of spectacles with lenses like bottle bottoms. That will hide your eyes. You can keep your hands under the counterpane. If you nod your head at him graciously he won’t expect to shake hands.”

  “What if it’s dark when he comes? Electric light is very revealing.”

  “Low watt bulbs. Dark lampshades. We might even get away with just having the bedside lamp lit. We can tell him that your eyes are troubling you.”

  “What about the rest of us?” asked Vinetta. “We can’t all lie in bed and wear thick glasses.”

  “You are speaking to someone who has been to the cinema hundreds of times, and even to the occasional disco. I can pass myself off as human with very little effort. I’ll wear my dark glasses with the butterfly frames, all my mod clothes and the big hairy wig. I can even keep my multi-coloured gloves on. Teenagers these days can get away with anything. It is our world.” Appleby looked triumphant.

  “And what about me and Dad?” insisted Vinetta. “We are not teenagers.”

  “No,” giggled Appleby. “I must say I cannot see the two of you looking the part in my gear.”

  “So we are stuck.”

  “No, not really,” continued Appleby. “We can have thick curtains and low watt bulbs all over the house. As for you, Mum, the least human thing about you is your eyes. I think you should wear a pair of blue-tinted spectacles. And maybe that high-necked dress with the frilled collar to shade your jawline. Your hands and your hair are beautiful.”

  Vinetta’s hands really were very good. They were one of Kate’s major successes being complete with separate, well-formed fingers. Vinetta had long ago fixed false fingernails to their tips. It made shopping so much easier. But they still felt like cloth. Nothing could give them the feel of flesh.