by Davina Bell
It was a boat. The most beautiful boat she’d ever seen. It was painted red, and it glowed rosily in the rings of lamplight. There was a little cabin up top, and a mast for a flag. It was everything Papa Sir had talked of.
Ginger broke the silence with a long, low whistle. ‘She’s a beauty.’
Alice handed him the lamp and went and sat down next to Uncle Bear on the path. ‘You finished Papa Sir’s boat for us,’ she said in wonder. ‘Thank you, Uncle Bear,’ she whispered. She turned to the policeman. ‘Don’t you see? Uncle Bear was making us this boat – that’s why he had the red paint. That’s why he was sneaking around.’
‘Seems that way,’ said the constable, nodding. ‘Fine job you’ve done, Bear. Lovely joins. I’d like to see how she sails.’
‘Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have done those other things, too,’ said Douglas darkly. ‘The red paint, and the windows, and the axe through the police station.’
Constable Jenkins spun around. ‘What did you say, McNair?’
‘I said that he could have done those other things, too. Just because –’
‘You mentioned the police station. But it’s funny that, Douglas, because we haven’t told a soul about the damage to the police station. Didn’t want to alarm anyone. The only person who’d know about it is the person who did it.’
And then Douglas was sprinting into the darkness, and all the men were following.
WONDER what gave you the idea to finish the boat, Uncle Bear,’ Alice said as they walked up Forrest Street in the starlight.
Alice could see through the darkness that his face was sad and sorry. Suddenly she knew the answer, and it made her shiver.
‘He’s never coming home, is he? You think that Papa Sir is dead.’
Uncle Bear hesitated. He nodded, and put the tips of his thumbs together and held them over his heart. In Uncle Bear’s special language, that was the sign for love.
As they walked back through the gates of home, Little and Mabel and George were standing on the verandah, waiting. Alice lifted her chin and though her chest ached, she willed herself to be brave for them, and jolly.
‘There you are!’ said Mabel. ‘We found Pudding asleep in the greenhouse and we couldn’t work out where you’d gone. Why on earth are you wearing that?’
‘Hush, Mabel. Uncle Bear has a huge surprise for us.’ Alice turned to him and smiled. ‘Shall we tell them now or show them tomorrow?’
But Uncle Bear wasn’t listening to Alice. He was looking around frantically. ‘Pan,’ he signed with his hands. ‘Pan Pan Pan.’
‘Where did you see him last?’ George asked Alice.
‘I left him with Pudding. Mabel, run and check inside.’
‘He’s not in the house!’ Mabel yelled across the lawn three moments later.
‘Pan!’ Alice shouted, feeling panic creep into her voice. ‘Here, Pan! Come, boy!’
They called till their voices hurt. Around the garden they ran, and up through the orchard and down the lane. They called till even George could barely stand up, until only Alice and Uncle Bear were still awake, desperately looking as the first birds began to sing.
Alice felt hazy with tiredness. Eventually she had to sit down on the edge of the fountain. As her head drooped into her hands, something white caught her eye between the big ghost gum and the side fence.
‘UNCLE BEAR,’ she screamed as she ran towards it. ‘Come quickly!’
There was really no need to rush, though, because when Alice reached Pan, he was lying as still as stone. There was froth around his lips, and specks of something dark on his muzzle. A few feet away was something that looked like a hunk of meat.
Uncle Bear bent over him, running his hands along Pan’s face and feeling his chest. Then he looked at Alice and ran two fingers down his eyelids, closing his eyes.
‘He’s not!’ cried Alice, and grabbed at the speckled skin of Pan’s neck, but his lovely big head wouldn’t leave the grass. ‘Don’t say that, Uncle Bear! He’s alive.’ She threw her arms around Pan’s chest and tried to heave him up to stand.
But his legs, so stiff and straight, wouldn’t bend the right way. And as Pan slipped out of Alice’s hands, his body folded, as if he were bowing. Laid out on the lawn, he shone like a streak of the moon.
Uncle Bear touched Alice’s shoulder, but she hit him away, and turned and kicked at the trunk of the ghost gum. The pain of it felt sharp and good, and she kicked at its bark till the sole of her foot stung raw. Then Alice sank beside Pan. She curled herself around his back and laid her cheek between his ears, just breathing.
