by Nina Bawden
I looked at George. I remembered that Plato was my brother. I said, “No, he’s not well. He has asthma and the pollen count’s high.”
George said in a growly voice, “We’re kidnappers. We’re kidnapping you.” He sniggered and put his hand over his mouth.
“Stop that, George,” the grandmother said automatically, as if it was something she had to say to him rather frequently.
Annabel said, “George is silly. If you come home with us, you can see Hugo.”
Excitement beat in my head like Aunt Sophie’s drums. I thought, my name is Aliki Jones and my brother is Plato. Since that’s all they know, I can make up the rest, like a story. I said, “Is Hugo your baby brother? You told Plato and me that his name was Horatio Humphrey.”
We were walking towards the main gate. Annabel put her small hand in mine. She said, “Mummy changed her mind after Daddy went off to sea. She thinks Hugo is nicer.”
It seemed a bit hard on my father. It was even a bit hard on me! I had got used to the idea of Horatio Humphrey, even though I’d not seen him. Hugo sounded a quite different person.
The grandmother said, “I’m sure Daddy will be pleased, Annabel.” She spoke stiffly, as if she didn’t altogether believe this. She gave a small cough, and added, “Horatio is a big name for such a small baby.”
“Daddy said he would grow into it,” Annabel said.
We were in Shipshape Street. My mouth had dried up with terror. We stopped at the gate. I said, “I’m all right now. Honestly. I could just go on home.”
The grandmother was. getting the door key out of her purse. She said, “It’s up to you, dear. But you’re very welcome. And you still look a bit peely-wally. We could ring your mother, if you like, ask her to come and fetch you.”
I nearly said, “My mother is dead.” I stopped myself in time. I said, “What’s peely-wally?”
Annabel was tugging my hand. “It’s something my Daddy says when people aren’t well. Aliki, please come in and see Hugo.”
She pronounced the name Alley-key. I said, laughing, “It’s A-Lee-Key.”
“Greek,” the grandmother said. “Isn’t it?”
She was having trouble opening the door. Either the lock was stiff, or she wasn’t used to it, or her hands were arthritic.
I shook with impatience. Why couldn’t she open the door and get on with it? And at the same time I wished I could faint and be carried off in an ambulance to a clean, quiet, safe hospital.
The door jerked open. Someone said, “Sorry, mother. Ted promised he’d see to the door, but of course he forgot it. I’d have been quicker, only I wasn’t expecting you back quite so soon.”
I saw, when I dared to look, that Amy was very pretty; hair thick and curly like Annabel’s, and huge bright eyes fringed with long lashes. She looked at me, one eyebrow arched, smiling.
Annabel said, “It’s A-Lee-Key, Mummy. She’s come to see Hugo.”
“She’s had a shock, Amy,” the grandmother said. She spoke in a low, mysterious voice. I thought she must be the kind of grown-up who believes unpleasant things should be hidden from children.
Amy said, with a laugh in her voice. “All right, mother. I’ll hear in a minute. Annabel, take Aliki into the conservatory.”
George was running ahead, and Annabel was pulling me after him. We went through the hall, which had several rooms leading off it, into a kind of porch at the back of the house: a big extension with glass on three sides and a glass roof with a vine growing across it, that shed a shifting, green light. There was a red tiled floor, and wicker chairs with bright cushions, and cats everywhere: white cats, spotted cats, tawny cats. (Only five when I counted, but they seemed more to begin with.) “Doesn’t your dog mind?” I asked, and Annabel answered, “Oh, Bucket hates them. He would kill them if they were silly enough to let him catch them in the garden, but they know they’re safe indoors, so they just wave their tails and hiss at him.”
She sounded so composed and grown-up that I wanted to hug her. I said, “Is Bucket your dog?”
“No, he’s George’s. My Daddy bought him for George so he wouldn’t be jealous over the baby.” She squeezed my hand and tugged harder. “Come and see Hugo.”
I could see a pram under a tree in the garden.
