Mennyms in the Wilderness

by Sylvia Waugh

  “I think I’ll just go straight to bed if you don’t mind,” said Albert. “I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  They helped Sir Magnus up to his own bedroom. Then Albert went to the guest room on the floor below (Soobie’s room really) and as soon as his head touched the pillow he went out like a light. His first lecture in the morning was at eleven o’clock, a lecture fortunately and not a tutorial. He would stand behind his desk and deliver his thoughts on Charlemagne as he had done year after year for the past five years. He had begun to think that there were some lectures he could do in his sleep. This might have to be one of them!

  41

  Friday

  VINETTA LOOKED ROUND the kitchen: her own sink, her own cooker, her own table and chairs. The warmth of their familiarity enfolded her. The twin-tub was less endearing. She remembered regretfully the automatic left behind at Comus House. Still, she thought, one can’t expect to have everything.

  The clock on the wall said five-thirty. Tulip came in.

  “Have you not been to bed yet either?”

  “No,” said Vinetta. “I felt too wound up. I wanted to get used to being home.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Tulip. “I’ve sat in the breakfast-room sorting out papers for the past hour, though I know it would make more sense to leave it till morning.”

  “Joshua will be pleased we’re back,” said Vinetta.

  Tulip gave a short laugh.

  “He’ll probably forget we’ve ever been away. You’ll see! He’ll come in and find us all here. He might mumble something. Then he’ll sit down and drink his morning cup of tea as if nothing had happened. I know my son!”

  Vinetta smiled. It was an exaggeration, but not too far from the mark.

  “I think I had better go and lie down for a couple of hours,” she said. “If everything is to be back to normal in the morning, it’ll pay me to have a rest whilst I can.”

  Soobie slept uneasily on the settee in the lounge. It was comfortable enough and the room was much more homely than the library at Comus House, but the travel through the night and the speed with which everything had happened left him with a feeling very much like jet-lag . . .

  The kidnap on Tuesday night, the escape on Wednesday, the spies on Thursday, Albert’s return on Thursday evening to take them home. It had all happened with dizzy speed, as if the months of misery had collapsed into a black hole and were swirling around and around.

  When morning came – Friday morning – could it really just be Friday? – Soobie woke before daybreak, sat up on the settee and switched on a table-lamp. The clock on the mantelpiece said six-thirty-five. He had slept for no more than two hours. He looked round the room and felt a surge of contentment. There would be time enough for sleeping later.

  “We’re home,” he said out loud. “I thought we’d never make it.” His whole being was filled with thankfulness for their safe return. By evening of this very day the country boys would be lighting their bonfire on Tidy Hill.

  Albert came down, bleary-eyed, at seven-thirty. He had a quick breakfast and then looked in on Soobie.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Fine,” said Soobie. “Wonderful, Albert. Couldn’t be better.”

  “I’m going now,” said Albert. “I won’t be seeing you for a week or so. There are so many things I have to catch up on. My sleep for a start! But don’t worry, I’ll be back. If there’s anything really urgent, you know how to get in touch.”

  Vinetta did go to bed, but she could not sleep. She was as excited as a child. Her own kitchen, her own hall, her own territory . . . and all her family safe and sound! There were so many things she wanted to do she could hardly wait for morning. And when morning came she was so exhausted she fell fast asleep. It was Tulip who welcomed Joshua home from work and made him a pretend cup of tea in the old brown tea-pot.

  “Vinetta’s still in bed,” she said, in a deliberately neutral tone of voice to hide the smugness she was feeling. “She’s been through a lot, Joshua. But then we all have. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. She hasn’t got much stamina.”

  Joshua didn’t answer. He went straight to the lounge after ‘breakfast’. If Vinetta was exhausted, he would not disturb her.

  It was ten o’clock before she came down, looking guilty at having slept so late. Joshua, undemonstrative Joshua, put one arm awkwardly round her shoulder.

  “Glad to be home?” he said.

