Mennyms Alive

by Sylvia Waugh

  “It seems logical,” said Appleby. “I mean – he’s not at home, and Wimpey did see someone. We’ve no way of knowing how much Soobie has managed to find out. It is possible that he has some idea of our whereabouts.”

  “But he didn’t find us,” said Pilbeam. “So what would he do next?”

  “He’d go back to the Grove,” said Joshua. “That’s what I would do. He’d go back to the Grove and try to work things out. Then he’ll search again tomorrow night.”

  “But next time,” said Vinetta, “we will be watching for him.”

  “But he won’t know that,” said Tulip.

  Those words, so simple in themselves, gave Vinetta a crushing picture of her eldest son, sitting in an empty house, not knowing which way to turn.

  “You’ll have to go back,” she said, turning to her husband. “Go straightaway, Josh, and ring the bell again.”

  She had no regard at all for the fact that Joshua had already spent ages roaming round the town. When it came to her children’s welfare, she spared no one. Joshua felt trapped. The effort of walking, after months of sitting stiff and still, had made him feel genuinely exhausted. He wanted to sit quiet in the armchair for a few hours. The voices of his family, all talking at once, grated on his nerves. There were plenty of beds in the house. Could they not all just go to bed?

  “It’s too late,” he said. “It’s too far to go. By the time I returned it would be daylight – for all we know, there could be somebody here, wondering where I am.”

  Vinetta was about to argue, but Pilbeam came up with another idea.

  “The phone might still be working,” said Pilbeam. “Even if the new people have taken it over, the number is probably the same. We could try ringing Soobie.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Appleby. “There’s a phone box along the street. I noticed it when we were looking out of the window.”

  “No,” said Tulip firmly. “If anyone goes it will have to be Joshua. Young girls do not go out at this time of night.”

  Appleby pulled a face but said no more.

  “What will you do if a stranger answers?” said Vinetta to Joshua, taking it for granted that he would be going to the phone immediately.

  “He’ll just have to say he’s got a wrong number,” said Appleby.

  Then Vinetta thought of another difficulty.

  “Soobie won’t answer,” she said. “He won’t know who’s ringing.”

  “At this time in the morning? He’ll have a good idea. He’s no fool,” said Appleby. “He might ignore it at first, but if it persists he will answer.”

  Pilbeam saw the sense of this.

  “You may have to ring more than once,” she said. “Let it ring for a time. Then stop. Then ring again and let it ring for a long time. And keep on doing that till you get a reply.”

  “What if he’s not there?” said Joshua.

  “He will be,” said Pilbeam, suddenly sure of what her twin would do, not guessing but knowing instinctively. “It will be just as you said, Father. He’ll be there from sunrise till sunset. Then he’ll come out again to try and find us.”

  Wearily, Joshua took his coat off the back of the chair and put it on again.

  “I’ll need some change,” he said. Then added, “I hope the phone box isn’t vandalised.”

  “If it is,” said Vinetta, “you’ll have to find another one.”

  What she meant was – don’t return till you have spoken to Soobie!

  CHAPTER 11

  Hello?

  BRRRRR . . . BRRRR . . . BRRR . . .

  Soobie jumped in terror. The shock was so great he nearly burst every seam on his body. His crinkly blue hair stiffened like the hair on the back of a startled dog. There he was, methodically securing the back door in a silent house when the silence was shattered by a ringing he did not immediately identify as the telephone. He had just returned from his jog to North Shore Road. He locked up and put the key in his pocket, the safest place for it. He fastened two bolts and was bending down to fasten the third.

  Then brrrrr . . . brrrr . . . brrr . . .

  There were two telephones in Number 5 Brocklehurst Grove. There always had been, for reasons the Mennyms never knew. The house had been Kate Penshaw’s own home for the whole of her life. The telephones were part of the Mennyms’ inheritance. One was in the big front bedroom. The other was in the breakfast-room, next to the kitchen.

