Layla Queen of Hearts

by Glenda Millard

  ‘Where are you and that sissy boyfriend of yours going?’ asked Patrick the next morning. Mrs Elliott had told him that Layla was going somewhere with Nell and Griffin after school and that she wouldn’t be home until later. Patrick was twelve. He had pimples on his face and the beginnings of a moustache, and he teased Layla all the time. Next year he would go to high school on the bus. Layla couldn’t wait.

  ‘It’s a secret,’ said Layla, with what she hoped was an air of great mystery. She threaded her arms through the straps of her school bag and opened the door. ‘And Griffin is not a sissy!’ she said as she slammed it behind her.

  She was glad that her brother hadn’t said anything about what she was wearing. Layla had chosen her clothes carefully that morning. She wore a dress. She had taken it out from where it was folded in the bottom drawer and looked at it for a while before she put it on. She remembered everything about that dress. She held it to her face and closed her eyes. It was old and washed and worn. It was white with faded red hearts on it. It had a frill around the bottom and a thin, red velvet ribbon around the waist. She put it on and stood in front of the mirror. The dress was too short now, but that didn’t matter. She knew that her heart would never, ever grow out of it. Layla put her arms out and slowly twirled, and the dress floated like a dream around her.

  Griffin noticed the dress. ‘It’s very pretty,’ he said, and Layla let him touch the cloth and feel the velvet ribbon.

  ‘My nana made it for me,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you didn’t have a nana,’ said Griffin.

  ‘I used to have one,’ said Layla, ‘and she used to call me her Queen of Hearts.’

  6. Plan B

  Nell met Layla and Griffin on the corner of Chapel Street with leftover lamingtons and an armful of red and gold leaves.

  ‘I thought we could all go together,’ she said, ‘then I can introduce you to Miss Amelie.’

  ‘Miss Amelie? Is that the name of The Last Resort?’

  A chuckle escaped Nell. ‘I suppose you could say that. Yes, Miss Amelie is the person we’re going to visit.’

  ‘Mum didn’t understand about The Last Resort,’ said Layla. ‘She thought it was some place where you go for a holiday.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Nell.

  ‘It’s like plan B,’ said Griffin.

  ‘I know that,’ said Layla, ‘Nell told me that a last resort is something you try when all else has failed. But it was hard to explain to Mum. Then I remembered Nell’s note and everything was okay.’

  ‘I’m glad about that,’ said Nell.

  ‘Me too,’ said Layla. ‘I can’t wait to meet Miss Amelie.’ She skipped along in the gutter for a while, rustling the fallen leaves with her sneakers, then she asked, ‘Nell, why didn’t we put Miss Amelie on the List of Likely Candidates?’

  ‘Because I’m not quite sure if she is a likely candidate.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘Well, she’s a bit forgetful and she gets muddled at new things or different places and people. So she doesn’t go out much. That’s why I visit her. But I thought that if you came with me each time I visited, she’d probably get used to you and she might even be persuaded to go to school with you on Senior Citizens’ Day.’

  ‘And you’ll be there, too,’ said Layla, tossing a handful of yellow leaves into the air, ‘and you make people feel not afraid of anything.’

  Nell squeezed Layla’s hand tight. ‘We’ll have to see what happens,’ she said.

  Miss Amelie was tall and thin, with straight, short, silver hair; not at all what Layla had expected. Not a bit like Nana had been. Miss Amelie wore neat tartan pants, a black sweater and sensible lace-up walking shoes. Her shoulders were slightly stooped and her head drooped shyly, the way a violet’s does.

  When Nell introduced Layla, Miss Amelie knitted her brows together and stared at Layla’s face, as though she was trying to remember something.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not yet,’ said Layla. Then she slipped her hand into Miss Amelie’s and squeezed it the way Nell had squeezed hers. ‘But don’t worry, Miss Amelie, you soon will.’

  Griffin was watching. He remembered the day he’d started school; when some of the big boys had been teasing him. Despite being smaller than he was, Layla had come to his rescue. Something told him that Layla was planning to rescue Miss Amelie too, although he couldn’t have said what it was that she needed rescuing from.