As the sky started to lighten, Uncle Bear slipped his hands under Alice’s arms and lifted her gently and tucked her into the crook of his elbows.
‘Shall we wake the others?’ she asked.
He nodded, and carried her up to the house in his strong, safe arms.
The world blazed peach as Uncle Bear dug the hole. They all sat around the big tree in only white nightshirts, and thought in time with his digging, its whistle and rhythm like breathing in sleep. Only Mama was still in bed; Alice hadn’t wanted to wake her with news of dying.
Nobody sobbed, but their faces dripped.
As George helped Uncle Bear smooth down the sides of the hole, Alice thought of all the things they’d buried in the garden. She thought of Little’s fish and Ralph, Mabel’s naughty cockatoo, and of the clump of hairless baby mice that had been caught up in Honey’s hay and died curled together like a fist of pink fingers.
It had always been Papa Sir who had given the little speech after the digging. And after he had left, Teddy had taken over; Teddy, who could make even the tiniest life seem magnificent.
‘Box Sue was not just any possum,’ he would say gravely. ‘She was an adventurer – a conqueror of heights, an explorer questing for far-flung berries.’
But there was no Teddy this morning, and no Papa Sir, and so as Uncle Bear threw down his shovel and they all stood up, Alice took a deep breath and stepped forward.
‘When things die,’ she said carefully, ‘you don’t see them anymore. But that doesn’t mean they get smaller and fade to nothing under the grass.’
Alice paused as George sniffed loudly.
‘Actually, they get bigger – lots bigger. So big that they have to split up, otherwise they would cover the sun. And when they split up, they fly down into our chests and stay there always, and maybe even get into our blood,’ she continued. ‘And that’s what a heart is for – to push them around our bodies, so we feel them in every bit of us. See, if I put my hand on my chest, I can feel Pan’s feet running in the hall. You try.’
And they did – Mabel first, then Little, then Pudding and George, and last of all Uncle Bear, whose beard was heavy with teardrops that hung there and shimmered like lights in a tree. They stood with their palms pressed over their hearts, just waiting.
‘I don’t,’ said Little after a pause. ‘I don’t feel him down the hall.’
Alice swallowed. She wanted so much to make things better – not magnificent like Teddy could have, but better somehow. But she wasn’t Teddy, and she wasn’t Papa Sir, and the thought of them made her hurt with a pain that was everywhere and nowhere.
‘When I put my hand on my chest,’ said Little, ‘I feel the bumps when I rode on Pan’s back in the orchard.’
‘I feel his panting on my leg in summer. Poor Pan,’ said Mabel. ‘He didn’t like the summer.’
‘And I, I feel him pawing at the door when we had to shut him out – like when Pudding was born upstairs,’ said George, ‘and he wanted so much to meet her.’
They turned to Uncle Bear then. He circled his arms up towards the dawn.
‘Everything,’ said Alice. ‘You feel everything about him.’
Uncle Bear nodded and smiled and bent over Pan, cradling his head so it didn’t flop. He lowered him into the hole so gently that Alice couldn’t tell when he touched the bottom.
Alice hardly felt she’d been asleep for a seco
nd when she woke to someone tapping on her window from the balcony outside. She thought for a moment it was Pan, wanting to be let in. But then she remembered that Pan would never tap at her door again.
Tap-tap-tap. Alice could barely open her eyes, and when she did, she realised she was still dreaming, for Jilly’s face was peering in at her, her red curls like shining twists of copper wire against the morning sun. Alice rolled over and huddled into a sad, tight ball. But then she heard the window being pulled up, and felt someone sit on the edge of her bed. ‘Alice!’ whispered the someone.
Alice turned to look, and then pulled herself up quickly, because that someone was Jilly – the real Jilly, not the one that haunted her days and appeared in her dreams.
‘Alice,’ Jilly whispered. ‘You’ve got to wake up. The war is over!’
‘What do you mean? What are you doing here? You can’t . . . you’re not allowed,’ Alice whispered, her voice thick and raspy. Her head hurt, her legs too. She closed her eyes and lay back down.