  Soobie slid the third bolt into place quickly, stood up and listened. He knew now that it was the telephone ringing, but as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Who would be ringing an empty house in the early hours of a Sunday morning?

  When the ringing stopped, Soobie decided that it must be a wrong number. There could be no other explanation. He settled back into himself and became calm.

  Then . . .

  Brrrrr . . . brrrr . . . brrr . . .

  It started again.

  Soobie went into the breakfast-room. A hint of the coming day made the room’s contours perceptible, the bare floor boards, the light fixture in the centre of the ceiling, the partly-drawn curtains. On the window ledge, in the centre, was the big, old-fashioned black telephone. It sat there ringing insistently.

  It must be a wrong number. It must be!

  To pick up the receiver would serve no purpose at all. It might even be dangerous. It was difficult in that instant to think logically.

  In the telephone box on North Shore Road, Joshua let the phone go dead again, took the coin that fell from the slot and reinserted it ready to try once more . . . twice more, or three times more if need be . . . as many times as it might take. At least it was ringing. At least he knew that the number still existed. There was no way he was going to return empty-handed to Vinetta. By now he was convinced that Soobie would be in Brocklehurst Grove hearing the phone ring, and ignoring it.

  Oh, Soobie, he thought, why do you have to be so careful?

  From the telephone box, Joshua could see the windows of the flat. He could not see Vinetta and the others watching him, but he knew that they were there. They had turned out the light so that they would not be seen peering round the curtains. Joshua kept a look out all around him. The telephone box was not inconspicuous enough for his liking. But the road remained eerily deserted and in the buildings all along the street there was no sign of life.

  The phone had rung three times when Soobie began to think, that call could be for me. Each ring lasted longer than the one before. The persistence began to seem meaningful. It could be one of the family trying to get in touch, thought Soobie. But how would they manage to ring him? Where would the phone be? Surely it would require a great leap of imagination for them to believe that he was there, ready to answer their call?

  The next time the phone rang, Soobie took courage, grabbed the receiver, and put it firmly to his ear.

  “Hello?” he said. His tone was edged with suspicion and unnaturally sharp.

  Joshua heard the voice and was almost sure who it was, but not entirely. He paused to think.

  “Hello,” he said tentatively.

  Soobie thought he recognised his father’s voice, but couldn’t swear to it.

  “Hello?” he said again.

  Joshua was still unsure and unwilling to declare himself.

  “Hello,” he said.

  Soobie began to think that this was, after all, some stranger playing stupid games.

  “Hello,” he said brusquely. “What is it you want?”

  Soobie’s voice was strained with tension and down the telephone line he ceased to sound like himself at all. Joshua was tempted to put the phone down, but the thought of Vinetta made him hang on.

  He opened his mouth to say “Hello” yet again, but then he thought, this is daft, we could go on like this all night. So he decided to take a chance. He would ask for Soobie. If the person at the other end of the line did not recognise the name, so what? Everybody gets wrong numbers sometimes.

  “Soobie,” he said, “is that you?”

  �
�Dad!” said Soobie joyfully. “Am I glad to hear your voice! Where are you? Where is everybody?”

  There are no words to convey how relieved Joshua was at that moment. He stood dumb for so long that Soobie looked down anxiously at the handset and wondered if the phone had gone dead.

  “Dad,” he said urgently. “Tell me where you all are. Tell me what to do next.”

  That was more like it. That was practical.

  “Stay where you are, son. Tell me all you can, but don’t do anything rash. We’re still feeling our way down here. We don’t know ourselves what is going to happen.”

  Joshua put two more coins in the slot.

  They gave each other all the information they could. Soobie gasped when he was told of Appleby’s revival, then realised that his plea for all of us had been taken more literally than he could ever have hoped for.

  “So it was you that Wimpey saw from the window!” said Joshua when Soobie had told him about jogging down to North Shore Road.

  “It looks as if I might be brought down to the flat myself on Saturday,” said Soobie, “though I don’t know for sure. But Saturday’s a long way off. Can’t I sneak in and see you before then?”