Behind us, Amy was laughing. “Annabel, darling, not everyone is as keen on babies as you are. Aliki, take off your backpack and sit down a minute. My mother says you had a horrid time in the cemetery. You shouldn’t have been wandering around on your own, but I expect you realise that now so I’ll spare you the lecture. Would you like some lemonade? I make it myself, and it’s rather delicious.”
She sounded so kind. And she looked beautiful. I stared at her and she put her hand up to her hair. “Am I such a mess?”
I shook my head. “No. Just pretty.”
She bent her neck in a queenly way as if she were used to such compliments. She said, “Thank you, Aliki,” pronouncing the name quite correctly, and then, “Tell Annabel if you want to go to the bathroom. The towels are all clean, I’ve just changed them.”
I thought I was probably too dirty to use their clean bathroom. I took off my backpack, which looked fairly dirty too, and put it down on the floor by the chair I was sitting on. George started fiddling with the metal buckle that fastened the top flap and his sister and grandmother said in unison, “Stop that, George!” They looked at each other and laughed.
“I only wanted to look,” George said in a sulky voice.
“He thinks there might be a present for him,” Annabel said. “He’s silly, isn’t he, Granny?”
She sounded so smug I felt sorry for George. He glanced at me shyly, and muttered, “I’m not silly, An’bel. Oh, I hate you.”
“That’s enough, George,” the grandmother said, and he flung himself down on the floor behind my wicker chair. I looked round and saw him, scrooged up very small.
The grandmother smiled at me. She said, “He’ll be all right in a minute.”
“Not George in a tantrum again?” Amy said, coming into the conservatory with a tray, a jug of lemonade, and several tall glasses.
“He was being silly, Mummy,” Annabel said virtuously.
“And you had to tell him, of course,” Amy said. She put the tray on a table and picked up the jug. “Who wants lemonade? I’ll pour some for George and he can come when he feels like it. Do you want a full glass, Annabel darling?”
I thought she was clever and nice, as well as pretty. She had called Annabel darling to make up for telling her off, and made it easy for George to stop sulking without fussing over him.
The lemonade was delicious, as she had said it would be, with just enough sweetness to stop your mouth wrinkling up. She asked where I lived and I told her in Ilford, which was several stations from Bow on the Underground. I told her that Plato and I lived with our father and mother and our mother’s grandmother in a big house with a croquet lawn and a tennis court. I told her that Plato was better at croquet than I was, but that I usually beat him at tennis. I told her that we had one cat and five dogs, all Great Danes, and that I bred white rats as a hobby. Then she asked me what I was doing in Bow, and although I was taken aback for a minute, my tooth began aching again and gave me an answer. I said that my mother had lived in Bow years ago when she was young and that our whole family went to the dentist who had looked after her teeth all her life. His name was Mr Savage, and he was old now, so he only took very few patients, but he was a good dentist, well worth the journey.
She seemed to be interested in what I was telling her. At least, she kept an interested look on her face. I thought that Plato would be proud of me!
All the time I was talking, George was creaking my wicker chair from behind, but no one except me seemed to notice.
Annabel said, “I think the pram’s moving a bit. Hugo’s waking up, Mummy.”
Amy laughed. “Oh, all right, darling. Take Aliki to inspect the miracle if you want to.” She looked at me with amusement. “I hope you won�
��t be disappointed, Aliki. He’s really a very ordinary baby.” She raised her voice a little. “Much smaller than George was when he was born. George was a big boy—twice Hugo’s size and with a great deal more hair.”
Behind me George gave a little giggly snort, quickly stifled. He was busy sliding my backpack into his hiding place, inch by inch, very slowly. I didn’t see any reason to stop him. Even if it seemed a bit odd that I was carrying this collection of toys and books around with me, no one would be rude enough to say so, and it would be nice to have a chance to give George one of the presents that had been meant for him anyway.
As I stood up, I gave the backpack a little shove with my heel, helping it on its way.
“Come on,” Annabel said impatiently. She was jigging up and down with excitement.
I followed her across the lawn to the tree. The baby, wrapped in a shawl and lying on his side, was looking about him with an eye that seemed all black pupil, no white showing. His tiny mouth was opening and closing as if he were a fish.