‘Germany signed the armistice last night – that means it’s over, Alice! They’ve agreed to peace. The fighting’s stopped and the soldiers will all come home. Get dressed – the whole town’s come out to celebrate, and you’re sleeping through it.’
‘But . . . but where’s May Vivienne? Why aren’t you with her?’
‘Why on earth would I be with May Vivienne,’ said Jilly, ‘when these past weeks all I’ve wanted is to be with you?’
‘Really?’ Alice whispered sleepily. ‘But you knitted the flag together. And I’m so boring and she’s so perfect.’
‘Alice Alexander,’ said Jilly sternly. ‘You’re being ridiculous. Could a boring person have made such a beautiful table for the Apple Blossom Fair? Stop feeling sorry for yourself, and get out of bed.’
‘But your mother . . .’
‘Mother is down at the police station.’ Jilly looked into Alice’s eyes, her gaze steady. ‘Douglas is The Vandal, Alice.’
Alice nodded, thinking back to all that had happened the night before: the men running off into the night; how even though Alice had never suspected Douglas, she hadn’t been a bit surprised how everything had slotted together.
Poor Jilly, thought Alice. If that was Teddy I’d be so . . . I’d love him still, she realised. I wouldn’t be able to help it. ‘I know he’s The Vandal,’ she said. ‘I’ve got so much to tell you, Jilly. Do you have any idea why he did it?’
Jilly shrugged. ‘The war turns people funny sometimes. I suppose when you see so much awfulness, it gets into your mind. But Alice? I have to tell you something else. And after I say it, you mightn’t want to be my friend anymore.’ Jilly closed her eyes. ‘It was Douglas who poisoned Pan,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again.’
Even though it hurt to hear, Alice knew now that there was nothing in the world that could come between them – she just wouldn’t let it. ‘I loved Pan more than anything, but what Douglas did wasn’t your fault.’ She reached out for her friend’s hand and squeezed it. ‘How I’ve missed you. Is the war really over?’ For the first time in months, Alice felt a star of hope twinkling in her chest. ‘Will Teddy come home?’
‘You’ll have to wait and see, I guess,’ said Jilly. ‘We all will.’
‘But I have you back,’ said Alice.
Jilly reached out and pulled Alice into a hug so tight, it felt as if their hearts were almost touching. ‘You never lost me.’
As they let go, a brass band started to play in the distance.
‘It’s a new day,’ said Alice, throwing back the covers and raising her arms to fifth position without even thinking about it.
Jilly grinned. ‘It’s a new world.’
lice?’ whispered Mabel. ‘Are you awake? I can’t sleep – it’s too hot.’
‘Mmm, me neither,’ Alice said to her sister, as she dripped water over her forehead. She and Mabel had dragged cot beds onto the top verandah, but even out in the open, it wasn’t much cooler. The sea breeze hadn’t come that afternoon and it felt as if Peppermint Grove was baking.
‘Alice?’ whispered Mabel. ‘It’s so hot I think I might die.’
‘Mmm,’ said Alice. ‘Possibly.’
‘Alice?’ whispered Mabel. ‘I –’
‘Well, what do you expect me to do about it?’ Alice snapped, turning over to glare at Mabel. But Mabel looked strange – she almost seemed frightened. Alice couldn’t remember the last time Mabel had been frightened of anything.
‘Sorry,’ Alice whispered, ‘it’s awful when it’s like this, I know.’ She held out her hand. Mabel took it, and they lay there for a minute.
‘Alice? I did something silly,’ Mabel began again after a pause. ‘I need your help.’
Alice let go of Mabel’s hand and sat up. ‘What did you do? Of course I’ll help.’
‘I . . . Oh, I can’t tell you. I’m too ashamed.’ Mabel turned and buried her face in her pillow. ‘It’s bad.’
Alice was itching to know, but she just said calmly, ‘Everyone makes mistakes. There’s nothing that can’t be put right. Count to ten, take a deep breath and just say it.’
In the pause that followed, she tried to imagine what Mabel was going to say. Well, she can’t have killed anyone, Alice thought. Perhaps she’s broken something – Grandmama’s crystal glasses?
‘I told a lie. A big lie. Lots of lies,’ Mabel whispered.
