The Pearl in the Attic

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The Pearl in the Attic Page 10

by Karen McCombie


  Pearl’s words – Uncle Arthur’s words – curdled in Ruby’s stomach. He had used Ruby as a reason not to help a girl who was dreadfully in need. He thought of Ruby as a charity case, when she knew she would be made to work long hours for her keep, with no charity involved.

  And most of all, she realized what this all meant.

  “He does not know that you are here…” Ruby stated slowly.

  Pearl lifted her head and shook it from side to side.

  “Oh, my, no! He would beat Tante Trudy black and blue if he knew, I am certain!” said Pearl.

  From the little she knew of him, Ruby was certain too. Which made Pearl’s presence more concerning.

  “Yet still, she risked that to bring you here,” said Ruby.

  “Yes…” Pearl replied, with a small, grateful smile. “Tante Trudy took me back here after Mother’s funeral. She knew that she would; she had her friend Mrs Price help her set up this room beforehand. And by the time we arrived here from Hastings, it was late, and he was drunk and snoring on the sofa in the parlour.”

  “How … how do you manage?” Ruby asked, waving her hands around.

  “Tante Trudy and Mrs Price bring me food, take my chamber pot away and fetch clean clothes. I would love a soak in a tin bath, though,” Pearl said wistfully, sleeking a hand over her greasy hair. “But it is not for long. Tante Trudy will arrange something, I am sure of it.”

  “What sort of something?” Ruby asked.

  “A position as a kitchen maid, perhaps. There are so many houses new built around here, Tante says,” Pearl answered her. “I don’t mind whether it is a grand place or quite small, as long as it is an occupation where I may live in.”

  Ruby began to bite at her lip. It would not be easy to get such a position in a house, however lowly it was, without a letter of good conduct – and the only person who could write such a letter for Pearl was Aunt Gertrude. This neighbourhood of Hornsey was unfamiliar to Ruby, but she imagined it like the village and outlying lands back home in Kent. How long would it take for word of Aunt Gertrude’s recommendation to get back to Uncle Arthur… ?

  “But for a short time, it is not so very bad here,” Pearl said, putting a last few crumbs down for her feathered friend. “I read and draw, and I look at the view. Come see … what do you suppose that is?”

  Ruby took herself close enough to Pearl that they stood shoulder to shoulder, head tilted to head.

  Through the open window, above the body of the contentedly pecking bird, she saw a sight that made her gasp. Alexandra Palace – where she had alighted at the station with Father yesterday – loomed above the rooftops in splendid isolation on its hill.

  Ruby had not seen this view of it yesterday; her back had been to the building as she and Father stared at the far-off smoke trails of central London, and the bustling suburb of Hornsey that lay beneath them.

  But now she saw it as it was meant to be seen … a long, colonaded building with glass domes and towers at either end and a great, grand middle brick section that housed a vast, splendid circle of stained glass. At the apex of this brick section stood a figure: an angel, it seemed.

  “It’s Alexandra Palace,” said Ruby, though she wondered why Pearl would not already know it, since she had been imprisoned here for the past two weeks. “Do you think King Edward stays there sometimes?”

  She knew the new king lived mostly at Buckingham Palace, like his late mother, Queen Victoria, before him.

  “No – it was named after the king’s wife, but it was built for the pleasure of ordinary folk, Tante Trudy told me,” said Pearl. “It is known as the People’s Palace. Tante Trudy went there to hear concerts with her husband, my uncle Karl. But I don’t mean the palace; I’m talking of that large dome…”

  What Pearl pointed to was a giant balloon, gently swaying in the wind, tethered in the grounds of the palace it seemed.

  “There is a show and all manner of entertainments happening there,” said Ruby, thinking of the girl with the handbills and the American gentleman on his steed. “The hot air balloon must be part of—”

  Ruby’s words were rudely interrupted by a tremendous roaring from outside. That, and the sound of shattering glass, sent Pearl’s bird soaring into the sky, seeking the solace of its fellows.

  “I’d better go,” muttered Ruby, tingling ripples of fear in her chest, aware she had been gone from her post longer than she should have been.

