The Alice Stories

by Davina Bell

  She unfolded the thin, brown pages and cleared her throat.

  ‘Dear everyone,

  ‘Have saved the stub of a candle to write to you by while I have the chance. Shelling makes it hard to concentrate, so sorry if this rambles. First things first: Have asked about Papa Sir, but it’s as we thought – no word from anyone. Seems his ship could well have been sunk by the Krauts on its way to –’ Alice stopped. ‘Someone’s blacked this bit out! Look – I can’t read it. How dare they draw over Teddy’s letter!’

  ‘They’ve censored it – covered up the bits that might give away secrets about the war,’ said George. ‘In case the enemy gets hold of them.’

  ‘What’s a Kraut?’ asked Little.

  ‘A German,’ said Alice. ‘But it’s not a nice word so don’t anyone start using it.’

  ‘But Teddy used it,’ Mabel pointed out.

  ‘I will scold ’im when he comes ’ome,’ said Mama. ‘Continue, Alice.’

  ‘George would go mad for all the machines here, and you wouldn’t believe the aeroplanes. How I long to paint skies full of them, swooping like birds.’

  ‘Does he mention any specific types?’ said George. ‘I’ve heard the Rumpler Taube is a –’

  Alice kept reading. ‘Am on the battlefields now, but I started off in a camp in England where they fed us bread and jam that wasn’t a patch on yours, Little – all watery.’

  ‘That means it hadn’t set,’ said Little gravely.

  ‘On leave days we would go up to London. Mabel, you’d love it – real palaces and streets made of cobbles, like in a fairytale. But Tink, your heart would have broken: there are little kids there, smaller than Pudding, filthy and begging in rags. And the city was full of men cut up from the fighting, walking around like shredded ghosts.’

  Nobody said anything to that. And then the letter turned sad, so sad.

  ‘I suppose that shall be me soon. The trenches are full of bodies, and there are men who walk over them, standing on faces as if they’re stepping stones on some God-awful river. I try to throw something over them as I’m passing – a bag or some dirt – but mostly I have to keep going.

  ‘I doubt very much I will see you again, for you can’t imagine the power in a bomb or the force in a bullet. Compared to all that I am nothing. I wish I could write to you of brave deeds, but it is as I always thought: with the heart of a painter, I am no soldier.’

  Alice had to pause and swallow to finish.

  ‘I try to imagine what Heaven will be when it comes. But all I can see in my mind is you, all of you, gathered around me, smiling.

  ‘Whatever happens, I will always be,

  ‘Your Teddy’

  Everyone looked to Alice then, their faces crumpled with worry. But Alice knew if she tried to talk, she would cry.

  It was Mama who spoke, her voice gentle but sure. ‘Teddy was feeling miserable when he wrote this, non? But mes enfants, it is all right for people to feel sad – for us to feel sad. Sometimes it ’elps.’ She gave Alice a small smile. ‘Per’aps writing this made Teddy feel better.’

  ‘But when Papa Sir went away, you wouldn’t let us feel sad,’ Mabel pointed out. ‘You didn’t like us to talk about him.’

  ‘And I was wrong. I see that now, and I am sorry. So, let us each say all that we love about Teddy.’

  ‘And Papa Sir?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘Oui, and Papa Sir,’ said Mama.

  Mama went and fetched her harp, and Little made cocoa, and they all lay together on the rug, remembering Papa Sir’s funny walks and the time Teddy painted on a moustache and wore it to Christmas Carols, and for a few moments, life was good again.

  ‘Thank you for coming to this Emergency Breakfast Meeting,’ Alice said at the kitchen table the next morning, which was a very sunny Saturday. They’d been up early doing the churning because Little had promised to make a trifle if they all helped to whip some cream. Now she’d made them crepes – French ones, like Mama had taught her – and Alice had picked lemons from the tree to squeeze over them with sugar. She hoped it might make everyone’s mood a bit sweeter when she made her important announcement. ‘So I’ve got an important announcement,’ she said.

  ‘Another one?’ asked Mabel, looking at Alice through a pair of crepe binoculars.

  ‘You made your important announcement weeks ago. And I did a lot of research into the science of crochet, but you never brought it up again,’ said George. ‘Which is a pity, as I came up with my own technique and I think it could get some jolly nice results.’