“He’s beginning to be hungry,” Annabel whispered. “If he wasn’t all wrapped up, he’d wave his fists about.” Very gently, she unwrapped the shawl, using her good hand. With her other hand, with the pink lump where her thumb should have been, she stroked Hugo’s cheek.
I said, “Hallo, Hugo.”
“He doesn’t know his name yet,” Annabel said. “Sometimes I call him Horatio, just in case. Which name do you like best?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t really know him well enough yet.”
I had a wonderful idea. If I went on being Aliki Jones, I would be able to get to know them all better. I was old enough to travel about on my own, so Amy would be unlikely to question me. If she did get doubtful, Plato could telephone and put on his deep voice and pretend he was my father and say that he hoped I wasn’t being a nuisance. He could talk about Mr Savage, the dentist, and explain that I had to have a lot of work done on my teeth these summer holidays, so I would be coming to Bow several times a week. He could even suggest that I would be happy to help with the children if Amy needed a rest, or free time to go shopping with her mother. I couldn’t baby-sit at night, or not late, anyway, but I could bath them and put them to bed and read them a story …
I wanted to laugh and jump. I was so happy, suddenly.
The wind had got up and the sun had come out, slanting over the storm clouds that were sailing away, high up in the gusty air. It glinted on the glass extension at the back of the house and shone on Amy and George in the conservatory. Amy had her arm around the little boy and their heads were bent over something that he was holding, that he was showing her. The grandmother was standing just outside the door, looking in at them.
The musical box started playing its tinkly tune. Annabel said, “That’s the same music they play on the telephone.”
I had been prepared for this. I said, “Oh, it’s a common tune. What musical boxes often play. It’s a lullaby. They play it on the telephone to send people to sleep.”
Amy was on her feet now, in the doorway, talking to her mother. She began waving her arms about. George was holding the musical box close to his chest. They were all looking towards us.
Hugo began to struggle and cry. One little hand appeared, fingers snaggled up in the holes of the shawl. I tried to free them, and he cried louder.
Annabel said, “He’s not comfortable. You have to pick him up and give him a cuddle and straighten the sheet.”
She sounded confident that this was the right thing to do. I picked him up carefully and held him with one arm while I smoothed out the bottom sheet. He was hot and damp and wriggly, and heavier than I had expected.
I said, “Hush, Hugo. Hush, Horatio. It’s all right, I’ve got you.”
In the conservatory, Amy began to scream, a high steady whistle, like a train in a cutting.
It frightened me. I thought, I am going to drop the baby! I clutched him with both arms and squeezed him tight. He arched his back and turned scarlet, holding his breath.
The grandmother was running towards me. Her face was like crumpled paper. She said breathlessly, “Give him to me, Jane.”
“Jane?”
I knew I had done something dreadfully wrong. Not by pretending to be someone else—though how she had found out, I couldn’t imagine: It was much worse than that. As if I had dropped the baby. But I hadn’t dropped Hugo. I was holding him close and safe.
She took him from me. She said, “There, babykins, all right, my flower, stop crying will you?” And she gave him a little shake, almost as if she were angry with him for making such a fuss about nothing, and plonked him down in his pram and joggled it fiercely. She looked at me and said in a soft, hurried voice, “What are you doing here? Oh, you silly girl! You poor, silly child!”
I said, “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to hurt him.” I had no idea why I said that. I hadn’t hurt Hugo. It was as if someone else spoke inside me.
“No. No, of course you didn’t. It’s not your fault that he cried, babies cry when they’re hungry,” she said. And then, sounding shaky, “Don’t be frightened, dear. Amy’s just …”
She stopped. She looked frightened herself; her soft mouth loose and quivering.
Amy was coming across the lawn. She was thumping her chest with clenched fists. She looked utterly different. A stranger I had not seen before. Her face had fallen apart, as if a mirror she looked in had broken, shattering her reflection into savage pieces. Her eyes stared at me out of this stranger’s cracked face. She said, “You wicked girl. Get away from my baby. Oh, how could Teddy have done this to me. Oh, how cruel! As if you hadn’t done enough damage to my poor little family.”