‘What do you mean? To who?’
‘I’ve been writing letters to a soldier. Pretending I’m a lady.’
‘Oh Mabel,’ said Alice, exasperated. ‘Why would you do that? Did he write back?’
Mabel turned over and nodded, sniffing. ‘Lots of times. We’ve been writing for months.’
‘Well, that was a silly thing to do. Really, Mabel, I know you probably thought it was funny, but lies always hurt someone. What did you tell him about yourself? Your imaginary self, I mean.’
‘Oh . . . you know . . . things . . . That I only wore yellow, and that I had an identical twin and that I played the trombone. Things like that.’
‘The trombone?’
Mabel nodded, wiping at her nose. ‘Because I told him I have big lips. Oh – and that my name was Arabella. That I only have champagne for breakfast. And I might have said that I was very funny.’
Alice groaned. ‘Did Violet put you up to this? No, don’t even tell me how the whole thing came about. Look, I won’t tell anyone, but you’ve got to write and tell him the truth.’
Mabel shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. James – that’s the soldier – he’s coming back and he wants to meet me. At the Indiana Tea House.’
Alice lay down again. The backs of her knees felt raw with being so sweaty, and somewhere near her ear, a mosquito whined.
‘Alice?’ whispered Mabel. ‘Will you come with me to meet him? He sounds so nice that I can’t leave him sitting there waiting. Can I stand on your shoulders and put a coat over you so I look like I’m twenty? Please, Alice?’
‘What? That’s ridiculous. Mabel, you’re just so –’ But then Alice reminded herself that with Teddy still away at war and Papa Sir gone forever, it was up to her to fix things, and being horrid about it wouldn’t make life any easier. ‘There’s nothing else for it – we’ll have to go and meet him, and apologise lots, and use your pocket money to buy him tea.’
‘What – all of it?’
‘Mabel!’
‘All right, all right. But what if he gets violent? You know what some of those soldiers are like – they’re deranged.’
‘It’s not their fault! You would be, too, if you’d had to hear bombs exploding all day and all night, and you couldn’t sleep, and you’d been up to your ankles in mud.’
‘Stop it!’ Mabel said, her voice starting to go scratchy with tears.
Alice clicked her tongue. ‘Oh, don’t cry. If he’s nice in his letters, I don’t think he’ll be violent. At least, not in a tea house.’ She covered her eyes. ‘When i
s this horrible meeting exactly?’
‘The day after tomorrow.’
‘The day after tomorrow?’
‘At two. I said I’d wear yellow so he could recognise me.’
‘But you don’t own anything yellow!’
‘I know. Could we make something, Alice? Perhaps we could boil up some dye and colour a sheet or something?’
‘Please don’t talk to me right now,’ said Alice, turning her back to Mabel and kicking the covers off her bed. ‘And as soon as we get home from the beach tomorrow, I’m boiling you in yellow dye.’
ven though the nights can be awful, summer’s still my favourite season,’ said Alice to her best friend Jilly, as they lay under the pine trees on the slope overlooking Cottesloe Beach the next day. She propped herself up on one elbow to make sure she could still see her sisters, Mabel and Pudding and Little, digging their monster sandcastle in the shallows below.
It was such perfect beach weather that Alice had been able to push the awful meeting with the soldier right out of her mind. She and Jilly had stayed in the turquoise water all morning, until the pads of their fingertips wrinkled.
Now they were lying on the grass under the huge trees where George had spent the whole day reading and guarding the picnic basket. Even though it was almost evening, the sea breeze still hadn’t come, and without the stinging sand it blew up, they’d been able to stay all afternoon in the dry warmth that Alice loved. She felt tingling pink and crusted with salt and very, very happy. ‘Yes, mine’s definitely summer,’ she said. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Summer’s too hot for me,’ said Jilly, ‘and I get too many freckles. I like autumn.’
‘But after autumn it’s dreary winter! And in summer there’s so much to do, and it’s Christmas and holidays, and you can swim at the beach or the river baths and it doesn’t get dark till late, so you can –’
‘That’s the problem with you, Alice,’ said George, as he turned a page. ‘You’re always trying to change everyone’s minds.’