Mennyms in the Wilderness

by Sylvia Waugh

  Albert laughed and the others joined in hesitantly, though some of them did not quite understand the joke. But the spell was broken, and that was the main thing.

  “I think it is time I went to bed,” said Sir Magnus. “I have some papers I want to read before I sleep.”

  It was a relief to help him up, to be busy, to draw as far away from the edge as possible.

  “Albert Pond is falling in love with you,” said Appleby as she sat in front of her dressing-table mirror brushing her hair. She said it in a slightly mocking, sing-song voice, clearly fourteen not fifteen, and nowhere near sixteen.

  “Don’t talk rot,” said Pilbeam sharply. “He is a human being. I am a rag doll.”

  She got up abruptly from the chair by Appleby’s bed.

  “If you’re going to talk like that,” she said, “I’m going straight to bed. I’m tired anyway.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Appleby. “It was just a bit of fun. I didn’t mean to vex you.”

  She looked at Pilbeam anxiously. The apology was clearly meant and behind it there was even a glimmer of understanding.

  “You haven’t vexed me,” said Pilbeam, relenting. “I am going, though. I really do feel very tired.”

  She went to her own room, holding herself stiffly, feeling like a tightly-wound spring. Then she lay on her bed in the darkness and sobbed inside because things were not, could not, would never be, different. Soobie’s twin – oh, yes, she was that all right. They were definitely two of a kind.

  46

  Paddy Black

  ON BOXING DAY, Poopie was sitting in his own room making an ocean liner with Lego bricks. If Joshua could make one with wood and nails, making one with Lego must be easier. It would take patience, but Poopie had patience when it came to things. It was only people that made him lose his temper.

  What were intended as small wheels, Poopie easily converted to use as portholes. The two motors he would fix up in the engine room and eventually he would be able to have his boat moving round the room, not just standing still on a piece of choppy cardboard pretending to be the sea.

  He might even be able to give the ship a rolling motion if he used a combination of large and small wheels underneath it.

  “There,” said Poopie as he fixed on a funnel, “how do you like that, Droopy Lugs?” He looked triumphantly across at the toy rabbit. Poopie had grown quite fond of it really, but it was not something he would ever tell anybody. They would think it was sissy.

  “Can I have it?” said Wimpey.

  Poopie looked up to see his twin standing in the doorway.

  “What a cheek!” he said. “What a blooming cheek! They give you a boat that has absolutely everything and then you have the nerve to ask for the one I’ve made.”

  “I don’t mean your boat, silly,” said Wimpey. “I mean the rabbit.”

  She looked longingly at the furry creature that had stayed uncuddled in the corner.

  “No, you can’t have it,” said Poopie. “It was made for me.”

  “I’ve never seen you play with it,” said Wimpey.

  “I don’t play with it, stupid,” said Poopie. “I wouldn’t be so daft. I pretend he’s alive, like Andy Black was.”

  “Same difference,” said Wimpey.

  “No it’s not. It’s a proper pretend, like drinking tea, or when Mum makes cakes, or Dad smokes his pipe. This is my rabbit,” said Poopie, “and he’s called Paddy Black.”

  “But he’s not . . .” began Wimpey and stopped as she realised that they had had that conversation before. The last time the rabbit was brown and furry. This time it was grey and velvety.

  “It’s not quite the same as having a real rabbit,” said Poopie. “I won’t be able to feed him properly. But we can have terrific pretends.”

  Willing as ever to contribute ideas, Wimpey said, “I know how we could make him hop. Really hop. We’ll get some elastic from Mum’s workbox and tie it round his middle.”

  The word was the deed and, in less than a minute, the twins were up on the landing, bouncing Paddy Black over the bannister. What began as a perfectly respectable pretend turned into a hilarious children’s game. They let the elastic unwind from the card, dropping it and then jerking it back till the rabbit was bouncing vigorously in the stairwell. Finally, they managed to make it bump its tail on the carpet in the hall below. It fell with anthropomorphic fear. It radiated surrogate joy.

