by Davina Bell
‘And I’m pleased to announce that the raffle of their beautiful work will raise enough money for fifteen-hundred tins of rat poison! And now,’ said Mrs Baker when the clapping had died down, ‘Mr Lionel Logue will judge the elocution competition!’
‘Bad luck, Alice,’ said George. ‘We could have done with all that rat poison.’
Alice was beyond cheering up. She sat back down, gazing at the coins in the change box, still lined up in their very neat rows.
Late in the afternoon, a man came up to the table. He looked vaguely familiar, but Alice wasn’t sure why.
‘Hello, there. Am I right in thinking you’re a Miss Alexander?’
‘Yes,’ said Alice uncertainly. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘What a lovely stall you have. I’m Lionel Logue – pleased to meet you.’
‘Oh! You were on the stage – judging the elocution competition. I’m Alice,’ she said. ‘Would you like to buy something, Mr Logue?’
‘Yes I would – some of that delicious jam, I think. And please, call me Lionel. Tell me, is that magnificent teddy really for sale? My sons would love him.’
Alice nodded. ‘Lionel!’ she said suddenly, remembering where she’d heard the name before. ‘Do you know my sister Pudding?’
Lionel grinned. ‘Your uncle Herbert has been bringing her to me for some time now – I’m a speech therapist. Usually I treat soldiers for shell shock, but I’ve taken your sister on as a special case. I don’t suppose you know if she’s been practising her exercises? “She sells seashells”, “one hippo, two hippos” and the like?’
‘Yes, she has! She says things like that all the time, but we haven’t known why. Oh, it all makes sense. Thank you, Mr Logue. Before, she could hardly say anything.’
‘Well, I’m very pleased with her progress – she’s racing along.’
‘Do you think one day she’ll be able to speak like . . . like a normal person?’
‘With practice and patience, I have no doubt. It’s all in the breathing. She’s a lovely little girl. And your uncle is a wonderful man, whatever those gossips are saying.’ He winked at Alice, and she felt overcome with gratitude. Perhaps not everyone in the world was as horrid as she’d thought a minute before.
‘Mr Logue, please take Sebastian home to your sons – as a present to say thank you, for . . . for teaching Pudding.’
‘Heavens, no. I’ll pay you.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Pudding’s worth a million times more than a bear. Besides.’ She smiled. ‘Nobody’s bought anything from us all day – you’d be ruining our perfect record.’
As Alice handed the bear to Lionel Logue with a pot of mulberry jam, he looked at her with sympathy. ‘Thank you, Alice,’ he said. ‘When you think back on today, remember how generous you were, and feel proud.’
‘I’ll try,’ she said, and gave Sebastian’s paw one last squeeze, just so he knew she still cared.
hen they arrived home with their cart and wagon full, Mama was outraged to hear of what had happened. She shook her fist.
‘After all your work! Oooh, I could keel that woman! And ’oo won the prize for the prettiest table?’
There was a pause, and Alice realised that nobody wanted to tell in case it upset her even more. ‘Jilly,’ she said flatly. ‘And May Vivienne.’
‘Oh, ma petite . . .’ Mama hugged Alice hard enough to bruise her. ‘Alors! I have an idea – let us all go out to the pantomime! And eat ices and forget all our worries. Cinderella is still playing in Fremantle.’
‘I’ve heard there are some jolly good acrobats in that show,’ George said.
‘And there’s a shining fairy who changes Cinderella’s rags into a beautiful dress,’ said Mabel. ‘And a coach and horse with fairy lights.’
‘Oui! We will catch the train. Alice? You will come?’
Alice shook her head.
‘Non, Maman. I’m too tired.’
Mama frowned and tucked a wisp of hair behind Alice’s ear. ‘D’accord. We will stay with you. I only wanted to cheer you up.’
But Alice couldn’t bear the disappointment that flickered across Little’s face. She had worked so hard for Alice – they all had. Why shouldn’t they have a nice night out?
‘Please, Maman, take the others? I’ll stay here and look after Pudding. She’s too little for the pantomime.’
‘Are you sure, Alice?’ asked Mabel. I don’t want to leave you all alone. I hate being all alone.’