  That idea filled Joshua with misgiving. It sounded much too risky. But he tried to think what Vinetta might say and he came up with a compromise.

  “You won’t be able to come out in daylight,” he said. “You never have. It is almost morning now. We don’t know for sure when the people who put us in the flat at Number 39 will be back. So for now just stay where you are. I will ring you again after dark this evening. By then we may know more.”

  There was a long pause before Soobie answered.

  “If I don’t hear from you,” he then said with decision, “I’m coming down there anyway. Nothing will happen here before Saturday. I’m not sitting alone in the attic for another week. I can sneak out and sneak in every night if I want to. And I want to!”

  CHAPTER 12

  Reunion

  “HE’S COMING,” SAID Wimpey excitedly. “I can see him. He’s just come round the corner.”

  She had her face pressed against the glass and was straining to look sideways along the street. Soobie disappeared from sight again beneath the windows, and then the doorbell rang. Poopie, who was nearest, ran down the front stairs. Before anyone could advise caution, he reached up to the Yale lock, turned it easily, and opened the door.

  “Soobie!” he shouted as he saw his brother standing on the doorstep, head bent, face hidden. Joshua, on the staircase, winced at Poopie’s recklessness. True, it was ten o’clock on Sunday night and the whole neighbourhood was deserted, and had been more or less deserted all day, but it always pays to be careful.

  “Come in quickly and shut the door as softly as you can,” he said in an urgent but quiet voice.

  Joshua had tried to persuade Soobie not to come at all, to wait till they knew more of what was happening. But Soobie had refused to listen. He had every confidence in his own ability to travel by night, and he was determined to see his family again as soon as possible. Now he followed his father and Poopie upstairs and into the living-room and stood among them all, feeling awkward, but deeply glad to be there. In all the time he had spent sitting still in the attic, he had never dared to hope for an outcome such as this. He placed one hand on his mother’s arm. Then he looked at Appleby. Her gaze met his. Each was delighted to see the other, but neither quite knew what to say.

  Vinetta understood.

  “Sit down,” she said to Soobie. “You’ve come a long way. You must need a rest. I’ll make us all a cup of tea. Then we can swop stories.”

  At these words, they all became more relaxed. Somehow the notion of tea made the present situation less frightening. If they could have pretend tea, if Vinetta could behave as if everything were normal, perhaps things wouldn’t be too bad after all.

  In a short time, Vinetta returned from the kitchen carrying a tray she had managed to find, with a plate and four mugs on it. She handed one mug to Soobie who took it with as much grace as he could muster. Throughout his life he had hated pretends, but this one was meant to be a comfort, and, in its way, it was, even for him.

  Vinetta handed a mug to Tulip. The third mug was given to Appleby, whose special status gave her some priority. Pilbeam, with a little of her twin’s reluctance, accepted the last one.

  “You and I will have to make do with pretend mugs,” Vinetta said quite seriously to Joshua, handing him a mug that wasn’t there, which he took with his usual aplomb. Then he held emptiness cupped in his hands as if it were solid ware, kiln-baked.

  “I’ve poured you two a glass of lemonade,” she said to Poopie and Wimpey. She carefully gave them each an invisible glass which they grasped realistically.

  “Mind you don’t spill it,” she said.

  Wimpey, entering into the spirit of things, said, “Whoops!” and wiped some drops from her skirt.

  By the time all the tales had been told, it was past midnight. Miss Quigley had not put in an appearance. She and the baby were out of sight and out of mind. Tulip had been up to tell Sir Magnus that Soobie had arrived and she relayed all that was happening on the floor below.

  “He’ll have to go back before daylight,” said Magnus. “No good him staying here. Heaven alone knows what will be happening tomorrow.”

  “He knows that, Magnus,” said Tulip. “He’s not stupid.”