  ‘I know I already . . . but that was before . . . never mind,’ said Alice. ‘You’ll definitely get a chance to try out your new technique, George, because I talked to Mrs Baker and we’re to have a table at the Apple Blossom Fair next month to raise money for the soldiers – our very own. There’s a prize for the best one, and I thought that together we might have a shot.’ Alice looked up hopefully. After all this time, would anyone still be interested?

  ‘Of course we’ll win,’ said Mabel. ‘No question. And it had better be something good, not just some tat. Like maybe a doll’s house, or a –’

  ‘I could make some jam from our mulberry tree, Alice, couldn’t I?’ asked Little. ‘And some curd from the passionfruit vine? Or wouldn’t that be fancy enough to sell?’

  ‘That sounds like heaven, Little,’ said Alice, feeling excitement bubble through her for the first time in ages. ‘And what will you sell, Pudding?’ she asked, taking off Pudding’s crepe hat and dusting the sugar from her hair.

  ‘Seashells,’ said Pudding earnestly. ‘She sells seashells.’

  The plans for the fair had started very well, and each night Alice had ticked off the things they’d done with great satisfaction. The jams were made, the bunting stitched, and they’d set up a very fine doll hospital, which most of their toys had visited.

  However, Alice sensed that George and Mabel were getting tired of the Apple Blossom Fair now. But even though the big day was less than a week away, Alice didn’t feel that they could relax just yet.

  ‘I’ve checked about the rosettes,’ she said, ‘and Mrs Baker said to me that –’

  ‘Not her again,’ said George, sticking his finger into Little’s cake batter. ‘Just washed my hands, Little – you don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘She does mind,’ said Alice. ‘That’s for the Red Cross, and Mrs Baker is a very –’

  ‘Unfortunate-looking woman,’ said George.

  ‘Bossy old busybody,’ said Mabel, ‘and you used to think so, too, Alice, so don’t go acting all high and mighty. Ever since you’ve gone all silly over the war, you’ve become a complete tyrant.’

  ‘Have not! And even if I have a bit, it’s because I want us to win, because –’

  ‘Because being the best is all you ever care about. Well, I won’t stitch another thing, and if you think poor Little’s going to cook another pot of jam, you’re dreaming.’

  Alice felt her neck start to turn red. ‘You all agreed to be part of this, so don’t start complaining just because you’re too lazy for hard work. All you have to do is follow the schedule and I’ve done every single other –’

  ‘Stop being so BOSSY,’ Mabel shouted shrilly. ‘That’s why you don’t have any friends, Alice. That’s why you have to sit by yourself at lunchtimes and nobody will even come near you.’

  The shame of knowing that Mabel had watched her eating alone made Alice’s rage boil over. ‘Shut up! Shut up shut up,’ she cried. ‘You don’t know anything, you horrid blathering fool. I hate you.’

  Mabel looked so shocked and hurt that Alice burst into tears. And once she started sobbing, she couldn’t stop. Alice wasn’t just crying about hurting Mabel’s feelings and sitting alone at lunchtimes and losing Jilly. She was sobbing for Teddy, and for Papa Sir, and Miss Lillibet, and for ballet, and for losing everything that made her feel safe.

  ‘There, there, Alice,’ said Little, patting Alice’s back. ‘Don’t cry.’

  But that just ma
de Alice weep more.

  ‘Shall I call Mama at the bank, sport?’ George asked awkwardly after a while.

  ‘I know I’ve been bossy,’ said Alice, sniffing. ‘But if we win, Mrs McNair might . . . might let Jilly be my friend again.’

  ‘And we will,’ vowed Mabel. ‘I’m sorry I yelled. Whatever you need us to do, Alice, we’re ready.’

  n the morning of the fair, they were out the door at half past eight, just as Alice’s schedule said. Tatty’s cart was full of bottles and jars, and tins of cakes and scones and biscuits and cream. Their crocheted bits and pieces were wrapped in tissue paper in one of Mama’s beautiful hatboxes. Pan was pulling a wagon full of trays and colourful bunting and jars of jam. George had his arms full of greenery and flowers, and Alice was pushing a pram of toys, feeling proud. She and Mabel were wearing their ruffliest white dresses. They’d slept with their hair wound into little knobs, and this morning they’d brushed them into ringlets, which sat beneath their big white hats.

