The Seven Rules of Elvira Carr

by Frances Maynard

  “We sort of found out together. Charlie’s angry.”

  “I bet! He’s probably in shock. Still, if your father didn’t murder anyone…”

  “No, he didn’t. We’d have found that out. He’d have had a much longer prison sentence. It would have been on Google.”

  Karen blinked and turned back to the computer. “My dad’s a bit of a dead loss too, in his own way. Drinks too much, always at the bookies, never takes the dog out.” She yawned. “Nothing he did could surprise me.”

  • • •

  “Wow!” said Paul. “Three times! What for?”

  I told him. He picked up his Coke again. “That doesn’t sound very bad.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “My dad’s a really good guy, but my mum’s a bit flighty. Walked out on us four years ago. Lives with another bloke. Well”—he belched—“you know all that. I still see her but…” He swung back in his chair. “Dad says she won’t ever win a Mum of the Year Award.”

  I sipped my tea. Mother had thought competitions were tawdry. I’d looked up the word but, so far, hadn’t used it in conversation. And, I sighed, if I took Sylvia’s advice, I never would use it. Since Mother would never have gone in for a competition, she would never have won an award for Mother of the Year either.

  • • •

  Charlie and I sat next to each other on Ravel’s gilded chairs. He looked around at the black-and-white photos of musicians and the starched white tablecloths and sparkling glassware. “So this is where Dad took your mum?”

  I nodded, twisting a corner of the linen napkin Jean Christophe had unfurled, with his familiar flourish, onto my lap. Our greeting had gone as smoothly as before. Two things that hadn’t changed. “For special occasions.”

  “This is a kind of special occasion. We’ve found out some really difficult stuff, Ells, haven’t we? Stuff about Dad I’m still struggling to get my head around, quite frankly. I think we deserve a treat.” He picked up the menu. I didn’t need to read it because I already knew what I was going to have. Charlie sighed and put it down again. “I looked up to Dad, you know. Thought he was a cool guy. But, finding out he took bribes, conned people out of money, basically…well, that’s the kind of behavior I despise.”

  He shook his head, staring down at the table. “Stuff about Dad I’m still struggling with quite frankly. Can’t concentrate on finishing my thesis, can’t seem to focus on anything except Dad. I had a word with my professor, told her everything, actually, and she’s going to let me take a year off.” He leaned toward me, shifting his long legs under the table. “That’s another reason I wanted to bring you here, to tell you I’m off to India next month.”

  My stomach lurched. “To live?” I asked. Charlie was my family now. I’d only just found him.

  “No.” He took a slice of French bread. We were waiting for the Onion Soup to arrive. “Just for a few months. Karen, you know, your mate at Animal Arcadia, she’s been sending me information about a big cat sanctuary out there.”

  I nodded. “She told me to email you about it.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. It returns ex-circus lions and tigers, like Vikram, back to their natural habitat. Not the wild exactly, but the next best thing. I’m going out there to volunteer in their education center. Help me get my head straight.” He leaned toward me again. “How’s your head, Ells?”

  I felt my head. “It’s OK, no headache or anything.”

  “Good,” Charlie took a large bite of bread. He chewed in silence for a minute, then, “How are you feeling about Dad…Father?”

  “I don’t know.” I twisted the napkin. “I can’t manage secrets so I’ve told everyone about him going to prison three times. Some of them knew already, and none of them were very interested, not once they’d found out it wasn’t for violence.”

  “No.” Charlie sighed. “The same for me really.” He poured two glasses of sparkling water from the chilled carafe on the table and took a long gulp. “My whole life, since I got your mum’s bequest, seems to have gone off-kilter. I knew Dad had another family, but it wasn’t real. Being in your house, seeing his other life, made me realize I didn’t know him at all. And then discovering his criminal past…”

  I nodded. I sipped my glass of water, the bubbles rough and salty on my tongue.

  “There’s another reason for me bringing you here…well, two reasons.” Charlie turned the butter knife over in his hand. “One is to celebrate us finding each other, because meeting you has been the only good thing to come out of all this.”