  “Words couldn’t say how glad,” she replied. They sat in the kitchen and Vinetta told him all about the last days at Comus House and about Soobie’s terrifying time there.

  “Even before the kidnapping it was terrible, Josh. Soobie went into a depression so deep I thought he was going to die.”

  “He’ll be all right now,” said Joshua. It was the longest contribution he made to the conversation.

  “Yes,” said Vinetta. “I think he will.”

  Vinetta took to herself all responsibility for Soobie’s rehabilitation. And the first necessity was to get him something to wear.

  So, on Friday afternoon, Vinetta went shopping. She always had her emotional priorities right, whatever Tulip might say. Soobie had asked for a tracksuit. The striped suit he was wearing was beyond redemption. Yes, tomorrow might be soon enough. Tomorrow would be easy. Tomorrow was market day. Today the market was just rows of empty stalls. But Vinetta would not wait another day. However difficult it might be, she would have to go to Peachum’s and buy her son new clothes. That was a priority.

  She put on her hooded anorak, her fur boots, her gloves and her blue-tinted spectacles. Then, with no word to anyone, she set out resolutely towards the town centre. She thought of Hortensia who was so skilled in being unobserved. She thought of Appleby, and the time she had taken the twins right into Santa’s Grotto.

  These people passing me by, brushing my shoulders, are not interested in each other. They are not interested in me. One foot in front of the other. Step, step, step. Resolutely to the swing doors of the town’s largest emporium. She had been there before, of course, but not often. She felt much more at home in the open-air market.

  From the racks of clothes she chose a blue tracksuit with white trim. It had a zip fastener at the neck and a generous, fleecy-lined hood. Vinetta gasped when she saw the price, but she decided to pay it. Soobie was worth every penny, though she had some doubts about whether the tracksuit was! The clothes in the market were considerably cheaper.

  The price of the grey trainers and the bulky grey leather gloves was not quite such a shock. Vinetta took her purchases to the square counter with the confusing PAY HERE sign right in the middle.

  “Come round here, please,” said an assistant in a squawky voice. “I’m on this till.”

  “I was here first,” said a fat fur coat elbowing Vinetta aside. Vinetta kept her hood on and her head down. The fat fur coat made her purchases and strode away.

  Vinetta anxiously put her things on the counter. One assistant was operating the till. Another folded and packed. Vinetta cautiously removed one glove to count out the notes needed to pay the bill and delicately accepted and pursed the change. At the end of the counter she picked up the bags. And that should have been that.

  She just reached the rails at the outer door when she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was all she could do not to drop her bags and run off like a shoplifter caught in the act.

  “You forgot your trainers, madam,” said the girl with the squawky voice.

  “Thank you,” said Vinetta in a voice that would hardly emerge from her frightened throat.

  To be out in the street after that was exhilarating. She had done what she had set out to do!

  “Where have you been?” asked Tulip as Vinetta walked in the door carrying green plastic bags with PEACHUM printed all over them.

  “Just buying some new things for Soobie,” said Vinetta. “He needed them.”

  On that Friday evening, as soon as it was dark enough, Soobie went out jogging in his new
outfit. This was done openly, but the secret Soobie had another thought in mind. They were all home again. He could not have explained why he wanted to thank the unknown God, but it seemed a fitting thing to do.

  He passed the church that was always closed and due for demolition. He noted that the Victorian letterbox had already been replaced with a stumpy thing with a hook on top. This in turn would no doubt be removed to another spot when, if ever, the road was built in its revised location. Efforts were already being made to have the old church designated a Listed Building. It was being suggested that perhaps the new road could by-pass Castledean entirely.

  The second church was open and some youngsters in Scout uniforms were going in. That worried Soobie. He could only go into any church when there were very few who could see him and none who would actually look. He reached the small door of the third church and found to his relief that it was its usual quiet, early evening self. Soobie went in. Upstairs in the balcony the organ was playing softly. Choir practice. But the choir, minding their own business, were safely out of sight.