I had heard that voice before. It was a voice from a nightmare, from a bad dream I used to have when I was little, from which I woke screaming …
The grandmother put herself between me and Amy. “Darling Amy, stop it now. Everything’s all right. You’re all right. Hugo’s all right. Come into the house and sit down. I’ll see to everything. She’s going now. Jane is going. You mustn’t be angry. She’s just a child, she didn’t mean any harm.”
“It’s you meant the harm, mother,” Amy said, in the same terrible voice. “It’s your doing. You brought her here, you and Teddy between you, what a vile thing to do. How you must hate me.”
She flung herself backwards and forwards. The grandmother held on to her firmly. Although she was old, she must have been strong. Or perhaps Amy was only pretending to struggle against her.
Annabel said, “Mummy.” She was sobbing, her face twisted up, hands to her ears. “Oh, please stop it, Mummy. It’s not Aliki’s fault. She didn’t pinch Hugo like George does. She didn’t do anything.”
“Go indoors, Annabel,” the grandmother said. “Take George upstairs and watch television. That’s the most helpful thing you can do for your mother. And for Aliki.”
She looked at me then and, surprisingly, raised her eyebrows and smiled. Quite an ordinary smile, as if she were deploring some small piece of rudeness. She said, “Go with Annabel, dear. I’ll come in a minute.”
But Annabel was already running across the grass to the house.
I said, “No, I’ll go away now. I’m sorry I came.”
I started to cry. I was ashamed to be crying in front of my grandmother. I had always thought that if I met any relations, I would be smiling and poised and make them feel happy to know me.
“Let me go, mother,” Amy moaned. “Hugo’s crying.”
The grandmother released her, and Amy dived at the pram and picked up the baby and sank to the ground with him. She undid her blouse and one full breast tumbled out. She said, “There my lamb, there my sweet Hugo.” And then, without looking up, “Send her away, mother. Make her take that hateful music box with her.”
I ran to the house. The musical box was in the conservatory, on the floor, where George must have dropped it. I thought of him, scared and running to hide, and how I had meant to be a kind and lov
ing big sister. I found myself sobbing, deep in my chest. I picked up the box and ran into the hall. Suddenly I wanted to pee very badly.
The front door had a funny catch that I couldn’t open, and the grandmother was there, in the hall. She said, “Jane, I’m so sorry.”
She put her hand on my arm. I said, “I can’t open the door.”
She said, “Wait a minute.”
She was holding my arm very firmly. I had been right; she was strong. But my other hand was free. I undid the catch and jerked the door open.
She said, “Jane. Listen.”
I said, “Why does she hate me?”
“She doesn’t. Oh, dear. She was shocked. Upset. Oh, it’s so difficult.”
She wasn’t holding me any longer. She was hugging herself as if she were cold. She said, “Turning up suddenly, pretending to be someone else. Whoever put that idea into your head? I can’t believe it was Sophie!”
“It was my idea,” I said. “No one else’s.”
She sighed and shook her head and then said reproachfully, “Well, you shouldn’t have done it, dear. It was naughty!”
I thought that was a silly word in the circumstances. As if I were a baby who had dropped a sucked biscuit over the side of her high chair. Or spat in her milk. I pushed past her without answering. Out of the house, up the path to the gate.
She called after me. “Jane. It isn’t your fault. Let me explain.”
I looked back. She was peering after me anxiously. My grandmother! She hadn’t known me. She hadn’t wanted to know me. She would never have known me if Amy hadn’t recognised me.
My tooth was hurting again. I needed a lavatory. I was very angry.
I shouted, “I know what happened! You don’t have to tell me!”
Chapter Twelve
I knew some of it, anyway.
I sat in the swaying Underground train, my tooth aching, my bladder bursting, and watched my ghostly face jigging up and down the other side of the window.
I held the musical box on my lap, the lid open. The tune had stopped playing. It was all broken now, not just the small drummers.