  ‘You look like a pair of giant doilies,’ George said critically.

  ‘Good,’ said Alice. ‘I’ll bet Mrs Baker’s ladies are mad for doilies.’

  ‘Don’t forget to pinch your cheeks – like this – so they’re all flushed and pretty,’ said Mabel. ‘And tilt your chin down and look up through your eyelashes, like this.’

  ‘Good grief, we’re not there to romance people, Mabel. Do you think we should get Uncle Bear to carry any of this for us? Where is he, anyway?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him all morning,’ said George. ‘But we should be fine on our own.’

  As they set off, ribbons of white sunlight were bouncing off the blue water. All along the riverbanks, the freesias were out, like a carpet of little white trumpets, smelling of the coming summer. Alice stopped to pick an armful and sniff them.

  ‘One hippo, two hippos,’ sang Pudding as she skipped along next to Pan.

  ‘She says stranger things by the day,’ George said.

  ‘But more things in a row – that was four words together. Good work, Pudding,’ said Alice. ‘Though I s’pose it is quite odd. Now, let’s just go over the order of things one more time. First, we’ll –’

  George and Mabel stopped.

  ‘Um, Alice?’ said Little uneasily. ‘I think we’ve actually covered that quite a few . . .’

  ‘Sorry sorry sorry – I won’t be bossy today, I promise. I just want it to be perfect.’

  ‘As if it couldn’t be,’ said Mabel. ‘You’ll see.’

  Down on the shore, the Evans’s two fat ponies were saddled up, waiting to give rides. Up the hill were the refreshment stalls with the merry painted signs – Cool Drinks! Confectionery! Ice Cream! Lucky Dip! – and little clusters of chairs for people to sit on. And on a flat piece of grass was the stage for the events and all the stall tables, which were bare now, but when the fair opened at lunchtime, they’d be groaning with wonderful things to eat and buy. Union Jacks hung from every pole and awning, flapping in the gentle breeze. At the Fancy stall, Alice found Miss Elvira, who directed them to their table.

  When they’d tied Tatty to a tree, George rigged up wires and fishing rods above their heads and a big piece of lattice behind them, and over the top of all that they twisted the greenery, twining in roses and freesias, so that it stretched over their heads in a leafy, sweet-smelling arch.

  Then they laid out Mama’s most beautiful white lace tablecloth, and up one end Little arranged a pyramid of her jams, the different colours twinkling like pots of jewels in the sunshine. Mabel set all the fairy cakes and meringues on stands and platters lined with doilies. A pitcher of homemade mulberry cordial sat on a silver tray, surrounded by the little crystal tumblers that Mama had fetched from the attic.

  Out of the hat boxes and the tissue paper came the tiny dolls clothes they’d stitched from old summer dresses with little flowers, and the baby rugs and tiny bonnets and booties that George had crocheted. ‘If you tell anyone I did them, I’ll tip over the table,’ he’d warned.

  From the pram, Alice pulled out the dolls they’d fixed and tidied, their cheeks freshly rouged, looking good as new – better, even. Then came Little’s favourite tea set with the blue flowers, which she’d cried over but insisted they sell. And last of all came Alice’s big teddy, Sebastian, who she’d had since she was teeny. As she set him down in the middle of the table, he looked so wise and kindly that Alice felt a pang in her heart. Good grief, grow up, she told herself. Teddy’s willing to give up his whole life for the war, and you can’t part with a silly old bear?

  They looped the coloured triangles of bunting across the front of the table, and when they’d finished, Alice had to agree that Mabel was right. Looking around, their table was by far the prettiest, and Alice had the same feeling she got when she did her barre exercises without a single wobble. It was perfect.

  By now, Keane’s Point was filled with the happy hum of a fair crowd, and the air smelled of meat and wood smoke. Alice jiggled with excitement as she made sure the coins in the change box were lined up in neat rows. A swarm of people came up the hill towards the tables, Mabel dashing in front of them. ‘They just cut the ribbon,’ she called. ‘It’s begun!’

  It’s finally here, Alice thought happily, searching the crowd for Mrs McNair.

  The first person to come up to the table was Podger, his fist closed tight around a clump of pennies.

  ‘How much cakes can I get for this?’ he asked Mabel.