  Soobie knelt beside the statue of the mother and baby and said his prayer of thanks. The mother looked loving and pleased and proud. The lively baby in her arms had his hands held out towards the world. He looked as if he were about to leap out of his mother’s arms. And she looked capable enough of holding him, but confident enough to let him go.

  In the balcony above, the choir was practising a morning hymn. Soobie heard the booming voice of the choirmaster saying, “Let’s try to make it a bit more joyful. It’s not a dirge, you know!”

  The choristers sang the verse again.

  Soobie, who had spent forty years reading anything and everything, recognised John Keble’s words:

  “Through sleep and darkness safely brought

  Restored to life and power and thought.”

  And we have been, thought Soobie as he got up to go back home, we have been. His faith was still the faith of honest doubt. He would never know what he really believed. But he was once more Soobie the steadfast, Soobie the loving, Soobie who never let go.

  As he jogged home he heard the noise of fireworks. He saw rockets shooting up high into the sky and bursting in a shower of brilliant sparks. The night was joyful. Happiness was possible. Even for a blue rag doll.

  42

  Albert Returns

  LIFE AT 5 BROCKLEHURST Grove became beautifully normal again. Miles away on Tidy Hill, a scarecrow was burnt on the bonfire. Miles away in Durham, Albert caught up on his work and his sleep.

  “It’s over a fortnight since Albert left and we haven’t heard a word from him,” said Tulip to Magnus one morning as she went through the ritual of opening his curtains and fluffing up his pillows. “I’m a bit surprised really. I mean to say, he still has our Range Rover. And there are a few things I would like him to do for us.”

  Magnus glowered at her.

  “We can do without Albert,” he said firmly. “We did without him for forty years. He was more bother than he was worth anyway.”

  “That is totally unfair,” said his wife. “He gave us a home when we needed one. He brought us back safely when everything was sorted. He fought to save Brocklehurst Grove.”

  “He did next to nothing,” said the old man. “The Fryers saved Brocklehurst Grove – or maybe that Caxton woman with her letters to the Guardian and the Times. The best Albert could do was write to the Castledean Gazette!”

  “It was Albert who started the campaign,” protested Tulip. “The others just followed.”

  “Appleby started it,” said Magnus. “The petition was her idea. That young man would have given in without a shot fired if it hadn’t been for Appleby.”

  Tulip looked at him severely.

  “I’m not going to talk about it whilst you’re in this mood. You’re twisting the truth. And whether he helped or he didn’t, he still has the Range Rover and we paid for it.”

  On this point, Magnus was much more generous than his wife.

  “Albert has it,” he said, “and Albert can keep it. We don’t need it now. And it’s all in his name anyway.”

  “It cost a lot of money,” said Tulip. “I think we should still have the use of it. Or maybe we could sell it.”

  Magnus sat bolt upright in his bed and gave Tulip a look of exasperation.

  “You dare to criticise me for saying what is no more than true, and now it is you who are being mean and paltry. Albert, I still maintain, was fairly useless. But he did his best and I don’t begrudge him the car.”

  That was almost the final word on the matter.

  Albert put in an appearance the very next day. The Range Rover drew up at the front gate. Number 5 Brocklehurst Grove had no garage, but the drive was broad enough for a vehicle and the double wrought-iron gate gave easy access.

  Poopie and Wimpey saw Albert arrive and rushed to open the gates for him.

  “We haven’t seen you for ages,” said Wimpey excitedly. “We thought you weren’t coming back.”

  Poopie said nothing, but did his usual tour of the Range Rover and had to be persuaded to leave it and come into the house.

  “I’ve brought the car back,” said Albert to Tulip when he went to see her in the breakfast-room. “It’s the first chance I’ve had. What would you like me to do with it?”

  “Well,” said Tulip, “Sir Magnus and I have discussed the question. We think it is only fair that you should keep it. It is yours now, yours entirely. There may be one or two things you could do for us, very occasionally, where having a car might be useful even in town.”