  My face went hot, and I had to press my knees down to stop them from bouncing.

  Charlie smiled at me. “Now that I’ve soft-soaped you, I’m going to ask you a favor. You’ll need some time to think about it.”

  I braced myself, staring at the basket of freshly cut bread.

  “You haven’t met my dog, Akira, yet, ’cause Mum has him while I’m at uni, but if I’m away for months…” I felt his quick sidelong glance. “Well, I wondered if you’d look after him?”

  “Oh!” I drew in my breath. I put both feet flat on the floor as the sand shifted. I thought about the responsibility and the barking. Then my toes bounced a little as I thought about the face-licking and the company and the fur.

  “He’s really friendly and well trained.” Charlie’s eyes were still on me. “I’ve put you on the spot a bit. Tell you what, next time I’m down, I’ll bring him and then you can see how you get on.”

  I nodded. “I’ve always gotten on better with dogs than with people.” And then reached out for another piece of bread.

  43.

  Animals do best in their natural habitats.

  —Charlie Hargreaves (Carr), half brother

  Akira looked up at Charlie, his plumed tail waving. It wagged again when I was introduced to him.

  “Here.” Charlie unzipped a pocket of his backpack. “I’ve got a couple of his toys here and his poop bags. Try throwing this.” He handed me a worn-looking rubber bone. I hurled it to the end of the garden and Akira raced after it, his short legs bunching into a gallop. After four throws, he disappeared inside the house with the bone.

  “Looks like he’s had enough,” Charlie said, following him. “Now, where did he go?”

  Akira lay curled up on Mother’s chair, his bone abandoned on the floor.

  “Akira, make yourself at home, why don’t you? Sorry, Ells.” Charlie moved to push him off.

  I looked at Akira, snuggled on the chair, his nose tucked under his tail. I’d see him like that every day soon. My toes flexed in my trainers. “No, let him stay. It’s nice he feels at home. It’s strange, though, seeing Mother’s chair with someone else in it.”

  “She’d have had a fit!” Charlie smiled.

  I was just about to correct him when I noticed his smile. Epilepsy wasn’t a thing you smiled about. “FOS?” I queried and Charlie nodded. He’d suggested that when he used a Figure of Speech—he found it hard not to, he said—he’d say FOS for short, so I’d know what he was talking about. It would be a private code. My face got pink each time I said private code to myself.

  I scratched the top of Akira’s wiry head. Mother had liked dogs, but she’d never have allowed one on her chair. Down, Tosca, down! I could hear her saying. You may be a love rival, but you do not sit on my chair. Tosca would jump down and gaze up at her, ears flattened, eyes wide and melting, as Mother unfolded her crossword. Sometimes Tosca would whimper and place a paw on Mother’s knee. But I know who you’ve learned that imploring expression from, Mother would say, not looking at Tosca. And it no longer has any effect on me. Her words had been baffling, but she could have meant Father. I avoided looking at the jar.

  “Charlie, before Tosca”—a dim memory floated up—“I think Mother’s family had their own pack of beagles.”

  “Blimey!”

  “I don’t know if that was made up,
though.” I sighed, watching Akira’s eyes close. “Or if she remembered it wrongly, or if I did, or if it was something Father said. Or something he made up.”

  “Sometimes everything feels like fiction.” Charlie pulled another hand-knit sweater, a charcoal-gray one with a broad black stripe, over his head. “Especially Dad.”

  “Charlie,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve got something to show you.”

  “No!” he groaned, tossing the sweater on the sofa. “Not more revelations.”

  I chewed my lip. I’d kept this secret to myself for days. It was something Charlie needed to see. “We know the worst now, anyway,” I reminded him.

  Charlie sat down on the floor next to Akira, head back, eyes shut, as if he was expecting someone to hit him.

  I returned with the wooden box I’d found in the attic. “It’s like the missing bit of a jigsaw. I’ve only just realized where it fits.” I showed Charlie the maker’s name on the side: H. Gloucester. I’d worked out that the two other initials, which had been difficult to read, were M and P.