  But a thought struck her before she took her leave.

  “Will you tell your aunt – our aunt – about this?” she asked, turning back at the doorway.

  “No! Tante Trudy told me to stay hidden, to let no one but she and Mrs Price know that I am here, so that I’m safe. She might be angry with me for not keeping my promise,” said Pearl. “But you won’t… I mean, you won’t tell, will you?”

  Ruby looked at the gaunt girl with the pleading blue eyes. Yesterday, Ruby had felt herself to be frighteningly alone in this place, but here was someone in an even worse position. Of course she was not going to tell.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die,” she vowed, before swiftly closing the door behind her.

  “Please come and see me again,” she heard Pearl say plaintively, as she hurried away down the little staircase. “Please…”

  The Snow Globe of Life

  Twenty-four hours exactly.

  When I took the call for Mum at our flat last night, the kitchen clock read 7.28.

  And now, as we hurry along the hospital corridor this Friday evening, the hands of a nearby wall clock stand at the exact same time.

  And it’s been twenty-four hours where everything has changed. I mean, no one’s died – except, I guess, a grandad I didn’t know – but everything feels upside down and flung around.

  Before the phone call from the hospital, it was as if me and Mum were in a little snow globe of our own, happily encased and ignoring each other in a nice calm scene … until some giant hand of fate grabbed the globe and shook it like it had a grudge against it.

  When our globe-for-two was set back down, all these figures and flotsam and jetsam came snowstorming all around us.

  Unexpected stuff like dogs, parrots, cousins and uncles.

  Distressing stuff like clutter and worry and illness.

  Wonderful stuff like rediscovering Nana, and losing myself in the long-ago world of Ruby and Pearl…

  In fact, everything’s so mad, I half expect my dad to float down by my side at any minute.

  “You have GOT to be joking!” Mum growls at her mobile in her hand as if she hates it.

  “What has that phone ever done to you?” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

  “The phone I like. My boss, I don’t,” says Mum, typing something quickly as she walks.

  My DMs squeak on the polished floors as I pad along beside her. We’re both in clean clothes – we drove home to Chelmsford this afternoon to get showered and pack enough things to last us a few days, as well as clean day-old cheesecake off the kitchen floor. Dean and Zephyr stayed at Nana’s to start tidying, and were planning on visiting her this afternoon, while we were gone.

  “So your brother said Nana was OK when they were here?” I ask, grinning sideways at Mum, trying out the word to see how she reacts to it.

  “Yeah, the text from Dean said she was fine,” Mum replies, rolling her eyes and obviously still struggling with the idea of Dean being her half-sibling. “And like I said in the car, Scarlet, I’m not exactly jumping for joy at having relatives come out of the woodwork. But to be honest, it’s a bit of a godsend having Dean and Zephyr around to help out for a couple of days, with the mess of the flat and everything…”

  Mum waves her hand in the air. Obviously, I get it that “everything” includes the worry over Nana and the inescapable pressure of work this week. Work was what stopped us talking about the weirdness of the day in the car; Mum kept having calls roll in on her Bluetooth, and so I’d ended up mostly zoning out with my headphones and fielding texts fr
om Bella and Aisha, who were more interested in how cute my surprise cousin was than how Nana was doing.

  Guess Mum was in the same boat. I heard her get quite a few “Sorry to hear that”s from her colleagues, but then when they realized Nana wasn’t at death’s door, it was back to them wondering when Mum would have the PowerPoint ready and did she know if the caterers at the convention were doing gluten-free options?

  Mum’s friend Nicki wouldn’t win an Empathy Award anytime soon, either. Mum called her from the car, and I could hear Nicki make lots of “Oh, dear!” sorts of noises, before she started grilling Mum on where she got her cabin-sized suitcase because it would be perfect for her weekend away in Paris…

  “And like I say, everything will be back to normal soon, Scarlet,” Mum carries on. “We’ll find out what’s happening with Nana and get something sorted. Dean and Zephyr will go back to Australia. And it’ll be just me and you again. OK?”

