Mennyms Alive

by Sylvia Waugh

  CHAPTER 36

  December

  THE DOORBELL RANG loudly three times as a warning to the Mennyms that this was a different sort of Wednesday visit. It was the tenth of December – in two weeks’ time it would be Christmas. Daisy had decided that the family should have a tree with all the trimmings.

  Michael, who was there to carry everything, grinned as the two of them stood in the little square passage at the foot of the stairs and Daisy shouted up, “It’s just me and a friend who’s come to help. We have a nice surprise for you.”

  “You’re a real turn, Daisy,” said Michael, “when you’ve a mind to be!”

  “It’s a game,” said Daisy, smiling at him through the branches of the Christmas tree. “Like any other game, it’s only fun if you stick by the rules. I pretend they can hear me, and shouting up to tell them we’re here is part and parcel of it.”

  Michael smiled back, but it wasn’t a mocking smile. He was a nice young man, who enjoyed watching Castledean United playing football on Saturdays and who knew all about playing by the rules.

  “I’ll carry the tree upstairs,” he said. “You can follow and show me where to put it. Then I’ll come down for the rest of the stuff.”

  The tree was placed in the corner by the television set. It was nearly two metres high from the base of its tub to its topmost branch.

  When Michael went downstairs again to fetch up the toys and the tinsel, Daisy turned to the Mennyms and said quietly, “It’s a real tree, you know, not an artificial one. But you needn’t worry about the needles. The shop said it had been treated in some way to stop them falling.”

  Michael handed in the boxes and said, “Do you want me to help to trim it?”

  “No,” said Daisy. “No thank you, Michael. You’ve done all you need to do and I’m grateful. But I’ll have a good time trimming it myself. Part of the game! You can go along now. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  After Michael left, Daisy was ready for the real afternoon to begin.

  Top down may be the usual way of doing things, but Daisy trimmed the tree from the bottom up. She placed big, bright baubles on the lower branches and encircled them with golden tinsel. Reaching higher, her short arms stretching as far as they could, she draped the middle of the tree with a chain of silver bells. Then she could reach no further.

  “I’ll just borrow this footstool,” she said, taking it carefully from under Joshua’s feet. She had put it there months ago, after it had been brought from the attic at Brocklehurst Grove. Now she intended to stand on it. The tree was nearly two metres in height. Daisy wasn’t.

  With one hand on the wall to steady herself, she stood on the footstool to put bright little apples and acorns on the higher branches.

  “That looks pretty, doesn’t it?” she said as she stepped awkwardly off the stool, using the top of the television set for support. “Now there’s just one more thing to add.”

  From the smallest box she took out a little doll dressed in silver, with a tinsel crown on its head, a wand in its hand and diaphanous wings on its shoulders. Then she stepped up onto the stool again.

  The stool creaked. The Mennyms, watching her, trembled for her safety.

  “Some people prefer a star on top of the tree, for the Star of Bethlehem,” said Daisy as she stretched up to the topmost branch. “We always had a fairy. Leastways people call it a fairy. It’s really an angel, standing there to . . .”

  Then all of a sudden one little leg on the stool gave way and Daisy fell backwards towards the chair on which Joshua sat. In an instant, pact suspended, he jumped up and held out his arms to save her. She was heavy, heavier than he could manage. He staggered backwards. Pilbeam sprang up to help. Between them, they set her on her feet and held her by the shoulders till she was steady. Then, quick as a dart, they sat on their chairs again and froze.

  Daisy moaned. The fall had twisted a muscle. She put one hand on her right hip and she bit her lip to ride the pain. It hurt. It hurt so much that it made her feel sick. It took all her strength of will to master it. Then, only then, she looked the dolls full in the face.

  “Someone helped me there,” she said. “Someone saved me.”

  The Mennyms remained totally impassive, each knowing that this was what the occasion demanded. Daisy took a deep breath, looked away from them and went on with the game. The pact held.