  Soobie sat in the chair where Pilbeam had been sitting and let himself become familiar with the room, noting that practically all of the furniture had come from their old home. He had less to say for himself than any of the others, except maybe Joshua, but in the general hubbub his silences were never noticed. One thing a group of Mennyms can do from dusk till dawn and back again is talk.

  But as the pointers of the clock on the shelf, agreeing with Soobie’s watch, approached twelve-thirty, Vinetta suddenly became aware that the younger twins were looking and sounding very sleepy. Sleeping at night had begun so long ago that no one remembered the beginning.

  Saturday night had been an exception. They had all just come back to life in such strange surroundings that they forgot all about going to bed and sleeping. Except for Sir Magnus, who was already in bed, no one had slept at all since then. The older Mennyms found it easy to go without sleep, but the younger ones were so used to being sent to bed early that the habit was hard to conquer. Now that the first excitement was over, yawning and nodding became the order of the day.

  “I think you two should go to bed,” said Vinetta in her most motherly voice. “You will have to be up very early in the morning, but at least you can have a few hours rest.”

  Poopie had come back to life with his shoulders resting against a bed in a room full of his own belongings. That was obviously intended to be his own room. It was clear to him where he should sleep.

  Wimpey was not so sure.

  “Where is my bed?” she asked.

  “The room with three beds must be the girls’ room,” said Vinetta. “You will have a bed in there.”

  “Any bed?” said Wimpey.

  “Not the one near the window,” said Appleby quickly. “If I go to bed at all in this place, that bed will have to be mine.”

  Appleby by now knew the flat from top to bottom. She knew that in the girls’ room, where many of her own clothes were stored, was a bed close to the window.

  “Perhaps you should go to bed now too,” said Vinetta.

  “No,” said Appleby. “Definitely not.”

  She had missed enough already. If they talked the clock around again, she would be there to listen.

  CHAPTER 13

  Play Dead

  WHEN THE YOUNGER twins had gone to bed, the rest of the family continued to mull over the uncertainties of their present position.

  “As I see it,” said Tulip, “we must live from day to day, from hour to hour, till we know what the owner of this house has in mind for us. Patience is everything.”

  “Well, at lea
st tomorrow is Monday. We shouldn’t have to be patient for long,” said Joshua.

  The others looked towards him. His pipe was firmly clapsed again, the stem pointing decisively to the ceiling in the manner of the great detective.

  “The shop downstairs should be open then,” he said. “Its owners must surely own this flat. They will be the people who had us brought here and who fixed up this place using the furniture from Brocklehurst Grove. The woman Soobie calls Daisy has to fit in somewhere. She probably owns both the flat and the shop. It’s not an unreasonable assumption.”

  “But just think how frightening tomorrow is going to be, and how alert and quiet we shall have to be all day long,” said Vinetta, trying to get her mind around the idea. “Anything that happens is likely to be something for the worse. There’ll be so many things to be careful of.”

  “We’ll be prepared,” said Tulip firmly. “I know precisely where I was when I returned to life – sitting in the armchair upstairs, holding in my hands an ugly piece of pink knitting. Magnus was in his bed, propped up by pillows and reading a book. You must all know where you were at the moment you awoke. From early in the morning we’ll take turns being on guard in the hall and as soon as there is the least sound at the front door we’ll prepare to freeze in positions as near exact as we can manage.”

  “I haven’t seen Miss Quigley,” said Soobie. “Shouldn’t she be in on this? If you’re all planning what to do, so should she.”

  “Oh!” said Vinetta guiltily. “I forgot all about Hortensia! Soobie’s coming put her out of my mind. She’s in the nursery with Googles. She did ask us not to disturb her.”

  As if on cue, Hortensia appeared at the living room door.

  “If you and Lady Mennym would like to come next door,” she said proudly, looking at Vinetta, “I have something to show you.”

  They all followed her to the nursery, Tulip leading the way.

  Googles was sitting in the playpen jiggling the ball with the carousel inside and saying, “Ah . . . babba . . . goya . . . goya . . . goya.” Miss Quigley smiled down at her and said firmly, “Play dead.”