  ‘And this is my grandson, Griffin, Amelie,’ said Nell. Gravely Griffin offered his hand.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Amelie.’

  ‘Griffin,’ she said and the worried look came back. She went to a drawer near the sink and came back with a used envelope and a pencil. ‘Write it down,’ she said, handing them to Griffin.

  ‘What do you want me to write?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘The thing you told me,’ said Miss Amelie.

  ‘Your names, Griffin,’ said Nell, ‘yours and Layla’s, so that Miss Amelie can remember them.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Amelie nodding, ‘write your names.’

  Nell put the lamingtons on a plate and the leaves in a tall china vase and water in the kettle to make tea. Miss Amelie didn’t seem to mind at all, even though it was her house, not Nell’s.

  Griffin wrote Layla’s name and then his own in large clear letters on the envelope. He showed them to Miss Amelie, who read them out loud and looked very pleased. Then she fixed the envelope to the refrigerator with a magnet, beside the many other notes that were there.

  ‘Layla and Griffin,’ she said. ‘Griffin. I have a book about griffins.’

  ‘So has my Daddy,’ said Griffin. ‘It’s got lots of other mythical beasts in it too.’

  ‘Ah, myths and legends, beasts and books!’ said Miss Amelie, and Layla heard a sparkle in her voice and saw a spring in her step as she crossed the room and opened the door. Shelves of books covered two walls of Miss Amelie’s lounge room, from floor to ceiling. But amongst the hundreds of books, Miss Amelie knew exactly where to find the one about griffins. It was large and heavy with golden edges to its pages and a narrow blue ribbon with a tassel to mark items of interest. It was called Griffins and Gargoyles in Architecture. Miss Amelie put it on the table. ‘There,’ she said, ‘a whole book about griffins!’ She seemed very pleased about her book of griffins.

  She sat between Layla and Griffin and began to turn the glossy pages. On each of them were photographs of griffins: carved wooden griffins, marble griffins, bronze griffins and stone griffins. There were griffins on churches, on museums and in galleries. Miss Amelie had seen them all. She remembered in which year she had seen each one, in which month of that year and in which city. ‘In Vienna,’ she’d say, or, ‘in Rome. It was August and we ate vanilla ice-cream that day.’ She could even remember the weather. ‘It rained steadily in Paris on the day I first saw the Notre Dame.’

  While Miss Amelie talked and turned the pages of her life, Layla went with her to the faraway places, shared the sights, the sounds and the scents. The feeling that came over her was almost the same as when she sat with her daddy on the philosophising chair or when she took afternoon tea in the Kingdom of Silk. And, like her daddy and the Silks, Miss Amelie didn’t seem to mind that Layla’s curiosity was unquenchable. She answered every question politely and as patiently as though it was the very first one.

  So when Nell said that it was time to go, Layla was surprised and disappointed. And so, it seemed, was Miss Amelie.

  ‘So soon?’ she said. ‘Will you come again?’

  ‘Of course, Amelie,’ said Nell.

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Would you like them to?’

  ‘Yes, I want them to come back,’ said Miss Amelie, wringing her hands together. ‘People say they’ll come back, but they never do.’

  ‘We will, Miss Amelie,’ said Layla, ‘cross my heart.’ But Miss Amelie’s hands were still restless and Layla could see that she needed reas
surance. So although it was only her very first visit Layla said, ‘I’m going to put you right on top of my Main Contenders list, Miss Amelie.’ Miss Amelie was completely speechless then and Layla supposed that it was because she was so surprised.

  As they walked towards Layla’s house, Nell said, ‘Layla, I want you to remember that even though you might like Miss Amelie very much, it will still be up to her whether or not she comes to Senior Citizens’ Day. There’s also a possibility that even if she does agree, she might forget about it. That’s why she wasn’t on your List of Likely Candidates.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Layla.

  ‘It’s just that I don’t want you to be disappointed. Now, you’re sure you want to come with me again on Wednesday?’

