Not All Tarts Are Apple

by Pip Granger

  At Aggie there were no rollers, no broken teeth, no spume – just miles and miles of flat muddy-looking sand. Even the sand was hard to see, what with the hordes of holidaymakers milling about, jostling for a spot to pitch their towels. You needed to take a picnic with you if you set off towards the actual water for a paddle; you could be gone for days, according to Uncle Bert. I was much more impressed with the donkeys and, later on, candyfloss. I fell in love with the donkeys immediately. I loved their warm, cosy smell; I loved their coats and their long, expressive ears; but most of all I loved the feel of their soft muzzles and the way they blew through their noses when they were pleased to see you.

  Uncle Sid went zooming up in my estimation when I discovered that one of his drinking pals was a bloke called Harry with a string of his very own donkeys. I was ecstatic! Once I got my bearings, I was down on that beach day after day, getting under Harry’s feet and adoring Daisy, Hazel, Midge, Madge, Smudge and Budge with all my heart. Well, nearly all of it, as some was still reserved for Auntie Maggie, Uncle Bert, Madame Zelda, Paulette, Luigi, Mamma Campanini, Auntie Flo and Uncle Sid.

  Soon, great chunks of my pocket money were going on bags of carrots and before long I was a dab hand at feeding, grooming and swinging on girth straps. You may not know this, but donkeys have a really lively sense of humour. In fact, there is nothing a donkey likes better than a good laugh. Sometimes they’ll stand nonchalantly on a person’s foot, nailing them to the ground. Then they pretend they can’t hear the anguished cries even though they’re coming from a gob not six inches from their enormous lugs. They’ll gaze into the distance, thinking deep thoughts. In the end, only a bribe of a sugar lump, a piece of apple or a carrot will shift ’em. Carrots are best because they don’t rot teeth or cause colicky guts. As you can tell, I’ve got to know quite a lot of donkeys since I first fell in love with Harry’s little mob.

  Talking of Harry’s little mob, one of Hazel’s favourite jokes was to puff out her belly as far as it would go when her saddle was being put on. The joke was that when anyone tried to mount, the saddle slipped round and dumped the rider in a confused heap on the wet sand. I swear that when this happened she actually smiled, showing rows of big, blunt, yellow teeth and acres of shiny gums. If the joke was particularly successful, then Hazel would let out a huge belly laugh. She’d fling back her head and utter a series of ear-shattering hee-haws. Then the others would join in, donkey laughter being as catching as people laughter. I swear the resulting racket could be heard clearly in the Charing Cross Road.

  It was difficult to be angry with Hazel when she was having such a good time but you had to be really firm to stop her from pulling the saddle trick. First you had to tug the girth strap tight, then you had to knee her in the gut (don’t worry, if you did it right it didn’t hurt a bit) and pull the strap a bit tighter until you were sure that all the air was out of her. Even so, she still managed to work the odd trick by holding on to her last gasp. The best thing to do then was to pretend to finish, wander off to do something else, then give the old girth another hefty tug when she was relaxed and not expecting it. Needless to say, Hazel was my favourite. I liked her style.

  Donkeys were yet another subject on which Paulette and I were in full agreement. I realize now, of course, just how lucky I was to have a grown-up for a friend who also enjoyed dressing up, doll’s houses, Murder in the Dark and donkeys. If Hazel was my favourite then Budge was Paulette’s. She said he reminded her of Madame Zelda and I knew what she meant. Budge also had a sense of fun, but you wouldn’t want to cross him – oh no! Budge had a kick on him that could send the beefiest of fellas into the middle of next week, no messing. Harry reserved Budge for the lads on the beach who had had one or two too many and could do with ‘a good kick up the arse’. Like Budge, Madame Zelda also had a way with stroppy blokes.

  * * *

  While I was haunting Harry and friends down on the front, the others were busy working on the boarding house. Once or twice we went on day trips to local beauty spots but I don’t really remember what they were called. At first, Paulette would accompany me to the beach in the mornings to keep an eye on me and make sure I wasn’t too much of a pest. At dinner time I’d be prised loose from Harry and the mob, and if I was in luck either Auntie Maggie, Uncle Bert or Madame Zelda would take me back again in the afternoons. Within a few days, though, I’d made friends with a girl called Penny who was staying just up the road. After that, she’d call for me in the mornings and I’d go to the beach with her and her family.

  Our temporary life in Aggie on Horseback had settled rapidly into a contented rut when a telegram arrived to shatter the calm. It was from Mr Herbert, saying that if we were agreeable he would like to bring Dodie Loveday-Smythe to meet us. He suggested the following Thursday and asked if we could let him know whether this was convenient.

  That dinner time the entire household sat down to discuss this turn of events. Naturally, Auntie Flo and Uncle Sid had to be filled in up to date and then everyone fell to speculating about the reason for the visit. That it had something to do with the Perfumed Lady, Charlie Fluck and my mysterious family was obvious, but exactly what we couldn’t say. The whole thing made me feel a bit anxious, especially as I could tell that Auntie Maggie and Uncle Bert were worried too.

