Mennyms Alive

by Sylvia Waugh

  FOR DAISY

  A MESSAGE THAT WILL BE READ AFTER OUR DEPARTURE.

  We are safe and need not be sought.

  * * *

  “That is the best I can do,” said Vinetta and she slid the sheet of paper into the envelope. “I wish we could do more, but Daisy will understand why we can’t.”

  “Where will we leave it?” asked Joshua.

  “You will be the last to leave, Josh,” said Vinetta, recalling Tulip’s rota. “You must prop it up on the third or fourth step on the staircase so that she will see it as soon as she comes in the front door. I don’t want her to come upstairs and discover our absence without due warning.”

  She looked wistful, then added, “It’s the least, the very least, we can do.”

  CHAPTER 39

  Packing

  “I’M NOT GOING,” said Poopie vehemently. “If I can’t take the Lego and the Meccano and the Action Men, I’m staying here.”

  “Some things can go,” said Tulip, “important things, but we are limited to the three hold-alls your mother bought at the Market. That will be one for each taxi except Granpa’s. We obviously can’t take too much. If Daisy paid for stuff from Brocklehurst Grove, and I think she probably did, it would almost seem like stealing.”

  “Stealing?” said Appleby. “How can we be stealing when the things were ours in the first place? I think we should order a furniture van and take the lot.”

  Tulip gave her granddaughter a withering look.

  “Apart from the practicalities of such a ridiculous suggestion, we wouldn’t need the furniture even if we could take it. Our new home is already furnished. In the main we shall take only the clothes we are wearing and anything we have bought ourselves in the past few months.”

  “And my Lego. And my Meccano. And my Action Men,” said Poopie slowly and stubbornly.

  It looked like being a fight to the death till Vinetta intervened.

  “I think it’s fair that you should take some toys, Poopie, but not all of them. Leave some for Billy. He is your friend, remember.”

  “And I’ll never get to see him or talk to him again,” said Poopie, thinking of another reason for not leaving.

  Soobie shook his head.

  “It was impossible anyway,” he said. “You knew that, Poopie. You knew it from the start.”

  “But he can have some of your toys as a present,” said Vinetta. “That’s something you can do for him.”

  “He can have the robot,” said Poopie sullenly. “It’s got his batteries in it. And it was him first called it Chang.”

  “You’ll have to leave him more than that,” said Granny firmly. “Choose sensibly or you’ll take nothing.”

  Grudgingly, Poopie agreed. So the hold-all in the first taxi was to take something from Poopie’s toy cupboard.

  “A whole set of something,” he said. “Not much use leaving part of a set behind.”

  Choosing was difficult. The Lego was wonderful, the Meccano was marvellous . . . but the Action Men won the day. To Poopie they were people. He might have left the nameless warriors behind. He might even have parted with the heroic Hector. It was baleful Basil that turned the scale completely. Basil was the villain, the leader of the enemy forces, but he had lost an arm along the way. Someone less involved in his career might decide to throw him out.

  “The Action Men,” said Poopie. “I’ll take them and their equipment. And Paddy Black will have to come. He’s not a toy. He’s my pretend. He’s my pet rabbit.”

  Vinetta gave Poopie the nod to say no more. There was no point in provoking another argument with Granny Tulip.

  Wimpey was much easier to deal with. Daisy had kept all of the boys’ toys, meaning to please young Billy. She had sold on all of the girls’ toys except the American doll that had been found with Wimpey in the Doll Room. It was a shop doll that spoke with a transatlantic accent and claimed to be called Polly whenever a loop on its back was pulled out. Wimpey loved it. Its battery had been replaced many times and it was no longer wearing its original dress, but it was still the same doll that had been bought for her at Christmas seven years ago.

  “Can I take Polly?” Wimpey asked quietly, and Vinetta hugged her because she was so sweet.

  At this point, Appleby, surprisingly, was not difficult at all, rather the reverse. She changed her tune completely, but still managed to sound cheeky.