‘Right now, alone’s the only thing I want to be,’ said Alice.
As she slipped into bed, Alice could hear the happy sounds of them all getting ready, the clinks of dinner being scoffed, and impatient footsteps in the hall. Under her pillow, Papa Sir’s watch ticked steadily, in time with Alice’s aching heart.
It serves me right, she thought sternly. I cared so much about winning that I forgot all about the poor soldiers. What would Teddy say? Then Alice had to wipe her eyes again, because whatever it was, it would have been something kind, and Teddy wasn’t here to say it.
Then there was a soft tap at the door, and Mama came in holding Pudding, fresh from the bath, in her nightshirt.
‘You are sure you will not come, ma petite? Bear could watch Pudding – he is ’ome tonight.’
Alice shook her head. ‘Non, Maman. My head hurts. Put her in here with me.’
As Pudding nestled close, Mama kissed Alice’s forehead. ‘The bath water is still warm, if you are in the mood,’ she said, and shut the door softly behind her. A minute later Alice could hear them walking out into the sunset to go down to the station.
‘So you’ve been learning to talk, Pudding,’ said Alice. ‘With Lionel.’
‘Yes, Lionel,’ said Pudding.
‘You smell good. Did Mama wash your hair this evening?’
‘You very sad,’ said Pudding, stroking Alice’s cheek with her plump fingers. Her touch was so gentle, it set off Alice’s tears again.
‘S-s-sorry, Pudding,’ she gulped. ‘It’s just – I-I tried so hard, and nobody came. And now I’ll never be friends with Jilly again.’
‘Happy face?’ said Pudding, sticking her fingers into the corners of Alice’s mouth. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she had really been happy. Before Teddy had left? Before Little had almost drowned?
‘My audition,’ she said. ‘That was the last time I had a happy face.’ Remembering something, Alice leaned over and pulled out an envelope from underneath her mattress.
‘I’ve never told anyone this, Pudding, but Edouard Espinosa wrote a letter that day – to Miss Lillibet.’ She wiped at her nose and opened the envelope. ‘Don’t think I’m boasting, Pudding, will you, but listen to this – he says, “I suspect that she may go on to be the most famous, most glorious dancer of our times.” Wasn’t that nice of him?’
And then Alice felt her love of ballet come back stronger than ever – as if she were about to crack into pieces and dancing was the only thing that would keep her whole.
‘Pudding, I’m sure it’s almost your bedtime, but will you come with me just for a little while?’
Before she really knew what she was doing, Alice was pulling out a dance tunic and her ballet shoes from the back of the cupboard and putting them on, and then she was breathing very quickly, and running across the lawn in the golden dusk, Pudding bouncing against her side, and feeling that everything was going to be all right – that dancing was going to fix it. And as she threw open the doors of the greenhouse, Alice felt for a second how it would be to have Jilly back in her life. Returning to ballet was like throwing herself into the open arms of a very dear friend.
Her shoes were a little tight on her feet, and her legs didn’t bend quite as easily now, and soon Alice had to stop and catch her breath. But the feeling was the same: the soaring inside her, the sense that the world had stopped and nothing else mattered at all.
As Alice went over to the gramophone to change the music and rest a little, Pudding saw something out of the windows that faced
onto the lawn.
‘Al-ice,’ she called. ‘Some men – there.’
Alice couldn’t believe it. ‘Baby, you said my name! Oh, Pudding, I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’
‘There,’ said Pudding insistently, ducking her head from Alice’s kisses and pointing.
Alice looked, and Pudding was right. Men – five or six of them – were striding across the lawn, their faces grim. They had come from around the side of the garden. They were heading for Uncle Bear’s house.
And in the dying light, Alice could just make out that one of them had red hair.
tay here, Pudding. Promise you won’t move,’ Alice pleaded. But she knew that Pudding hated the dark. She wouldn’t stay in the greenhouse alone, and she was too precious to leave behind. Alice picked Pudding up and slung her onto her back. She didn’t know exactly what those men wanted to do, but as she remembered Uncle Bear’s poor bruised eye, she knew that it wouldn’t be anything good. There was nobody to help – unless she could get to the telephone. But it would take time to run up to the house and back again.
