Devils, for a change

by Wendy Perriam

  She also apologised – again – for sending just a card last Christmas, and that three weeks too early. She and Mr Taylor had departed on the first day of December, so she’d posted all her Christmas cards that morning, adding a brief and scribbled promise to her niece’s that she’d write again more fully on the ship – a promise she had broken. Even on a so-called leisure cruise, every day seemed hectic, from early morning tea to late night cocktails. Then, once Edward had his heart attack, she was swamped with correspondence to his family, arrangements for transporting back his ashes, queries over the changes in his will. There followed her long battle for a visa and a job, and when she’d won both those, she’d been forced to sell her London house. She was running short of money, had no other source of capital. Her legacy was almost gone, and the nuns were offering little above basic room and board. She was also very anxious about leaving the house empty for a year, at risk from vandals, squatters, even fire. More prudent to dispose of it, release some ready cash, remove one source of worry from her mind. She’d had to arrange the sale long-distance, re-contact the solicitor she’d used to buy the house.

  Hilary glanced up at the window, the dark still pressing close; one tattered rag of light from the crippled lamppost opposite, patching the old curtain. She recalled her lonely visits to Hurst Road, N14; those hoping hopeless odysseys to a deaf and empty house. While she’d trailed along that dark north London cul-de-sac, fearing Eva cold and dead, her aunt had been a world away, working like a beaver, or romping in the sun. Typical of Eva to buy a house, then sell it; survive all that aggravation, and still keep bouncing back. She grinned at the drawing scribbled on page twenty – a rickety ‘For Sale’ board, tied to a huge boulder, with a screaming, squint-eyed woman half-crushed beneath the rock, but doing her wild best to push it off.

  ‘You’ll probably think I was out of my small mind, getting involved in all that hassle, with letters firing back and forth, and a whole tangle of new problems, but that house was like a millstone round my neck, seemed to tie me to a life I didn’t want. Anyway, I’m sure you’ll understand, my love, why your own letter got put off, especially once I’d actually started work. And now blow me down if it isn’t almost Christmas once again, and in just a month or two, my wretched precious visa will expire, so I’ll have to come back home, like it or no.’ Several lines were crossed out here, a brownish stain splashed across the writing. Had Eva stopped for tea, spilt it on her letter?

  Tea! Hilary sprang up. She could hear the kettle whistling from the kitchen, calling her, reproaching. She rushed to turn it off, ignored the pool of boiling water which had spewed across the worktop; cursed the officious kitchen clock striking the half-hour. Luke really should be up by now. Disastrous to be late this first and vital morning. She turned the clock face round, spooned out the spaghetti hoops, put them on to warm. The boy could dress in minutes, when she made it worth his while, and if she invented some new eating game, she could speed breakfast up, as well. She just had to read those few remaining pages, find out if her crazy aunt were truly coming home. She skipped the messy brown patch, continued at the bottom of the page.

  ‘You won’t believe this, darling, but P&O have agreed to fly me back – yes, after all this time. Mind you, I’m not that keen to come back, and I don’t intend to stay, but I must sort out my things, and tick off that solicitor. I’m pretty sure he diddled me, and his bills were astronomical. (Can’t spell that!) Then I’m off again – I don’t know where exactly, but now I’ve seen half the world, I’m determined to see the other half. I’ve heard they’re short of nurses in the States and are even recruiting oldies like myself. Or I may find another Edward, land up in Timbuktu next time. Who knows? I’ve got my health and strength, thank God, and the last thing I intend is to sit around on my backside, turning into a professional old age pensioner. But before I set off anywhere, I promise you one thing, my love – I’m going to come and visit you – yes, brave those nuns at last. You know how scared I’ve always been of setting foot within a mile of Brignor, and your Mother made it worse by harping on about the grilles and things, and how she couldn’t say a word without some black-robed figure listening in, and your Father half-suspected there were even hidden microphones … Well, I’m far more used to nuns now. In fact, I was almost shocked, at first, by how free and easy those Mission Sisters were – I mean, the way they rode bicycles and didn’t turn a hair at the sight of naked men …’

  Hilary grinned in disbelief, zipped through the last few pages to the end, then made straight for Luke’s bedroom, forgetting tea and biscuits, only pausing at the door. She longed to share her news with him, share it with the world, but would he really care a fig about some fuddy-duddy aunt he’d never even heard of? Unless she made it sound exciting, used it as a lure to get him up. She pushed the door, sat down on his bed.