  “I’m not taking anything from here,” she said. “When I move, I want everything new, new clothes, new music centre, new video-player, the lot. If you can afford to buy a house like that, there should be enough left over for a real new life.”

  “We’ll see,” said Tulip tersely. There was no point in arguing about future expenditure at this stage. And the less the others took with them, the more room there would be in the hold-alls for the garments she had been knitting and the wool she had not used yet.

  “I wonder what Daisy will think when she finds we’ve gone?” said Vinetta as she packed the hold-alls. Soobie was helping, holding each bag wide open and then zipping it up when it was full. All of the stuff to be taken was arranged in neat piles on the dining table.

  “We can’t worry about that now,” said Soobie. “We’ve done all we can. Unless you’d like to stay here . . .?” And the answer to that question was quite obviously no!

  “I hope Kate approves,” said Vinetta a little while later as she was pressing Tulip’s garments down into the hold-all, cramming an extraordinary amount into a comparatively small space.

  Soobie was caught off guard. He was visited by the memory of a broken door, the bricks and plaster where a doorway should have been. Words he did not mean to speak sprang to his lips.

  “Of course she approves,” he said tersely. “We approve. And we are Kate Penshaw, all that remains of her. She has given the whole of herself to us.”

  A chill came over the room.

  Everyone fell silent.

  Soobie’s words had shocked them to the core. This was worse, much worse, than all he had ever said about the cupboard in Brocklehurst Grove not being Trevethick Street! This was as near as a rag doll could come to blasphemy.

  For some minutes, nobody spoke. Nobody moved. And Soobie was filled with remorse. Granpa had once said that Appleby did not know the rules. There are rules, hidden rules, and no one really knows all of them! To know a rule only after you’ve broken it hardly seems fair . . .

  Vinetta understood.

  She thrust the last item into the final hold-all and began vigorously to fasten the zip. Soobie bent over to help, to hold the bulging pack together, and he was glad to have a good excuse to hide his face.

  “Well, that’s that job finished,” said his mother in a tinny voice that made it sound as if some damage had been done to the little box inside her throat. “Now we are ready for the off.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Taxis

  BY CLOSING TIME on Tuesday, everything was ready. The Mennyms had stashed the hold-alls in the cupboard out of sight, just in case Daisy should have some reason to pay an unexpected visit. It was unlikely, but nothing is impossible. Precautions had to be taken.

  The shutters were put in place on the windows below, more noisily than ever it seemed, but that was because all of the Mennyms were breathlessly alert. It was the eleventh hour, the time when things can go terribly wrong. But nothing did.

  As soon as Daisy departed, Joshua was sent out to the phone box to book the taxis. It was incredibly smooth and easy.

  Soobie set off on his run at half-past seven. The evening was cold but dry.

  At eight o’clock precisely, Nolly’s Cars came and picked up Vinetta and the younger twins. The driver grinned as he noticed that the children were wearing plastic animal masks. Poopie got in first, holding Paddy Black on his knee. Then Vinetta got in with the hold-all, a long nylon barrel stretched to its limit.

  “I think you’d better put Polly on the back ledge,” said Vinetta to Wimpey. “Then we can hold the bag on both our knees.”


  Wimpey did as she was told and settled back to enjoy the ride.

  At ten past nine, only ten minutes late, a car from Castledean Taxis arrived at the door of Number 39 where Miss Quigley was huddled in the doorway holding Googles wrapped up in her shawl. Pilbeam followed her into the taxi, taking hold-all number two which was full of knitting needles and wool piled on top of the book Sir Magnus had been reading.

  At ten to ten, a Conroy’s Mini-Hire cab turned up, stopped just under the streetlamp, and sounded its horn.

  “He’s early,” said Magnus crossly, though he was standing in the passage all ready to go and shouldn’t have been annoyed at all. When Appleby opened the door, Magnus peered along at the driver and said crustily, “It’s not a he, it’s a she. Might have known. Women are always the same. They can be early or late. They don’t know how to be just on time.”