  “It’s the highest-hopping rabbit in the world!” yelled Poopie.

  At that moment, Granny Tulip came up the stairs, on her way to see Granpa.

  “I’ll take that,” she said, holding out one hand.

  Poopie looked as if he were about to say something outrageous. Wimpey interrupted in time to say, “Granny means the elastic, not the rabbit.”

  Poopie untied it and handed it over, all tangled. Tulip took it without another word. She had other things on her mind.

  Wimpey picked up poor, maltreated Paddy Black and cuddled him. Poopie, overcome with jealousy, seized the rabbit and, hugging it to his chest, ran off to his own room. He slammed the door behind him. The game was over. Wimpey was not welcome.

  47

  Magnus Speaks to Albert

  “I SHALL HAVE to speak to him,” said Sir Magnus ominously.

  “Albert?” said Tulip, knowing well where his thoughts were leading. She was sitting in the armchair beside the bed.

  “Who else?” said Magnus frowning. “He’s giving my granddaughter some very odd notions. I don’t want her made miserable longing for the moon. What right has he to come here and upset everybody?”

  Tulip let pass the unfairness of that question. She knew what Magnus really meant – Pilbeam, the sweetest and most reasonable of his grandchildren, must not have her heart broken.

  “Send him to me,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”

  “He’s leaving the day after tomorrow anyway,” said Tulip. “He’s spending the New Year with friends of his – other friends. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “He’ll be back,” said Magnus grimly. “He’ll always be back till he’s told very firmly that we don’t want him.”

  “Tomorrow then,” said Tulip. “Tell him tomorrow. It has been such a happy holiday. Let’s not spoil it.”

  Sir Magnus grunted but agreed. Tulip went about her work and left him with his desk across his knees and his bed strewn with books and papers.

  When Vinetta came up half an hour later, Magnus was still brooding.

  “Has Tulip told you?” he asked.

  “About Albert? Yes, she has. And I think you’re right. I wouldn’t want Pilbeam to grow too fond of him. He’s bound to leave us some time. Better sooner than later.”

  Vinetta was soft in most things, but if her children looked like being hurt she could be totally unfeeling and completely ruthless.

  Sir Magnus looked at her kindly.

  “You’re a good woman, Vinetta,” he said. “No one could care more for their family than you do. And they don’t always deserve it.”

  As Vinetta was about to leave, Magnus said, “Tell Albert to come and see me at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. I won’t discuss it with Tulip any more. She has too much of a soft spot for that young man. Where is he now, by the by?”

  “He’s taken Appleby and Pilbeam for a drive down to Durham. It’ll be their last outing, I suppose,” said Vinetta a bit sadly. “They said they’d be back before dark.”

  This time they were. Albert was given his summons and wondered what it foreboded.

  Next morning, at eleven o’clock prompt, he presented himself at Sir Magnus’s room. He tapped timidly at the door before entering.

  “Come in, Albert,” said the old man. “Take a seat. We shall have to have a talk.”

  Albert sat down on a stiff-backed chair.

  Tulip came purposefully into the room, knitting in hand, and sat in her usual armchair.

  Magnus gave her a look of disapproval. Why could she not have stayed downstairs in the br
eakfast-room or busied herself elsewhere in the house? She was never there when she was wanted. Why couldn’t she make herself scarce now?

  “This was intended to be a tête-à-tête between Albert and me,” he said pointedly.

  “That’s all right,” said Tulip. “Just pretend I’m not here. I’ll get on with my knitting.”

  Her tight little smile deterred Magnus from any further protest. He turned his black button eyes and his full attention on Albert who was sitting on the edge of his chair and looking very nervous. Magnus made no attempt to conceal the purple foot but Albert was so concerned at whatever it was the old man was going to say next that he did not even notice it.

  “There are certain things we must get clear, Albert,” Magnus said slowly. “You are not a foolish young man. You appear to have your fair share of good sense. Good sense should tell you that we do not need you now. The Grove is saved. We are home again. You do not belong here. It will be much better for you and for us if you return to your own world and leave us to get along in ours.”