  Charlie whistled, and Akira’s head shot up from his paws. “Her Majesty’s Prison, Gloucester. So that’s where he was, well, at least once. What’s in the box? A file, handcuffs, an illicit still?”

  I shook my head. “Look.” I got out the tiny pieces of furniture and arranged them on Father’s carved chest. “He had these made for me when he was in prison. For Christmas.” My eyes stung. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  Charlie picked the little cupboard up and pulled its tiny drawer in and out.

  I could play with them, I thought, with Roxanna.

  “Ellie, Ellie!” Roxanna’s voice called from outside, as if I’d conjured her up by thinking about her.

  Akira’s ears pricked up. I went to the door.

  “Ellie! There was a dog in your garden,” she shouted from behind the fence.

  “Yes, there was. He’s here.” Akira had followed me outside, tail wagging.

  “Can I stroke him?”

  “You won’t be able to reach.”

  “Ohh!”

  Sylvia waved from her french doors. “Is that your Charlie’s dog? Friendly, is he? Bring him over then, pet, and Charlie. Come and have a cuppa.”

  • • •

  Charlie sat next to me with Akira, eyes half-closed, at my feet. Roxanna was on my other side, combing Akira’s fur.

  Shelbie hurried into the living room. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” She stopped. “I didn’t know you were having a party, Sylv. Hi, everyone. Well, no, you’re all right. It would be rude to just rush off…” Shelbie sat next to Charlie. “So, Sylv says you’re a student. What are you studying?”

  “Ecology.” Charlie smiled. “Not very glamorous, I know.”

  Shelbie examined her nails and buffed them up against the skintight fabric of her jeans. She didn’t ask what ecology was. Usually Charlie had to explain it. “What will all your studying lead to then?”

  Charlie leaned forward, hands clasped. “Well, promoting green technology, advising the building trade…”

  “Much money in that?” Shelbie asked, pushing down a cuticle.

  “I hope so, eventually. Actually, I’m going to take some time off soon. Ellie’s going to look after Akira while I go traveling.”

  “Traveling! Where to?” Shelbie gazed at Charlie, her eyelids fluttering.

  “India,” he said with a slight stammer I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m going to volunteer at a sanctuary where they return ex-circus tigers to a natural environment.”

  “Yeah? I remember seeing tigers at the circus when I was Roxie’s age.” Shelbie clapped a hand to her chest. “When they snarled, it didn’t half give me a fright!”

  “Well,” Charlie hesitated, “you see, all animals do best in their natural habitats. That’s where I come in.”

  “Circuses are cru…” I began.

  “Yeah, taking tigers back to India sounds fun. I love traveling, me. I haven’t been to India. Yet,” she added with a laugh. “Of course, with the salon, and my marriage not working out…unfortunately. All very civilized, though. Isn’t it, Sylv?”

  Sylvia nodded, silent.

  Charlie gulped down the last of his tea. “Well, I think we ought to be going, Sylvia. Got to give Akira a bit of a walk before I head back to Crawley.” He stood up, suddenly tall.

  “Of course!” Shelbie jabbed a purple-tipped finger at him, “You’re related to Ellie, aren’t you? Long-lost half brother, or something?”

  “I am, yes.” Akira got up, stretched out his front paws, and stood next to Charlie, tail wagging.

  “So, it was your dad too that was the jailbird. Fancy!” Shelbie looked at him, chewing rapidly.

  There was a moment’s silence. “My dad made mistakes, that’s for sure,” Charlie said. He bent over Akira, fastening his leash.

  “All a long time ago now, pet,” said Sylvia, pushing herself up from the armchair. “All done and dusted and paid for.”

  • • •

  “Look at the way he can cling although he’s so tiny,” I murmured to Paul. The new baby orangutan, Jinnga Bulu—“orange fur” in Indonesian—had just been born. He was a small wispy scrap half-hidden in the fur of his mother’s chest.

  In a corner of the enclosure, Rojo lay in his hammock, chewing a carrot. I could hear the crunching. One day tiny Jinnga would be as big as him, would father babies of his own. Orangutans didn’t mind their males having babies with different mothers. There were no worries about sharing.