So Alice followed the men down to Uncle Bear’s cottage, where they stood around the door, taking turns to bang on it. She recognised Violet’s father, and Mr Nixon, and the postmaster. And Douglas McNair.
‘We know you’re in there.’
‘You might be mute but you’re not deaf, so you’ve no excuse, you coward.’
‘We just want to talk – ha ha.’
The men all sniggered, and Douglas shook the window frame.
As Alice drew closer, she saw that some of them had bats and crowbars, and Mr Nixon had a bag and some rope. She felt fright shoot through her body. She needed to call the policeman. But how could she keep Uncle Bear safe while she did it? Would he come out? Would they break in?
She felt Pudding wriggling against her back, kicking to be put down, and suddenly Alice had a bold idea. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
‘Good evening, gentlemen! Have you come to visit my uncle? Please come in – he’s got a lovely cottage. Have you met his dog? Hello, Douglas. How’s your leg?’
The men turned around in surprise. Violet’s father took off his hat. But the others looked at her coolly, not moving as she swept past. Douglas stepped into her path as she reached the doorway.
‘We’ve come on men’s business,’ he said. ‘You’ve no place here.’
‘But won’t you be wanting some tea and refreshments?’ Alice asked brightly. She knocked on the door and called out. ‘It’s me, Alice! Open up – I’ve brought Pudding to visit. It’s okay, Uncle Bear.’
Please please please, she begged him silently. Trust in me.
The handle turned, and Uncle Bear pulled the door back slowly. Alice held Pudding out to him and he took her, looking at Alice’s ballet clothes in confusion.
‘Bear!’ said Pudding.
‘That’s right. Gentlemen, come and meet my littlest sister. Pudding, we call her, because she’s so sweet.’
The men shuffled in awkwardly. It was obvious that they weren’t there for a social call, but Alice was being so polite that it must have seemed rude not to do as she suggested. Only Douglas stood back, glaring.
Alice knew she was taking a very big risk – a risk that would have a horrible ending if it didn’t go right. She was wildly hoping that the men wouldn’t do anything while Pudding was there. And that Uncle Bear was not as dangerous as everyone supposed.
‘Now, I’ll go and get the tea, and another of my sisters has made a fruitcake. She’s an awfully good cook – and only just six! We call her Little, because she’s so tiny, but her real name’s Lillian, after my grandmama. And Pudding here, her real name’s –’
Good grief, thought Alice, as she prattled on. I sound just like Mabel. ‘I’ll be back in a tick. Be good for the nice men, Pudding.’
As Alice bolted up through the garden and into the hall, her chest was heaving. She grabbed the telephone off its cradle. ‘Please,’ she panted. ‘Put me through to Constable Jenkins. It’s urgent.’ She waited as her call was transferred by the operator, her throat dry, her fingers trembling.
‘Constable, it’s Alice Alexander. There’s a gang of men here and they’re after Uncle Bear. I think – I think they want to kill him. Please hurry – the cottage in the garden.’
Alice hung up and dashed to the kitchen and grabbed Little’s fruitcake and a pitcher of milk, which sloshed as she ran down the lawn.
Back at the cottage, Pudding was instructing the men where to sit, pointing to various stools and boxes. ‘You here – not there,’ she said with delight.
‘Now,’ said Alice when they were all seated, ‘who’d like some cake and milk?’
‘We won’t be staying,’ said Douglas.
‘Although,’ said the postmaster, who was sitting on a big upside-down saucepan, ‘this cake does look tasty. Might as well, eh?’
Alice divided up the fruitcake, trying not to show that her hands were shaking. Where was the constable? And what would the men do when they finished munching?
But Alice didn’t have to find out, because there was a knock at the door.
‘Evening, all,’ said Constable Jenkins, who everyone called Ginger. ‘Bit late for a visit, isn’t it?’
Some of the men looked sheepish, and Violet’s father shuffled in his seat.
‘Just doing our bit to keep the Grove safe, Officer,’ said Douglas, ‘seeing as you’re struggling with that yourself.’