  “Must have been my guardian angel,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I remember at Glenthorn Drive once, it was just about this time of year . . .”

  The Mennyms did not hear what she said next. She hobbled out of the living room and they heard her go into the kitchen and turn on the tap. When she returned she had a glass of water in one hand and with the other she was leaning heavily on her stick.

  “. . . and when all came to all,” she said, “it was only the cat.”

  She sat down at the dining table, sipped the water, and after a few minutes was ready to finish the job she had started. The footstool was no use. One leg was buckled under it.

  “I’ll get Ted to mend that,” she said as she put it into the corner near the sideboard. Then she went to the kitchen and brought out a strong little step-stool, the sort that doubles as a two-rung ladder.

  “That’s what I should have used in the first place,” she said, looking towards Vinetta. “Lazy Daisy! I just couldn’t be bothered to fetch it. More haste, less speed!”

  She picked up the fairy from the floor, straightened its wand and its wings, and fixed it firmly on top of the tree. It was an effort. After she had finished, she switched on the television and went back to her seat by the table.

  The programme was soothing, all green grass and blue sky. A man was taking a horse-drawn gipsy caravan along the highways and byways of Ireland. Some days it rained, but even the rain was sweet. Villages hid in the landscape and were vastly outnumbered by fields. The caravan moved at a snail’s pace. With a world so wide, and a sky so high, why worry?

  That would suit me, thought Soobie, an old yearning stirring in his heart. But blue rag dolls don’t wander the earth, with or without a caravan!

  “Time I was going now,” said Daisy as the programme ended. “My taxi will be here any minute.”

  As soon as the door shut behind Daisy, Poopie came bounding down the stairs into the living room, overcome with curiosity. He knew that something had been happening. He had heard Michael’s voice and other noises. He had sat on the floor in his room keeping as still as the rabbit and the robot. Poopie had a great respect for rules. He would not be caught breaking that particular one again But, oh, it was difficult to sit there waiting for Daisy to leave!

  “It’s a Christmas tree!” he shouted as soon as he came into the living room. “So that’s what it was all about!”

  “Daisy wants us to have a proper Christmas like everybody else,” said his mother.

  “She nearly fell,” said Wimpey to her twin. “The stool gave way and Dad and Pilbeam saved her.”

  “And she is still pretending that she doesn’t really know that we’re alive!” said Appleby. “She’s incredible. I mean, just when you think the game’s over, she gets up and starts again.”

  But Poopie wasn’t concerned about these niceties. A far more interesting idea occurred to him.

  “She’ll probably buy us all presents,” he said. “I wonder what she’ll get for me?”

  Granny Tulip appeared in the doorway. She had made her way more sedately down the stairs.

  “We won’t be here to find out,” she said, choosing this moment to make public the good news.

  The others all turned and stared at her.

  “What do you mean, Granny?” said Pilbeam. “It’s only two weeks to go.”

  “The keys were delivered this morning,” said Tulip with great satisfaction. “The house on the hill is ours. It is ready for us to move into, completely ready. The rooms are all furnished and newly decorated, the mains are connected, so is the telephone, and, even more important, all the bills are paid.�
��

  “So when do we move?” said Vinetta. “And how do we move?”

  CHAPTER 37

  Preparations

  “SOOBIE WILL HAVE to jog there,” said Tulip. “He’s done it before. He can do it again.”

  “I can walk there,” said Joshua. “No problem.”

  “You could,” said Tulip slowly, “but I want you to travel in a taxi with me. We two will be the last to leave.”

  “Who will be in the first taxi?” asked Appleby, realising that a rota had been drawn up and thinking herself a clear candidate for leader of the expedition.

  “I’ve made out a list,” said Tulip, “and a complete plan of action, which we will not deviate from. I won’t take all the credit – your grandfather was a great help. You and Granpa will be in the third taxi. Your mother will take Poopie and Wimpey in the first one. And Pilbeam, Miss Quigley and Googles will go in the second. They will leave at one hour intervals, starting at eight p.m. and finishing at eleven.”