  ‘Wakey-wakey, Luke, my love.’ That was Eva’s voice, lively, loving, cheerful. The letter was awash with ‘loves’ and ‘darlings’, had made her feel cosseted and cherished. She hugged it to her in the half-light of the room. Eva – coming home; her next of kin face to face with her, without even grilles or chaperones. ‘Luke, are you awake?’

  He didn’t answer, just squinted up at her, still groggy from his Scotch-and-aspirin cocktail.

  ‘Luke, we’ve got a new relation.’

  ‘What you on about?’

  ‘Aunt Eva. She’s coming to see us. She’ll be your Aunt, as well as mine. She’ll have lots and lots of stories. She’s been in India a year. There are elephants in India and great fierce tigers, and alligators which bite your head off and …’

  ‘Shove off, can’t you, Hilary, it’s the middle of the night.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s late. I’ve given you twenty minutes extra.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to school. My nose is sore.’

  ‘We’ll put some Vaseline on. And don’t forget we’ve got ice cream for breakfast. Guess what Auntie Eva eats for breakfast?’

  He shrugged, turned the other way.

  ‘Mangos and papayas and chocolate-covered ants.’

  ‘Ants?’

  ‘Yes, two dozen every morning, twelve milk and twelve plain.’

  He sat up very slowly, wiped his runny nose on his pyjama sleeve. ‘How do they put the chocolate on – when the ants are still alive?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. You have to gulp them down very very quickly, or they fly out of your mouth.’

  ‘Ugh! I’d hate to go to India.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. You could ride on an elephant, right high up, on a sort of wooden throne, and the elephants have gorgeous coloured rugs on, and medals round their necks and … Want to see a picture?’ He was watching her intently now, as she fumbled for the photograph. ‘There! That’s our Auntie Eva, holding her umbrella up, for shade. It’s very hot on elephants, because you’re closer to the sun. And see that little boy sitting on its head? He’s the driver and he’s not much older than you are.’

  Luke grabbed the photograph, studied it close up. ‘When’s she coming?’

  ‘Oh, it’ll be quite a little while yet. We’ll have to get the place nice first, so we can invite her here to stay. Would you like her to come and stay, Luke?’

  ‘Don’t mind.’

  ‘Right, up you get. 50p for the one who gets dressed first.’

  ‘That’s not fair. You’re dressed already.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’ve got my nightie underneath this coat. In fact, you’re bound to win, because I’ve got layers and layers of clothes to take off first. Okay, starting now!’ She dashed back to the sitting room, trying to generate excitement. It wasn’t hard. Her whole body seemed lighter and less weary. Even her cold was less oppressive, as if Eva’s thirty pages had acted like an instant cure. Her mind kept darting back and forth, reflecting on the letter, filling in the gaps, solving any puzzles like last year’s Christmas card. No real mystery there. It would have arrived in the first week of December – already Advent, when no letters were allowed;
would have been kept by Reverend Mother for Christmas afternoon. Except Sister Mary Hilary had disappeared by then, run away on impulse with no forwarding address. And why should Reverend Mother forward letters anyway, when the nun in question belonged back in the convent, had taken formal solemn vows never to leave it in her life?