  “OK,” I reply, though I’m not sure how everything can get back to normal, if Nana isn’t, well, ever going to be her normal self again.

  And then I notice Mum’s slowing down as we get closer to the double doors of Ward 9.

  “Actually, hold on, Scarlet,” Mum says, and I see that her make-up might be fresh, but tiredness is still seeping through the mask of it. “We have to remember that we don’t know how Nana will be. So if she’s, you know, different any time we’re visiting, then it’s because of her condition. I just thought I’d say; I don’t want you getting upset. All right?”

  “Sure,” I reply with a nod. Though I wonder if Mum is sort of reminding herself too.

  Difficult as it is, Mum’ll manage to do the PowerPoint over the weekend and will find out about gluten-free lunch choices. But it doesn’t matter how competent and organized she is; Nana – and what’s wrong with her – is something Mum can’t fix.

  For a second, I think about reaching out and giving her a hug, but then don’t. I’m a little bit worried she might break.

  “Right. Let’s do this,” she says, taking a deep breath and heading briskly for the ward doors.

  I follow, and looking past the beds of propped-up patients, the nodding heads of concerned-but-smiling visitors, I see Nana. She’s chatting to a nurse, who seems to be admiring a huge, fat bouquet of sunflowers on Nana’s bedside table. I can practically feel the skinny bunch of flowers I picked up in the petrol station begin to wilt in my hand.

  “Well, well, well!” Nana announces delightedly when she sees us. “Here’s my daughter and granddaughter. At least they’re easy to explain!”

  “I was asking who the flowers were from…” the nurse begins.

  “…and I was telling her how difficult it is to describe who Dean and Zephyr are!” Nana jumps in.

  Sigh. I knew the flowers were from them. I might as well put mine in the nearest bin.

  “Well, these days, there are so many blended families, someone needs to invent a new batch of terms for everyone we love!” the nurse suggests as she drifts off and leaves us.

  At that last chunk of her sentence, me and Mum swap looks, and the tiniest of smirks. I don’t think Dean and Zephyr are ever going to fall into the category of people we love. More like people we’ll tolerate for the next few days till they go back to Australia.

  “Been watching something on your iPad, Nana?” I ask, trying to change the subject away from the two you-know-whos. The iPad is lying on the top of Nana’s covers, and there’s a picture of a stocky, imposing-looking building on the screen.

  “Dean brought it from home earlier,” Nana says, and my heart sinks, since a conversation without a mention of my uncle and cousin seems impossible. “And Zephyr; what a sweetie he is. He looked up all these photos for me and made me a slide show. Look at this… Oh, you’ll need to swipe for me.”

  Mum puts her hand out but Nana swivels the iPad around so it’s facing more towards me. Maybe it hurts her to hold it in Mum’s direction.

  “So what’s this?” I ask as we look at the building, with young women and men hovering outside, all with the long hair and flared trousers of the 1970s.

  Mum has to lean over more, since the iPad is tilted slightly away from her.

  “That’s my old art college,” says Nana. “And look what it is now…”

  I swipe to a newer version of the building, and it’s got a sign outside saying it’s a primary school.

  “And the next photo is of the café that I met Manny in. See what it is today? A hairdresser’s!” Nana says excitedly. “And wait till you see this one … it’s the old railway line that used to run up to Alexandra Palace. That was still there when I lived in the area, but all the rails have been taken up and it’s now called the Parkland Walk. You can join it just up the road from here, and it takes you straight into the grounds of Alexandra Palace. It’s a lovely walk – Mr Spinks and I have done it lots of times.”

  As Nana chatters on, I flick to a shot of overgrown greenery. At the same time I realize something. She’s saying all of this to me, as if Mum’s not there…

  “And here’re some views of Alexandra Palace itself,” Nana carries on, as I swipe away. “Manny and I used to love sitting on the terrace, staring off at the skyline of London, making all our plans for the future.”

  That’s it; I’m definitely going to go and explore the palace and park with Mr Spinks tomorrow.