‘That’s why I’m here, actually. Official police business.’ Ginger turned to Uncle Bear. ‘Herbert Alexander, you’re under arrest on suspicion of theft and the destruction of public property. Sorry, Alice, love,’ he added. ‘But I’ve been keeping an eye on your uncle for weeks, and it’s him that’s been doing this mischief round town, I’m sure of it. He’s The Vandal.’
Alice was horrified. ‘That’s not why I called you. No, no, no – it isn’t him!’ But even as the words came out of her mouth, Alice’s eyes fell to a collection of axes and saws by the fireplace.
‘He was seen buying red paint from Muggeridge’s some weeks back, and people have caught him skulking round town at all hours. Bear, you’re coming with me.’ As Ginger stepped towards Uncle Bear, the hackles on Pan’s neck sprung up, and he growled a rough, raspy growl.
Uncle Bear stood and walked towards Ginger, his hands held out in peace. He is The Vandal, thought Alice with horror. And I never warned anyone.
But at the last second, Uncle Bear dodged past them all and ran out into the night.
‘What the dickens . . . ?’ said Ginger, and took off after him.
‘Catch him!’ the men cried as they tripped over each other trying to leave the cottage.
Alice knew that she couldn’t let Uncle Bear run out all alone. ‘Pudding, you have to stay here, okay? Stay with Pan and please don’t leave the garden.’
She could just see the last of the men running onto View Street and down the hill. And so she followed, knowing she wouldn’t have a hope of catching up, but determined to try. She could see Uncle Bear way ahead, ducking his head as he ran under the fronds of the peppermint trees. She could smell them, fresh and sweet, as she ran, her legs burning. A couple of times she stumbled, but she didn’t let herself trip.
At the corner of Irvine Street, everyone wheeled to the left, down towards the river. Even from behind the men, Alice could hear Uncle Bear’s heavy breaths and his footsteps, ringing out like gunshots. Where was he going? She was starting to tire, and she could feel the stones of the path shredding the soles of her too-small shoes.
But then Alice thought about Teddy on the battlefield in France; how she wished she could be there to run alongside him so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Even if Uncle Bear is The Vandal, I’ll love him just as much, she promised herself. I would do strange things, too, if everyone was always so mean to me.
She pushed herself harder, ignoring how her muscles shrieked to stop. As Uncle Bear crossed The Esplanade and reached t
he river, the men slowed, unsure of the path that Alice knew so well. She caught up to first one and then another, until she’d overtaken them – all but Constable Jenkins and Douglas.
It was a full moon, the kind that turned the surface of the bay silvery, like a lake of ice. Under its glow, she could see Uncle Bear stop suddenly.
‘Keep going!’ Alice screamed, wild with the pain in her lungs.
But he didn’t. When she reached him, Uncle Bear stood at the door to Papa Sir’s boatshed. He was bent double, wheezing terribly. His face was white and sweaty, his eyes closed. Alice thought of how she’d seen him in this very spot a few weeks before. He wasn’t just running blindly, Alice realised. He was leading us here.
‘Come now, Bear,’ said Ginger, panting. ‘You’re under arrest. Time to go.’
‘No,’ puffed Alice. ‘He’s brought us here – to show us – something, haven’t you – Uncle Bear?’
But Uncle Bear just sank to his knees and put his face on the path’s damp dirt.
‘Take him,’ spat Douglas.
‘Now let’s not have any trouble,’ Ginger said gently to Alice. ‘It’s not safe to have him wandering around.’ He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
Alice felt hot tears come to her eyes. ‘Listen to me! He wouldn’t have brought us here for no reason. Please wait,’ she begged. ‘Just while I look around in the shed? There’s a hurricane lamp – at least, there used to be when my father was here.’
Alice lifted the latch and swung back the big wooden doors. She gasped.
There was something in the boatshed – something huge. It reached almost to the ceiling, and down as far as the back wall. Alice reached out her hands and felt with her fingertips. It was wooden, and smooth.
Just inside on the left was where Papa Sir had kept the lamp, and it was still there, some matches, too. Alice lit the lamp, and turned back to the great hulking thing.