  She must dash off a reply, maybe even send a telegram, tell her Aunt not to visit Brignor, but to come and stay in Tooting – and to come immediately, before she’d moved herself, lost the only fragile home they had between the two of them. Eva would be absolutely stunned to find her niece not a virgin Sister, but the ‘mother’ of a seven-year-old, and no longer living in an eighteenth-century mansion, but in a condemned flat above a shop. She laughed out loud, sharing Eva’s shock and sheer astoundment. She’d have to work really fast, clear that second bedroom, get it painted, furnished – may be refurbish the whole flat. And Joe would have to help. She’d take a tougher line with him, insist she got her wages the day that they were due, instead of always late, so she could buy material for curtains, make a bedspread for Aunt Eva, cushions for this sitting room, perhaps a …

  A silent mocking voice cut through her plans. ‘Look, your precious Aunt will probably only stay for just a month or less – if she comes at all. Nothing’s certain, is it? She said herself she’s only passing through, before she flies off somewhere else, hates the thought of London, is agog to see the world. Why go to all that trouble for …?’

  For who? Hilary flung back the car-rug curtain, glanced around the room. Why not for herself? She’d made no plans at all to improve this tatty flat. It had seemed hardly worth the effort, when both her tenure and her role were equally provisional. Yet she had one whole term, at least. Even if Rita were discharged from hospital, she was unlikely to be strong enough to take on Luke immediately, was bound to convalesce first. And, anyway, she didn’t have to move. Joe had promised she could remain here in the flat, even after Luke was off her hands – which gave her till October; maybe longer, if Charlie wangled extra-time, or the developers delayed in pulling down the place. It was nine months till October, plenty long enough to transform it into something of her own, stamp it with her taste, not Joe’s or Liz’s. She’d never had a home before, never had the chance to do things as she wanted, choose a colour scheme, hunt down odds and ends in secondhand shops, things she’d picked out for herself, instead of making do with other people’s cast-offs.

  It might actually be fun – a challenge, an achievement, and who cared if it were temporary? Everything was temporary, in one sense, especially Eva’s own jobs. Yet that didn’t seem to stop her aunt from trying to grab at life, relish her small crumbs of it. And Charlie wasn’t moping in his shop downstairs; still kept it open, kept it fully stocked, still hoped for a reprieve. Both he and Eva were already in their sixties, had far less time than she did – time to simply live. Her aunt had less in every way: no home, no wage, no job, no friends in London, no supportive Sister Anne; was returning home to complete. uncertainty. At least she’d find a roof, a pied-à-terre, a resurrected niece to meet her at the airport.

  She rifled through the photographs again – Eva grinning with the nuns, her brilliant crimson sundress hogging all the limelight; Eva with a bald and bearded Indian, who looked less than half her size; Eva in her swimsuit, challenging the waves. Her aunt was officially a spinster, officially retired, alone in the world – as she was – yet she had refused to wilt or wither, wallow in self-pity, view her birthdays as simply signposts to the grave. Instead, she made things happen, lived life for herself, made that self important – and enough in its own right. She could do the same; create a home right here, even plant a garden, transform the cluttered junkyard into a splash of scent and colour. She needed colour everywhere, inside as well as out; could paint these dreary khaki walls a deep dramatic shade; buy a few bright posters perhaps a Botticelli, like the one in Sister Anne’s room.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly uneasy, could see not grinning Eva, but the pale and shocked Madonna; recalled that strange and blinding light, the fierce wind on her face. She had never understood that extraordinary experience. When she’d been to see Sister Anne next morning, the nun divulged that she and all the Sisters had spent that night awake, praying for herself and Luke, imploring God to make it clear what He wanted for the boy. Had that been His answer – the rushing wind, the light – or were they just the side effects of the feverish cold which started that same evening, or simply the result of too much stress? She would probably never know, would have to accept the whole improbable phenomenon as one of Robert’s mysteries. And one which smacked of blasphemy. Why should she be granted an annunciation, when she was no longer even a virgin, let alone a Blessed one, and she and Luke (and Joseph) comprised no Holy Family?

  ‘I won, I won! You haven’t even started.’ Luke burst in, shirt unbuttoned, shorts unzipped, one sock on, one off. ‘Where’s my 50p? I need it now, this minute. I want to go and buy a glider. There’s this really cheapo one I saw in …’

  ‘Breakfast first, then gliders. We’ll get it on the way to school, but only if you hurry.’