  Appleby stepped out of the doorway ahead of him and waved to the cab to come closer. Tulip and Joshua followed, supporting Magnus on either side whilst he held his cane high in his hand.

  The driver backed up slowly to the curb near the door and was about to get out and help.

  “It’s all right,” said Appleby. “Stay where you are. For goodness’ sake don’t try to help him. He’s completely doolally. I’m in charge of him. You’ll be safe enough. He’s quite harmless really, but he can’t stand strangers coming anywhere near him. It sends him off into hysterics.”

  The driver looked worried. The girl on the pavement, a gangly teenager in anorak and jeans, wearing absurd dark glasses that were much too big for her face, could be no older than sixteen or seventeen at the most. How would the old man, doolally or not, react to her cheek?

  “It’s all right,” said Appleby, seeing the doubtful expression on the woman’s face. “He can’t hear a word I’m saying. He’s stone deaf, been that way for years.”

  Magnus, hearing every word, was silent but furious. His wife and son pushed him into the door of the cab, like a housewife bundling laundry into a washing machine. Magnus in a sheepskin coat was very bulky, and the taxi was quite small. His pork-pie hat was well down over his brows and his turned-up collar enveloped his chin so that all that could be seen was some sign of his white moustache. The purple feet were hidden in a very large pair of leather boots.

  Mission accomplished, Tulip and Joshua retreated to the doorway. Appleby got into the back seat next to Magnus whose only response to her impertinence was to spread himself out across the seat and give her as little room as possible.

  “You’re very young,” said the driver over her shoulder. “It’s a wonder they’ve left it up to you to be responsible for him.”

  “I’m a lot older than I look,” said Appleby, “and I really am the best one to manage him. They all say that. He lives in a world of his own. Sometimes he thinks he’s Oliver Cromwell. But he seems to know who’s in charge when I’m around.”

  Magnus dug his left elbow into Appleby’s side and kept it there. Not much of a punishment, there were no ribs to bruise, but it was the best he could do, for the moment . . .

  “Central Station?” said the driver as she started up the engine. “Got far to go after that?”

  “Train to London. We’ll be met there by two male nurses and that’ll be the end of my job. They’re taking him off to a clinic in the South of France that specialises in his type of case.”

  “That’ll cost something,” said the driver.

  “He can afford it. He’s loaded. They’re all loaded except me. I’m just a poor relation.”

  By now, Appleby had gone well over the top and the driver no longer believed a word she was saying. Loaded? And living in a flat in North Shore Road? She asked no more questions but just shrugged her shoulders and kept her eyes on the road. When they came to the station, Appleby gave the driver an extra large tip to demonstrate their wealth. Then she disgorged her grandfather from the back seat, set one hand on to his cane, and draped the other round her shoulders.

  “Good luck, pet,” called the driver, “wherever it is you’re going!”

  The fourth and final taxi arrived spot on eleven o’clock. Tulip, Joshua and one well padded hold-all got into the back with no trouble at all.

  “Central Station,” said Joshua. And not another word passed anyone’s lips till the journey was over.

  Only one thing went really amiss in the whole operation. A small thing. A very small thing to everyone but Wimpey. Polly, the American doll, was left on the back ledge in the taxi.

  A station taxi, as big and as black as a hearse, swallowed each group of Mennyms in turn and transported them across the river and up to the church on the top of the hill. From there they walked down a short path to their new home, and into hard-won anonymity.

  CHAPTER 41

  Slowly, Very Slowly

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Daisy shut up shop at eleven-thirty. She had an appointment at the Infirmary. They were going to x-ray that pesky hip! Ever since she’d slipped off the stool, it had been giving her twinges and slowing her down.

  “If I get any slower, I’ll be going backwards,” she had joked to the doctor down at the surgery. She was not too optimistic about the outcome of the hospital visit, but she was determined to conquer this new disability, even if it should prove to be permanent.

  She walked along the pavement, leaning heavily on her stick, and rang the doorbell at Number 39, rang it three times to make sure the Mennyms would hear. She was earlier than usual and did not want to alarm them. This Wednesday she would not be paying them their usual afternoon visit and she wanted them to know.