  Later, when I was supposed to be in bed asleep, I overheard Auntie Maggie talking to Madame Zelda. ‘We can’t not see ’em, Zeld. It might be urgent, but I’m not happy. As far as I know, Cassie never told her mum and dad about Rosie so what happens if this Dodie woman tells them, eh? Answer me that. It could have all sorts of consequences. Then again, if Cassie trusts her, maybe we should too. It’s all so tricky.’

  ‘Why don’t you play it by ear, Maggie? Why don’t you send our Rosie to the beach as usual, and me and Paulette can go with her and take her out for her dinner at the chippy if needs be. Then, if you think the old girl’s all right, you can let her meet Rosie. And if you don’t, well, tell her Rosie’s out for the day and maybe she can meet her another time with Cassie. How about that?’

  ‘It’s a good plan, Zeld, I’ll give you that. But I’m still not happy. I can’t help thinking it would be better for all of us if we’d never had anything to do with Cassie’s lot. After all, she buggered off and left ’em, and she must’ve had her reasons.’

  ‘But you know what teenage girls are, Maggie love. They might just have had a silly row. You never know, her folks might be real charmers.’

  ‘But look at the state of her now, Zeld. You can’t tell me that her mum and dad had nothing to do with that because I won’t believe you. She was just a kid when Bert found her, about seventeen. She was cold, she was hungry and she was four months gone with Rosie and at her wits’ end. She only tried to sell herself to Bert for the price of a meal and a warm bed. Poor little cow. Course, being an old softie, Bert brought her home to me to be looked after and the rest you know. The point is, she didn’t know Bert from Adam and he could’ve raped or murdered her, but she didn’t seem to care. She could’ve tried to flog herself to that toe-rag Dave or worse. Now then, what sort of parents let their kid get in a state like that and then don’t stand by her, you tell me that?’

  ‘Gawd, Maggie, why do you think them unmarried mothers’ homes do so well? Because poor little cows like your Cassie are always getting slung out for being in the puddin’ club, that’s why. She wasn’t the first by a long chalk and she surely won’t be the last.’

  ‘I know, I know, but I find it hard, that’s all. I just wish I knew what to do for the best. Bert thinks we should see ’em and so does Flo.’

  ‘I think you should see them too. They might want to make it up with Cassie and Rosie, you never know, in which case you should give them the chance. And if they are up to no good, better we should know about it so we can all defend ourselves. I’d make sure Rosie wasn’t around, not at first, just to be on the safe side, but if you reckon this great-aunt of hers is kosher, then you can always arrange for her to see Rosie when
it suits everyone, not just her.’

  At that moment I heard someone coming along the passage and decided the time had come to retreat swiftly to my bedroom, so I never did hear what their decision was.

  Events suggest that Auntie Maggie took Madame Zelda’s advice, however. The following Thursday everyone was on edge at breakfast. As soon as the last crumb hit my tonsils, I was scrubbed, combed and whisked off to a place called Clevedon by Madame Zelda and Paulette. All I can remember about Clevedon is that there were no donkeys, no candyfloss, no chippy that we could find – and no miles and miles of wet mud. Instead there was a lovely front so I got to see proper sea at last, waves and all. I even swam in it and so did Paulette and Madame Zelda. In fact, when I managed to forget about THE VISIT, I had a good time.

  20

  It was almost five o’clock in the evening by the time Madame Zelda, Paulette and I got off the bus from Clevedon. We must have made quite a picture as we trailed down the road, hair all claggy and stiff with salt. Our clothes were rumpled and mine, at least, were grubby too. Just to add to the general joys, I’d managed to lose a sock, so my feet were bare in my sensible brown Clarks sandals.

  The combination of bare feet, salt and leather had caused blisters on both my heels, so I was limping a bit as I mounted the steps to Auntie Flo’s. Paulette and Madame Zelda had stopped to admire a rather dashing low-slung silver sports car parked at the kerb outside.

  They were just wondering who on earth it could belong to when Auntie Maggie flung open the front door. She let out a screech as she saw the state of me and whisked me upstairs before I could say a word. Next thing I knew I was up to my ears in hot water, shampoo and soap. Auntie Maggie was babbling as she scrubbed. I had rarely seen her so strung up.

  ‘Gordon Bennett! The state of you. What have you been up to, you mucky little tyke? I see, that’s why your mush is so grubby – candyfloss and general grime, lovely! It’s set like concrete. It’ll take sandpaper to scrape it out of your eyebrows. We can’t let her see you like that, now can we? She’ll think we don’t know how to look after you. Now you keep washing while I find you some clean clothes. What have you done with that sock? Oh never mind, don’t try and answer. It doesn’t matter and you’ll get soap in your gob if you try and speak. Now, what can I put you in? I know, the pink – you look lovely in the pink. Ah, Paulette! Can you keep scrubbing while I go and sort out some clobber for her? Back in a tick.’ And she was gone.

  An anxious Auntie Maggie was unnerving and I was getting flustered. Who was this ogre who mustn’t see me looking grubby? What would she do? Would she snatch me away?