  “Today?” said Wimpey, startled. She held her doll tightly to her and gazed at her grandmother, her blue button eyes seeming to widen with wonder.

  It was Thursday. They had known for only one day that the move was imminent.

  “No, dear,” said Tulip smiling, “not today . . . We shall be leaving next Tuesday before Daisy comes again. In the meantime, there are a lot of things we have to do. It is important that we disappear without trace.”

  “Taxis are traceable,” said Appleby. “The cab companies keep records you know. They’ll know that they have picked up four lots of passengers at this address and taken them to Rimstead.”

  “No they won’t,” said Tulip. “For a start, we’ll use four different companies. And our destination will not be Rimstead. It will be Castledean Central Station. There we will pick up other taxis at the taxi rank to take us on to our true destination. All we need now is to find the telephone numbers of four different taxi firms.”

  “I can do that,” said Poopie excitedly. “I can watch for taxis out of the window and write their numbers down. They always have them printed somewhere. I’ve seen them.”

  “It will take patience,” said Tulip. “Most of the taxis that pass this way will belong to the same firm. It could take you hours.”

  “I have more patience than anybody here,” said Poopie proudly. They all remembered his marathon games with Action Men, Lego and Meccano. There was no disputing it! Poopie had patience.

  So he went immediately and sat on the broad window ledge with the heavy green curtain wrapped round him and under him to shield him from the street. He was in his element sitting there, a notebook on his knee, a pencil in his hand, ready to jot down numbers, just like a train-spotter by a railway track.

  “Why have I to be the one to go with Granpa?” said Appleby petulantly. “Why don’t you go with him yourself? He’s your husband. He should be your responsibility.”

  Tulip’s reply was surprisingly mild and persuasive. When it came to getting things done, Tulip could be very pragmatic in her attitude to rudeness.

  “Granpa will be the most difficult to manage,” she said, fixing Appleby with a glassy gaze. “You are the best one for the job. I am not tall enough to support him.”

  “What about Dad?” said Appleby. “What about Pilbeam?”

  “Neither would be as good as you,” said Tulip firmly. “You have mingled with human beings far more than the rest of us and have never been found out. You will talk to the taxi driver in your usual gabby way and distract his attention as your father and I bundle Granpa into the back seat.”

  Appleby opened her lips to object, but Tulip waved away the objection.

  “Are you trying to tell me you won’t manage it?”

  “No,” said Appleby, but still with a flounce in her voice. “I suppose not. If you can get him reasonably dressed, I’ll manage it. But if he comes out looking like something from a pantomime, I won’t make any promises.”

  “Your grandfather has never been other than suitably dressed for any occasion,” said Tulip haughtily. “I have already bought him a coat and a hat from a catalogue.”

  “Yes?” said Appleby, remembering all of her grandfather’s old outfits, now lost but never to be forgotten.

  “Nothing fancy,” said Tulip. “A full-length sheepskin overcoat and a sort of tweedy pork-pie hat with a very broad pull-down brim. And he will have boots fastened up to mid-calf.”

  “He’ll look weird,” said Appleby as she thought of how bulky he would be.

  “He’ll pass,” said Tulip drily. “That’s all you need to worry about.”

  In nearly three days of watching, Poopie found seven telephone numbers.

  One of the telephone numbers was rejected at once because it was the taxi in which Daisy always came to work. Another was rejected because it was seen to be too familiar, the same car passing and repassing two or three times a day. But five, Tulip thought, was quite enough. It even gave a spare for emergencies!

  CHAPTER 38

  The Letter

  “IF GOD ASKED me to make my own heaven,” said Hortensia, “it would be no different from this!”

  She was gazing at the ground plan that the surveyor had supplied. The little boxes that marked out her territory filled her with delight.

  It was Sunday morning. The whole family, with the exception of Sir Magnus of course, were sitting together in the living room. The sole topic of conversation was the coming move. Tulip looked scornfully at Vinetta over the top of Miss Quigley’s head.