  She opened the door with her key, went into the passage and called up the stairs, “My taxi’s coming any minute. I won’t be up to see you today. I’ve got an appointment at the hospital. Just a check-up, you know. It’s a nuisance, but it’s best to be careful.”

  Daisy hesitated, standing there in the passage, door half-open, looking up at the narrow staircase. The way I feel today, she thought, I couldn’t face those stairs even if I weren’t going to the hospital.

  Then she saw the letter. A very large white envelope with her own name on it was standing tilted against the rise of the fourth step.

  Bending forward slowly, painfully slowly, she picked it up and went out into the daylight to look at it more closely.

  The street was empty. She held the envelope up to the light and gasped as she read the inscription.

  * * *

  FOR DAISY

  A MESSAGE THAT WILL BE READ AFTER OUR DEPARTURE.

  We are safe and need not be sought.

  * * *

  Just then, the taxi drew into the curb in front of the shop. Daisy saw it and quickly closed the door of Number 39 behind her.

  “I’m here,” she called, and the driver, seeing her through his mirror, backed up to where she was standing, stick crooked over her arm, bag in one hand, letter in the other.

  “They tell me it’s the Infirmary today,” said the driver, the same one who usually drove her home to Hartside Gardens.

  “Yes,” said Daisy as she settled into the back seat. “Just for a check up. Make sure the hip’s all right.”

  She sat back, tore open the envelope and read its contents. The taxi drove up Deacon Street and past the Theatre Royal. It crossed the High Street into Albion Street and then went under the motorway and round into Dickinson Road.

  “We’re here,” said the driver. “Which entrance is it you want?”

  Daisy looked vague as if brought abruptly out of a dream.

  “Entrance?” she said.

  “The way in,” said the driver with a laugh. “You’re not up to your usual form today!”

  Daisy laughed back.

  “It’s old age, you know. Makes the mind wander. Still, at least I still have a mind capable of wandering, which is more than can be said of me poor old pins!”

  “Well, whither do we wander now?” said the driver. “There’s a chap in the car behind us getting very puzzled.”

  “Second
on the right – x-ray department,” said Daisy, laughing again, “and less of your lip!”

  The letter was thrust into her handbag and left for later, but its contents kept humming around in her brain like bees. The rag dolls, her family of Mennyms, were gone. The message seemed quite clear. They had left of their own accord and gone to some place of safety that they knew. Knew now – but not before?

  That was a puzzle, a mystery. Had their bodies gone, or just their spirit? Would inanimate dolls be found in the flat above the shop? Daisy then realised that the message was not clear at all.

  The x-ray took very little time and its result was instantaneous. There was no fracture, only a strained muscle which was causing some sciatica. The hip itself was holding up well.

  “You’re a strong woman, Daisy,” said the specialist. “It’s the will that does it. You’ll go on forever! But I’d like you to take things a bit easier. No lifting, no straining, no climbing stairs, just plenty of rest, till this settles down again.”

  “If I stop, I’ll seize up,” said Daisy. “That’s what happens to old engines!”

  “I’m not asking you to stop,” said the doctor with a laugh at his stubborn patient. “Just take a breather!”

  But Thursday found Daisy back at work as usual. Nothing would have kept her away from the shop that day. For months she had pretended not to hear the noises in the flat above. Today she was listening for them, listening and hoping. The bell over the door jangled. Customers came and went. But from the floor above came not a sound.

  One very curious thing did occur. At about two o’clock in the afternoon a taxi drew up outside the shop with ‘Nolly’s Cars’ painted on the door panel. The driver got out, carrying something in his hand, and went to the door of Number 39. Daisy did not see him. She was busy writing.

  The taxi driver rang the doorbell of the flat, then waited. He rang again and waited again. When it became clear that no one was coming to open the door, he looked around, paused to think, and then made up his mind. The shop was below the flat. Whoever was in the shop must know their upstairs neighbours.