  Tulip turned the page of her knitting pattern noisily.

  Albert looked from one to the other.

  “I don’t see it like that,” he said. “I enjoy being here. You have all become part of my life, and I thought I was part of yours. I help whenever I can. The Range Rover is useful to you in all sorts of ways.”

  Tulip’s crystal eyes gleamed. The Range Rover was useful, definitely useful. But even she knew that it was something they would have to learn to do without.

  Sir Magnus sighed and raised himself higher on his pillows.

  “I see I shall have to be brutally frank. We do not need you and we do not want you.”

  Albert blushed.

  Tulip looked annoyed.

  Sir Magnus gave her a sidelong glance and began to work himself up into a fury. She knew the score. She knew what had to be done. What right had she to look vexed at this stage?

  He turned his full wrath on the unfortunate Albert.

  “You are no use to us at all, Albert Pond. If the truth be told, you never have been. You created a panic that didn’t exist. You dragged us up to Comus House and then dashed us back again, a totally unnecessary, ridiculous excursion. How plain do I have to be? You are not wanted.”

  Albert’s brown spaniel eyes stung with the threat of tears. Rage? Hurt? Embarrassment? All of these things. The old man’s judgement on the trip to Comus House sounded uncomfortably near the mark. It was a twisted interpretation, a being-wise-after-the-event, but it had some validity. They both forgot Appleby’s role in pushing the business on. They both forgot the glare of publicity that had surrounded the saving of the Grove. And, being wise after the event, they both ignored the fact that it could have gone the other way. The Grove could still have been demolished.

  “I did my best,” said Albert. “I only did what Aunt Kate asked of me. If it was not the right thing, then she is the one to blame, not me.”

  “Do you think I really believe all that balderdash about you seeing a ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Sir Magnus, with scant regard for logic. “I never have.”

  It was Albert’s turn to grow angry.

  “I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” he said, raising his voice for the first time ever in that house. “You’re pretty incredible yourself. A rag doll. That’s what you are. A rag doll with purple feet. Just remember that. A helpless old rag doll with no knowledge and no experience of the world outside these four walls.”

  “No knowledge! No experience!” shouted Magnus. “No one in this house has less experience than you. We all have a forty years’ start on you – forty years or more! As for the car you keep on about – take it. We don’t need it. We did without one for long enough. We can do without one again.”

  Magnus quivered. Tulip gave Albert a look that warned him to be silent. It was, as always, a look that calmed him. He stood up and in a quietly dignified voice said, “I’ll get my things together and go. When I have sold the Range Rover, I’ll send you a cheque.”

  He passed Appleby on the landing but did not even see her. Tulip did.

  “Listening at doors, madam?” she said tartly. “Is that another of your accomplishments?”

  “I didn’t have to listen,” snapped Appleby. “They were shouting loud enough to be heard all over the house.”

  Tulip gave her a withering look and hurried on after Albert.

  48

  Tulip Talks to Albert

  ALBERT WAS IN Soobie’s room, packing his weekend bag. His heart was much nearer breaking than Pilbeam’s had ever been.

  Tulip came in behind him.

  “Come to the breakfast-room, Albert,” she said. “I have to talk to you. My husband’s behaviour was disgraceful, but he had his reasons. When you are finished here, come and see me.”

  Albert looked up, shamefaced.

  “I shouldn’t have said all those things,” he said.

  “You were provoked, Albert. Terribly provoked. I understand that. Come down and we’ll talk it over.”

  Tulip was sitting at her desk when Albert came in. She motioned to him to sit in the armchair.

  “Sit back. Be comfortable,” she said. “This is not an inquisition.”

  Albert did as he was told.

  “My husband can be very harsh,” Tulip began. “He should have explained things better.”

  “But you want me to go too?” said Albert, hoping that she would give him the comfort of saying no, even though his going was now inevitable.

  Tulip felt very sorry for him, but she had to be honest.