  Albert was grateful but uncertain. The gift seemed disproportionately large. He said doubtfully, “Are you quite sure? It cost a lot of money. I could probably sell it for you.”

  “We are quite sure,” said Tulip with just a twinge. “If it will make you feel any better you can pay us something for it after you sell Comus House. There’s no hurry.”

  “It’ll never sell,” said Albert. “Nobody wants it.”

  “Of course somebody will want it,” said Tulip crisply. “Every house has its buyer. What have you done so far about selling it?”

  “Well,” said Albert, “I had an agent in shortly after my parents died. He valued it and put it on the market. I suppose it is still on the market, for that matter.”

  “What happened?”

  “There hasn’t been a flicker of interest,” said Albert. “To be perfectly honest with you, that house is a millstone.”

  Tulip looked puzzled.

  “Two years on the market and nobody even looks at it. Did they advertise, these agents of yours?”

  “I had to pay for the advertising,” said Albert sheepishly, “and I couldn’t afford much.”

  “Who are the agents?”

  “Tothill and Whymper,” said Albert, pleased to be able to give a respectable answer. Everybody in Allenbridge knew Tothill and Whymper.

  “Never heard of them,” said Tulip.

  “They have a shop on the main street in Allenbridge, just round the corner from the marketplace. They’re quite well-known.”

  Tulip shook her head and sighed.

  “Albert Pond! You’re not fit to be let loose. I know more about the world out there than you do! You’re a hopeless case. Do you know that?”

  “Yes,” said Albert. “I suppose so.”

  He hadn’t the least objection to being called a hopeless case in such a motherly voice. It made it seem a friendly thing to be.

  “Very well then,” said Tulip. “Let’s consider what you should do. First, we must find you a reputable auctioneer to dispose of the contents of the house – Christie’s perhaps. Some of those things might be a lot more valuable than you seem to think.”

  Albert nodded. It was nice to have somebody making decisions for him again. He never spoke of his parents’ death. He could hardly bear to think of it even now. It was an event that had left him not only sad but stranded.

  “When the house is cleared,” Tulip continued, �
��put it into the hands of a really big estate agent that has a department specialising in large country houses. Let them do whatever advertising they consider necessary. Any settlement can be made after the house is sold. I’m not saying you will be wealthy when it is all complete, but you won’t be scraping along the way you are now.”

  Tulip spoke with knowledge and authority. Like Appleby, what she was not born knowing she made it her business to find out. Though Tulip’s sphere of interest was somewhat different. She was the only rag doll in the world to read the Financial Times!

  Before Albert left, Tulip made another arrangement with him, one to please her daughter-in-law.

  “You can bring the washing machine down from Comus House before you do anything else. It will easily fit in the back of the car. And you can get a plumber to fix it up in our kitchen just as you did before. It’s not fair to ask Vinetta to go back to using the old twin-tub.”

  43

  Poopie and the Rabbit

  IT WAS A wet, wet day in the middle of December. Poopie prowled round the house feeling bored and frustrated. Everybody was doing something. Wimpey was making yet another outfit for her doll. Appleby and Pilbeam, for some reason best known to themselves, had gone up to the attic.

  “No, you can’t come,” Appleby had said when he tried to tag along. “We don’t want you. Go and play with your Action Men.”

  Poopie had kicked the skirting board and shouted, “I don’t want to play with them. They’re just toys. I’m bored, bored, bored, bored, bored!”

  “I reckon little brother is bored,” Appleby had said in a heavy drawl that sounded a bit like Wimpey’s American doll. It was an accent she loved to copy.

  Pilbeam looked disapproving.

  “Leave him alone, Appleby,” she said. “You’re as bad as he is.”

  And they left him alone, getting himself into a worse and worse mood. It was not that he was growing out of Action Men. He never would really. It was just that on this particular day he wanted to be out in the garden and that was impossible. The rain was lashing the window panes and drumming on the conservatory roof. Poopie’s thoughts turned, as they often did, to Andy Black.