  ‘How much do you have there, sir?’ asked Mabel, in the same voice she used to bargain with the grocer. Alice smiled.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Podger. ‘Lots.’

  ‘Well, hand them over – I’ll count them.’

  But just as Podger was about to drop the coins in Mabel’s outstretched palm, his mother came up behind him and snatched at the waistband of his shorts.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ she hissed, dragging him away.

  ‘How rude,’ said Mabel, sniffing.

  ‘We wouldn’t have wanted to sell all your cakes too early anyway, Little,’ said Alice. ‘I want everyone to see how pretty they are.’

  Then shy little Peg Manford pulled her big sister Nell up to the table by her small, plump hand.

  ‘Hello Alice,’ Peg whispered. She turned to Nell. ‘That one there?’ she asked, pointing to Claudette, one of Mabel’s dolls. Claudette was wearing a dress with a pattern of little pink flowers and green leaves, on which Alice had done some neat smocking.

  ‘That’s a very good choice, Peg,’ said Alice, lifting up Claudette and smoothing her collar. ‘That dress was made from fabric sent to us from France by my mama’s best friend, Coco, and I embroidered these leaves on the collar myself. I copied them from our strawberry plant.’

  Nell said nothing, just frowned and jerked Peg away by the wrist and said something to her that made Peg drop her head and wipe at her big brown eyes.

  Puzzled, Alice kissed Claudette’s cheek and set her back down next to Sebastian. ‘Don’t you worry, Claudette – it’s nothing to do with you. You look beautiful.’

  But as two Christ Church schoolboys walked past the table and looked longingly at the turret of raisin scones but didn’t stop to buy any, it was Alice who started to worry. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘Do you get the feeling that perhaps –’ began George.

  ‘Hush, George,’ said Alice warningly. ‘All we can do is wait.’

  Two hours later, they were still waiting, silent and downcast. For nobody had bought anything from their stall.

  Mabel’s voice was hoarse from calling out, ‘Roll up! Roll up!’ But the Red Cross ladies swept past their table as if it wasn’t there, and the children from school glanced at them nervously before scurrying by, fingers closed tightly around their money. The whipped cream for the scones had gone flat in the sun, and beads of sweat had formed on the sides of the mulberry cordial.

  Eventually Little asked in a little voice, ‘Why, Alice? Why won’t they come?’

  ‘
I’m not really sure,’ Alice said sadly.

  ‘Well, I’m going to find out,’ said Mabel, crawling under the table and out the other side. ‘Violet will tell me – she’s helping out with the ponies. I’ll be back.’

  ‘I suppose we should eat and drink some of this,’ said Alice.

  But none of them felt like eating.

  ‘Right, I’ve got the answers,’ Mabel said when she returned. ‘Violet is very sorry, but her mother said Mrs McNair told all the ladies to keep everyone away and that we shouldn’t have been allowed a table in the first place. And Violet’s papa says that Uncle Bear is The Vandal, and that all the other kids think so too, and they’re scared to come near us in case he’s around with his axe. What’s a Vandal? Is Uncle Bear one?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ Alice said. She thought of the red paint under his fingernails, and how she hadn’t told anyone about it. Could Uncle Bear be dangerous? Were people right to be frightened? Should she have said something?

  As Alice wondered, a crowd gathered around the stage, and Mrs Baker appeared on the podium, beaming.

  ‘It is time to announce the winners of the Best Decorated Table,’ she boomed. ‘We had a number of spectacular entries, but in the end, the decision was an easy one. The award this year goes to some of our youngest entrants, participating in their very first Red Cross fair.’

  Alice breathed in sharply. After everything, perhaps there was still hope.

  ‘Congratulations go to . . . Jilly McNair and May Vivienne Fairfield, for their knitting supplies stall! You would all have seen the backdrop to their table, the stunning knitted Union Jack. I understand these little ladies have been working together night and day to get it finished. Jilly and May Vivienne, come forward!’

  The crowd cheered as the girls made their way to the front. While May Vivienne was handed a certificate, Jilly looked intently out into the crowd, as if she were searching for something, or maybe for someone. When her eyes met Alice’s, she tilted her head and smiled – a sorry sort of smile. But Alice couldn’t smile back. She dropped to one knee and fiddled with her shoe buckle so she could wipe her eyes.