  ‘You’re not hurrying.’

  ‘No, I’m not, you’re right. Go and start your ice cream and I’ll be washed and dressed by then. Did you wash, by the way’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They both grinned at the lie. ‘Well, I’ll let you off today, but only because it’s my fault that we’re late – or Auntie Eva’s fault.’ Hilary was tugging off her sweaters as she talked, rifling through her suitcase for clean clothes. ‘D’you know, I think we ought to celebrate this Saturday, have a treat or something, first because my Aunt’s not dead, and …’

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘Yes – I thought she was – and second, it’s my birthday.’

  ‘You’re fibbing.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say before, then?’

  ‘It felt too old, I suppose. I’ll be forty in four days.’

  ‘My Mum’s nearly fifty-one.’

  ‘Well, forty’s still important. It’s rather like you reaching double figures. What would you like to do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Luke, we must do something.’

  ‘Okay, chocolate-covered ants for breakfast.’

  ‘You can’t get those in Tooting.’

  ‘A ride on an elephant with me sitting on its head.’

  ‘I’m not sure we’ll get that either, unless we … Oh, yes, we can! We’ll go to London Zoo – ride on an elephant and see all Eva’s animals. Would that be fun?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘It’s meant to be a marvellous zoo. I’ve never been. Have you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Well, let’s try it, shall we – go early, spend all day there? We could even have a camel-ride, as well as just the elephant. Now, shoo, Luke! I’ll see you in the kitchen in two ticks.’

  ‘Hilary …?’

  ‘Mm.’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Well, gee up with it. Or we’ll be eating our spaghetti on the bus.’ He didn’t answer for a moment, seemed embarrassed, almost diffident, scuffing one socked foot against the lino.

  ‘You know that letter thing they gave you?’

  ‘Who gave me?’

  ‘That lady. Sister – you know …’

  ‘Sister Anne?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Well, it had my name on, didn’t it?’

  ‘Did it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He paused. ‘Luke Craddock.’ He stood, restless, scowling, pulling at a button on his shirt. ‘Craddock’s not your surname.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, I don’t want them to know.’

  ‘What d’you mean? Know what?’

  ‘That my Mum walked out. They’ll only laugh, or …’

  ‘They won’t, Luke, not at this school. Anyway, your Mother’s ill. All you have to say is she’s had an operation and i
s still in hospital.’

  ‘They won’t believe me. We said that about my Dad when he’d really gone to prison, and Gary Eaves found out and bent my arm up right behind my back, held it there five minutes. Will you say you’re Mrs Craddock, so your name’s the same as mine? Just at school. Not here.’

  ‘But what about the nuns? They know I’m …’

  ‘I don’t mind them. It’s the others in my class.’

  ‘But how can …?’

  ‘Please. I’ll give you back the 50p.’

  ‘I don’t want that.’

  ‘But will you?’

  ‘All right, I suppose so, if it really …

  ‘Say you promise.’

  ‘Okay, I promise, Luke.’

  He dashed out, slammed the door, as if frightened she might change her mind. She checked her watch, hadn’t time to wash. She was picking up Luke’s bad habits now, as well as Craddock Senior’s. She doused herself with talc, instead, then tossed aside the neat grey skirt she’d selected from her case; the sober navy sweater she’d chosen for its convent-plain restraint. She replaced it with a frilled red blouse – Eva’s singing red – a swirly patterned skirt. She must celebrate this morning, not wait until the 10th, celebrate her two new close relations – Aunt Eva and a son.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  ‘Can I have the piece with the “B” on?’

  ‘Okay. Why the “B”?’

  ‘B for big.’

  ‘All right, but don’t make crumbs. This sofa bed’s uncomfortable enough, without sharing it with bits of soggy cake. You’ve already dropped jelly in my slippers.’

  Luke giggled, gulped his drink. ‘Aren’t you having any?’

  ‘It’s a bit early for sponge cake, Luke.’