  “You do have to go,” she said, “– for your own sake, never mind ours.”

  Albert looked about to protest but Tulip fixed him with a glance.

  “Go back to Durham,” she said. “Mix with your own people. That is your real world. This is all illusion. You cannot fall in love with a rag doll, Albert, and she must not fall in love with you. That is why Magnus was getting himself worked up. That is why he so distorted the truth about the help you gave us. I don’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to be more straightforward – to say that you must go away and forget us for Pilbeam’s sake. But that is the truth.”

  Albert said awkwardly, “I love all of you, even him.”

  “I know,” said Tulip. “I know. But you are a human being with a future in the world of human beings. You will fall in love and marry one of your own kind. That is the way of things.”

  Tulip said no more and waited for Albert to speak.

  “Nothing can be as simple as that,” he said. “My knowing you isolates me from the rest of mankind. If I tell, it is a betrayal and I doubt if anyone would believe me anyway. If I don’t tell, I create an enormous barrier between myself and any other human being.”

  “It won’t be like that,” said Tulip with a sudden clairvoyance. “When you leave this house today, you will forget that we exist.”

  “I will never, never forget you,” said Albert fervently.

  “You will, Albert,” she said. “I don’t know how, but it seems to me that that too is in the nature of things.”

  “What about the car?” he asked. “Will that turn into a pumpkin?”

  Tulip shrugged.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just have the deep conviction that someone, somewhere, has the power to make you forget.”

  49

  The Departure

  EVERYONE GATHERED OUTSIDE the front door to see Albert leave. Only Sir Magnus and Pilbeam were missing. With the exception of Tulip, and the ever perceptive Appleby, no one knew how final that parting would be. But they knew it was a different sort of departure. Albert accepted his exile but still did not believe that he would really forget the Mennym family.

  “I won’t be coming back,” he said quietly to Soobie. “Your grandfather wants a clean break. But that doesn’t mean I can’t write to you. We can play chess by post.”

  Soobie gave him a long, a silent, look before saying, “I’ll wait for you t
o make the first move.” But he knew, he knew, that Albert never would write, that this was the end of their friendship.

  Wimpey gave Albert a hug and said, “You will come back some day, won’t you?”

  “If I can,” said Albert.

  Poopie said a very brief goodbye. He was anxious to get back to his room where the cruise liner was making excellent progress and the rabbit was lodged in a hutch he had made for him.

  Miss Quigley, with Googles in her arms, stood well back in the doorway and encouraged the baby to wave her hand.

  Tulip and Vinetta came out and fussed over Albert, making sure that he was wrapped up warm. Tulip put a scarf she had knitted around his neck.

  Appleby said regretfully, “No more drives in the Range Rover.” She remembered that the scooter was still in the garden shed and she hoped that everybody would forget about it. A motor scooter might well come in handy some day.

  “Where’s Pilbeam?” said Wimpey suddenly. “She hasn’t come to say goodbye.”

  “She’s probably busy,” said Vinetta quickly.

  “She can’t be too busy to say goodbye to Albert,” said Wimpey and before anyone could stop her she raced off into the house and ran up the stairs.

  “Pilbeam, Pilbeam, come now or you’ll miss Albert,” she shouted. “He’s going away and he might not be back for a long time.”

  Pilbeam was busy. She was sitting on the floor sorting out her new CDs. It was a deliberate effort to shut Albert out of her thoughts. Appleby had told her all about the quarrel between him and Granpa. She felt as if her innermost dreams had been trampled underfoot.

  Looking at Wimpey, who was standing there impatiently, Pilbeam could think of no way out of saying goodbye. Steeling herself for the ordeal, she got up and followed her sister down the stairs.

  “So you’re going,” she said to Albert. She tried to sound very cool and grown-up. She almost succeeded. “We’ll miss you. We’ve had lots of fun. Even Comus House was an experience worth having – something to look back on.”

  “Your grandfather has decided that I must go away and stay away,” said Albert in a voice that only Pilbeam heard. “This is not of my choosing.”