  “I didn’t know that was such a special place for you and Dad. You’ve never mentioned it to me before,” Mum says, reaching out to turn the iPad around a touch so that she can see the grand building properly.

  Nana – surprisingly – yanks it away from her.

  “Well, here’s something I’ll mention to you now,” Nana says tetchily. “What’s this nonsense about me having dementia?”

  Now me and Mum exchange glances minus any smirks.

  “So someone’s talked to you about that?” Mum asks warily.

  “Well, yes. A doctor who looked about twelve. I mean, bless him, but what does he know about me?” says Nana, wafting her good hand about in the air. “And I know that’s what your meeting was about this morning. I hope you put them straight, Ren!”

  So that’s why Nana’s been a bit funny with Mum. She’s cross and upset and isn’t sure that Mum has been standing up for her.

  As for Mum, she’s taken aback, it’s obvious.

  “Look, I’m not a medical expert,” she replies to Nana quickly. “You seemed very confused when you came in here last night. The staff were a bit concerned.”

  “And I’m concerned that my own daughter didn’t tell them how ridiculous the whole idea is!” says Nana. “Of course I was confused. You try sounding sensible when you’ve broken a bunch of bones and you’re in agony!”

  Mum opens her mouth and looks like she’s struggling to say something in her defence – and then is saved by the bell. Or at least the ringtone of the office.

  “It’s my boss. I have to take it. I’ll be quick,” says Mum, looking like she might love instead of hate her demanding boss right at this second.

  I knew what was going on: Mum would talk to her boss; then she’d take a slow, counting-to-ten breather before breezing back in here in Practical Mode, explaining to Nana crisply and clearly what was going to happen and why.

  “Oh, your dear mother!” Nana sighs once Mum’s out of earshot, giving me a weary smile. “I know I drive her mad. Always have done. But I was never a typical mum, and I’m not a typical ‘old lady’ and I don’t want to be. I mean, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with me, do you, Scarlet, sweetheart?”

  Nana’s mischievous eyes twinkle as much as the pretty, glinting clips in her hair.

  OK, so she was all over the place last night, smiling one minute and crying the next, but like she explained, she was in agony and on mega-strong painkillers.

  But today, if I factor out my utter shock at meeting Dean and Zephyr, I can see that Nana’s been fine. Tired but fine.

  Speaking about Dean and Zephyr: I might not love thei
r know-it-all take on all things Nana-centric, but they have explained why her flat looks like a madman’s warehouse.

  You know, suddenly, I really do think she’s OK!

  Happiness bubbles up inside me as I consider the possibility that the doctor last night jumped to conclusions and will be proved wrong.

  It’s Nana who’s right.

  They don’t know how gorgeously eccentric and creative and fun she is. Nobody knows that better than me.

  “Nana, I absolutely, one hundred per cent, don’t think you have dementia,” I tell her earnestly, clutching her good hand and earning a smile that’s like the sun coming out.

  “Oh, you are so like me, Scarlet,” Nana says happily, casting her eyes over my lilac hair and the pink jacket I’m wearing over a T-shirt with a grinning yellow smiley face. “Your mum’s different from us. She’s never known how to have fun. She never takes chances on things! I mean, take your father, for example. Why she didn’t just take off with him when she had the chance—”

  “Sorry about that,” says Mum matter-of-factly, hurrying back to rejoin us. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes … the doctor. Look, all you need to do is take the test on Monday and if everything is fine, then—”

  “Sorry, Ren,” Nana takes a turn to interrupt, “but I’m on a lot of medication – as you know – and it’s making me very sleepy. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  Mum bats her kohl-edged eyes and clenches her jaw.

  Nana shuts her eyes and shuts us out.

  And me? My head is fizzing like it’s packed with sherbet.

  No one ever talks about my dad. Not Mum, not Nana, not me. He was never in my life, so I’m not supposed to miss him. But why has Nana brought him up now?

  “Night, Scarlet,” Nana mutters. “And don’t forget to say goodnight to the palace for me…”

  “I will. Night, Nana,” I say, bending over to kiss her. “I’ll get your number from Mum and text you a photo of it from my window tonight, OK?”

 

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