  “She’s off again, sweetness and light,” she said under her breath. As always, she found the nanny irritatingly simple.

  Vinetta, annoyed that her friend was being mocked, gave her mother-in-law a disapproving look and changed the subject.

  “I’ve been thinking about Daisy,” she said. “She has been very good to us. I think we should tell her that we’re leaving. It doesn’t seem right just to go without saying anything. It would be ungrateful.”

  “Rubbish,” said Tulip tartly. “We can’t disappear without trace if we deliberately leave traces behind us, Vinetta. Use your common sense. I agree that Daisy has been our benefactor but she’s a wise enough woman to know what we’ve done and why. Remember the pact.”

  On rare occasions Vinetta could be stubborn.

  “I still think we should leave her a letter,” she said. “Just a word of thanks – not a forwarding address!”

  There was about to be an argument when Vinetta received support from an unexpected source, for a more convincing reason.

  “We do not know how we came to be in Daisy’s possession,” said Soobie thoughtfully. “We do not fully know the connection between Albert Pond’s family and Daisy. Were we bought? Are we held in trust? Will our disappearance cause trouble for this woman who has become a dear friend to us? It matters. A letter could help in any explanations she might need to make.”

  “What would we write?” said Tulip. “It would have to serve the purpose well or it wouldn’t be worth the effort. It is much more hazardous than doing nothing, to my way of thinking. Least said, as your Granpa would say, soonest mended.”

  “Doing nothing might be dangerous,” said Joshua, and then Tulip realised that she was outnumbered. Joshua was still uneasy about the fact that he had left his job at Sydenham’s without giving due notice. He was still afraid that some day that little bit of the past might catch up on him. It made him wary of leaving any other business unfinished!

  They all pondered what was best to be done. Then Pilbeam came up with the answer.

  “It will have to be the same as last time,” she said. “I wrote the letter for the Gladstones to read when we went to the Doll Room. Soobie wrote the inscription on the envelope. Mother told us what to write. Remember?”

  Appleby, of course, did not remember. She had had no part in that affair. It belonged to the time when the family had faced up to the possibility of death, without being totally sure that it would really happen. Appleby looked at th
em all and waited for a further explanation.

  “I forget my exact words,” said Vinetta, “but it was a letter supposed to have been written by Kate Penshaw in which she asked the new owners of her house to take care of her people. To love them, yes, to love them.”

  A silence came over the Mennyms as they remembered that terrible time. They took in the reality of the room where they sat. Outside, the sun was shining, a winter sun shafting the sky. Vinetta coughed before she spoke again, a nice pretend to call her listeners to attention, to nip the memory in its bud.

  “And the envelope was meant to have been written forty-seven years later,” she went on, “by a member of the ‘Mennym’ family, before they left Brocklehurst Grove, passing the plea for love onto the Gladstones.”

  “So,” said Soobie, “if the letter is to be meaningful and effective, we must repeat the same formula. That way Daisy, and anyone else who’s interested, will recognise its authenticity.”

  “I’ll write it,” said Appleby. Writing letters was one of her many talents, one she had used – and misused – for years.

  “Not this time,” said her mother. “This time the writing has to be Pilbeam’s. And the words will again be mine.”

  Writing materials were taken from the sideboard drawer and Pilbeam sat down at the table ready to write.

  “We’ll keep it short and simple,” said Vinetta. “Write this – Dear Daisy, Thank you for helping us when our need was greatest.”

  She paused to give Pilbeam time to write. Then continued, “Thank you for the pact. And, above all, bless you for loving Kate’s People.”

  “How shall I sign it?” said Pilbeam.

  “Don’t,” said Vinetta. “All she needs to know is in the text.”

  The envelope came next. Soobie used the biggest one he could find – one of a batch that Appleby had bought for Sir Magnus in the hopes that he might rouse himself and send off some manuscript or other. In a large, clear hand he wrote

  * * *