  I let go of the fence. Akira would be arriving in a few weeks’ time, as soon as Charlie’s visa had come through. “I’ve been buying things for him already,” I told Paul. “A big dog chew to help him settle in.”

  “Awesome! I could get him a ball! Can I? When he’s settled, can I help you walk him?” Paul’s eyes shone behind his glasses. “I’ll bring the ball. My dad could take us to the beach again.”

  I nodded, feeling a wave of responsibility. I had looked after Mother, I reminded myself. But she’d still been in charge. It would be the other way around with Akira.

  • • •

  “Hello, dear,” an elderly female voice greeted me on the phone.

  “Hello.” Jane from Dunstable. I twisted a corner of my apron, the one with Dog Breeds of the World on it. I’d been wearing it to get used to Akira coming, although he was an assortment, rather than a definite breed. I could feel my heart beating. Jane was Mother’s deputy. She’d be phoning to check up on me. Mother’s jar of ashes was still waiting on the mantel.

  “How are you getting on, dear? I’ve been meaning to ring you for ages. I promised your Mother I’d keep an eye on you, but”—her voice faded—“I live such a long way away, and my spine, of course, is a constant restraint. So, dear, tell me what you’ve been doing. It’s been months since your dear mother passed away. I expect you’ve been finding it a struggle without her. I know dear Agnes put a lot of…organization into your care. So dear, have you been able to…to, say, manage the shopping by yourself?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ve made a weekly meals rotation and a master shopping list. I don’t need to go every day anymore.”

  “I hope you’re still buying fresh vegetables, dear. Think of the vitamins. And how are you occupying your time? I expect it weighs heavily on your hands.”

  I was silent. I stretched out the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. How could it weigh time? How could anything weigh time?

  “What I meant was”—Jane’s voice was louder—“how do you occupy your time?”

  “Oh.” A FOS. I made a mental note of it. “I research things on the computer. I learned to do it at the Library with Micky.”

  “You’ve got your own computer! And you can use it, can you, dear?”

  “Yes.” I paused, then straightened my shoulders, adding, “Act
ually, it’s easy. And I still go to Bay View Lodge to help with the Pet Therapy Sessions once a fortnight.”

  “That’s kind of them, dear.”

  “And I volunteer every Tuesday at Animal Arcadia. That’s an animal sanctuary. I put newsletters into envelopes and sort out things people donate.”

  “Goodness! And you can manage all that, can you, dear? Not too much for you?”

  “No. Karen, she’s the girl I help there, says she can’t do without me.”

  There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the line. I heard Jane swallow. “Well, that was nice of her.”

  “Sometimes I babysit Roxanna next door as well. She’s Sylvia’s granddaughter. And, next month, I’m going to look after Charlie’s dog while he’s Abroad.”

  “And are you coping with all this, dear? It’s not quite what I expected to hear.” Jane gave a tinkling laugh. “I think dear Agnes would be rather surprised!” She stopped suddenly. “Charlie? Who is this Charlie with a dog?”

  “Charlie Hargreaves. My half brother. He traced me after Mother died.”

  “Half brother! Did you say half brother?”

  A secret was better out than in. I took a deep breath. “Father had another family. They live in Crawley.” I breathed out all the air I had left, remembering Mother’s flight to Dunstable. “You might know about them already.”

  “Indeed I do! Oh my goodness! Poor, poor Agnes. Your father treated her abominably.”

  “Abomina…abominably,” I echoed, stammering over the second b. I’d have to look it up to get it right. Online. I hadn’t used Father’s dictionary in weeks. I remembered an Abominable Snowman, a Big Foot, that had been featured in a David Attenborough Documentary. It had been hairy and terrifying. Father had lied, been dishonest and unfaithful, but he had been neither of those things: in fact, he’d had very smooth skin.

  When I was small, I’d watched him from the edge of the bath, enveloped in a cloud of steam, a towel around his neck, tilting his face against the razor. And his shoes, his built-up shoes, had been on the small side for a man, Charlie said. Not abominable. I didn’t disagree with Jane openly because It’s better to be Diplomatic than too Honest (Rule Six).