  ‘Wednesday, couldn’t we go tomorrow?’ asked Layla. ‘Miss Amelie might think we’re not coming back if we don’t go tomorrow. Couldn’t Griffin and I go by ourselves? Please, Nell?’

  ‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea,’ said Nell. ‘It takes her a while to get used to different people and things. She might get in a dither if you arrive by yourselves and she can’t remember who you are.’

  ‘But I wrote our names down for her,’ said Griffin. ‘And she remembered all about the griffins she saw a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nell, ‘but Miss Amelie can remember things from a long time ago much better than things that have just happened. When I first began to visit her, she’d forget, every time, that we’d met before. But rather than upset her by telling her that she already knew me, I’d just behave as though it was the first time I’d been there and introduce myself all over again. Even now, sometimes it takes her a moment or two to remember. So I think it would be best if we all went together again on Wednesday. If she sees me with you, she’s more likely to remember that she’s met you before.’

  Layla made up her mind right then that if Nell had been prepared to make-believe for Miss Amelie’s sake, then so would she. But already there was a little ache inside her that wanted Miss Amelie to remember her and it was separate from the part of her that wanted Miss Amelie to be a Likely Candidate.

  7. Consequences

  One of Mr Elliott’s favourite sayings was ‘for every action there is a consequence’. He said it was one of the rules of life and that it was important everyone knew about it. Layla often heard him quoting this rule to Patrick, although Patrick never seemed very interested that the things he did caused other things to happen. Layla, on the other hand, was very interested, for on many occasions a consequence cannot be known or even guessed at. Layla’s gift of two photographs to Miss Amelie was an action where the final consequence was to be one of great mystery.

  The idea about the photographs didn’t come to Layla until she and Griffin had visited Miss Amelie several times. On each of these occasions they had to remind her who they were and to pretend for her sake, just as Nell had, that this was their first visit. As soon as Griffin’s name was mentioned, Layla imagined a bell going ‘ding’ inside Miss Amelie’s head as she remembered her book with the gilt-edged pages, Griffins and Gargoyles in Architecture. Then, just like clockwork, she’d hurry across and take it down from the shelves.

  ‘There,’ she’d say, ‘a whole book about griffins!’ And only then, when everything seemed to be exactly as it had been the time before, was Miss Amelie content.

  This led Layla in search of other ways that might help Miss Amelie remember. The next time Miss Amelie opened her door, she looked straight at the bold writing on the sticky labels on the chests of Layla and Griffin. She read out their names, twice over.

  ‘Layla, Griffin. Layla and Griffin.’ Then, after a short space left for thinking, Miss Amelie looked at Nell and said, ‘You’ve brought Layla and Griffin, Nell!’

  And Nell said, ‘Yes, Amelie,’ in such an ordinary, everyday sort of voice that no one, except for Layla and Griffin, would have known that this was a significant moment. It was such a significant moment that Layla’s journal entry the following day at school read: Miss Amelie remembered me and Griffin all by herself and it was because of the sticky notes.

  Layla began to visit Miss Amelie every day after school from then on, usually with Nell and Griffin, but sometimes just she and Griffin went. Most days Miss Amelie remembered right away who they were, but there were still a few occasions when it took a little longer. Those few were the reason that Layla had brought the photographs of unknown consequence with her; one of herself and one of Griffin. She had glued them to pieces of white cardboard and written their names under them. These photographs led to Layla discovering much about Miss Amelie and a little about someone called John William.

  It was the first time she had visited Miss Amelie all by herself.

  When Layla gave her the photographs, Miss Amelie said, ‘For me?’ Layla could tell by the sound of her voice and the way her eyebrows shot up under her silver fringe that she was pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Yes, you can keep them,’ said Layla.

  ‘I have many photographs,’ said Miss Amelie, ‘but none like these.’ She leaned them against the vase that held the autumn leaves that Nell had brought down from the Kingdom of Silk. Miss Amelie didn’t sweep the fallen ones into the rubbish like Mrs Elliott would have. She left them on the table where they looked every bit as beautiful as they had done in the vase.

  ‘Can we look at your photographs, Miss Amelie?’ asked Layla. Miss Amelie’s photographs were as neat as she was. They were kept in albums, held in place with tiny golden triangles on chocolate-brown pages and separated by sheets of almost-transparent tissue paper. Through the tissue, the old photographs looked like dreams.

  Layla took her shoes off, so that she could sit up on the sofa with Miss Amelie and look at the photographs. At first Miss Amelie was distracted by Layla’s toenails. She told Layla that she had never seen toenails painted pink with red hearts. She couldn’t stop looking at them and Layla could tell that she was impressed.

  ‘You just paint them and stick the hearts on when they’re dry,’ she explained. ‘I could do yours if you like. Nell lets me paint hers sometimes when her corns aren’t playing up and sometimes, when the Rainbow Girls aren’t home, Griffin lets me do his.’ When Miss Amelie didn’t answer, Layla added, ‘I’ve got other stickers. If you don’t like hearts you could have stars.’ Still Miss Amelie didn’t say a word and Layla thought that she might have muddled her a bit, and she didn’t want that to happen. But as it turned out, Miss Amelie wasn’t muddled at all; she had just been thinking.

  ‘I do like hearts,’ she said, ‘like the ones on your dress, your Queen of Hearts dress.’ Layla was not prepared for another significant moment so soon after the last one, especially one as astonishing as this. How could Miss Amelie have known that this was what Nana had called the dress?

  ‘How did you know?’ she asked, but Miss Amelie’s thoughts had taken her to somewhere else.

  ‘That’s what John William calls me,’ she said, ‘his Queen of Hearts.’

  ‘Who is John William?’ asked Layla.

  ‘I’ll find a picture of him,’ Miss Amelie said. But there were many albums and many photographs; photographs of long ago when Miss Amelie was a baby, and of later on when she was a young woman, a school teacher, when her shoulders had been straight, not stooped, and her hair was long and dark like Layla’s. And when it was time for Layla to go home, still John William had not been found. But Layla would learn that although Miss Amelie sometimes got muddled, there were some things she never forgot. John William was one of them.

  ‘Goodbye, Layla,’ she said, ‘I’ll look for John William while you’re away.’

  When Layla went back to Miss Amelie’s it was Friday and there were only five days left before Seniors’ Day. Miss Amelie was waiting at her gate. Layla and Griffin could see her from the corner. It was the first time they had seen Miss Amelie outside. They waved to her, but she didn’t wave back and Layla had the feeling that something was not quite right.

  ‘C’mon Gr
iff, let’s run,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen my John William?’ asked Miss Amelie when they arrived. But she wasn’t looking at them. Her eyes were staring down the road into the distance.

  ‘No,’ said Layla. ‘You were going to find a picture of him for me. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I thought you might have seen him on the way here,’ said Miss Amelie.

  ‘What does he look like?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘He’s a tall and handsome young man,’ she said. Layla couldn’t think of any tall and handsome young men they’d seen that day.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Amelie, ‘I felt sure that he would come today.’

  ‘Has he been here before?’ asked Layla, wondering if Miss Amelie’s visitor had lost his way.

  ‘Oh yes, John William was born at Cameron’s Creek.’

  ‘Then maybe he’ll come later,’ said Layla. ‘How is he getting here?’

  ‘He went away on the train,’ said Miss Amelie.

  ‘Will he come back on the train too?’ asked Layla.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Well, that’s okay then,’ said Layla. ‘John William won’t be home till later. The train hasn’t come yet.’

  ‘Later, he’ll come later?’

  ‘Yes, it’s too early for the train. Can we go inside now, Miss Amelie? You could show us John William’s picture and then Griffin and I will know who he is when he comes.’ At last Miss Amelie was persuaded to go into her house, where a photograph album lay open on the kitchen table.

  ‘Look, there he is. There’s John William and me,’ said Miss Amelie. Layla and Griffin looked where Miss Amelie was pointing.

  ‘Who is John William?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘John William is my beau,’ answered Miss Amelie, and her violet head tilted to one side the way the head sometimes will when a secret escapes the heart.