  Paulette was soothing. ‘I’ve just met ’er, love. She’s a right old duck. She’s getting on like an ’ouse on fire with everyone so don’t you worry. That’s just your auntie Maggie getting in a state. Of course she wants you to make a good impression. She’s proud of you and she wants you to look your best. Take no notice. Anyway, you did spread that candyfloss about a bit, now didn’t you?’

  All the time she was speaking she was making with my flannel. Pretty soon I was deemed ready to get out of the bath to be dried. Auntie Maggie bustled back in just as Paulette was wrapping me in a huge white bath towel. She had my pink frock, socks, knickers, shoes and a hairbrush with her. I knew the signs and gritted my teeth and thought of England. Well actually, I gritted my teeth and thought about Daisy, Hazel, Midge, Madge, Smudge and Budge.

  Eventually, the ordeal was over and I was ready to be presented, or so Paulette assured Auntie Maggie. ‘She looks gorgeous. For Gawd’s sake, Maggie, calm down. You’re getting poor Rosie’s knickers in a right old twist with all your fussing. She seems a nice old girl and she’s going to like our Rosie no matter what state she’s in. Now come on, the pair of you, and bugger off. I want to wash me hair.’

  We met Madame Zelda on the stairs. She was coming up as we were going down. ‘She’s a right old goer, ain’t she, Maggie? We had a good old gas about that ex-husband of mine. She said she didn’t trust him from the start and I told her she wasn’t far wrong. By rights, his ears should be on fire by now and settin’ off his barnet while they’re at it. That Mr Herbert’s a nice old geezer an’ all. Where’s Paulette?’

  ‘She’s in the bathroom, Zeld, washing her hair. Yes, she does seem all right, and you wait till I tell you what she’s been telling us about your Charlie and Cassie’s lot. I’ve found out more about our Cassie’s past on one afternoon than I have in all the years I’ve known her. How she managed to keep her gob shut about it, I’ll never know. Still, that’ll have to wait till later. Right now, we’d better get little missy here introduced to her great-aunt Dodie toot bleeding sweet. She’ll think I’ve spirited her away somewhere. And Zeld, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, dear, but you don’t half look a sight. What have you been doing, the lot of you? No, tell me later. Right now there’s a dear old trout looking forward to meeting this young trout here.’

  It seemed an awful long way from the bathroom to the sitting room. Auntie Flo had taken to calling it ‘the lounge’ for some reason but I always thought it was an ugly word and never really took to it. It still seemed an awful long way away and I was getting more and more nervous with every step. At last we reached the sitting-room door, which was closed. Both Auntie Maggie and I hesitated once we got there; I was treated to more tweaking, prodding and smoothing and then, as one, we took deep breaths and Auntie Maggie opened the door.

  I don’t know what I was expecting, someone who looked like Queen Mary, I think – sort of grey and stern and well upholstered. But Great-aunt Dodie was not at all like that. To begin with, she was very, very tall, like a man. She had what Auntie Maggie diplomatically called ‘big bones’. In other words, she had enormous hands and feet and great wide shoulders but absolutely no spare flesh. Her back was ramrod straight, her jaw was square and firm, and her nose was long, thin and hooked like the beak of an eagle. The whole effect would have been very intimidating if it wasn’t for her eyes. They were large and the most extraordinarily clear blue and they twinkled with amusement. I was to learn later that anger made them glitter menacingly, but on that first meeting they twinkled. Paulette called the colour ‘periwinkle blue’ as if she knew what she was talking about, so I suppose she did. The only other thing I noticed was her hair. It framed that extraordinary face in a soft halo of pure white. The soft white hair said ‘dear old lady’ but her body and face said ‘Don’t mess with this one. She’s as tough as old boots.’

  ‘Go on, Rosie, give your great-aunt a kiss. Don’t just stand there.’ Auntie Maggie gave me a little push, but I was rooted to the spot. I wanted to know what she would do first, before I committed myself. Her voice was loud, penetrating and very, very posh. You know the expression ‘speaks with a plum in her mouth’? Well, this one spoke with the whole tree.

  ‘Don’t bully her, Mrs Featherby. She doesn’t know me from Eve. I expect she’s shy. Let’s face it, first sight of me is enough to put the wind up anyone. Been known to see off a bunch of Afghan tribesmen in my time. Came across the blighters lying in ambush in the Hindu Kush. The villainous devils took one look at the old physiognomy and decided discretion was the better part of valour. Great bandits, the Afghans, even the locals always travel in caravans for safety. Bloody good horsemen too, I’ll say that for them. They’ve got this game, bit like polo, except they play it with a dead goat. Ferocious so-and-sos often kill each other over this bloody goat, but you’ve never seen riding like it, take my word.

  ‘So, little one, please don’t trouble yourself about me. You just carry on, Rosa, and see what you make of me first. If you decide I’ll do, then we can get acquainted. Meanwhile, Mr Featherby, you were telling me about that little snot, what’s his name? Clunt, is it?’

  At this, everyone exploded into gales of laughter – everyone, that is, except me and my great-aunt. We both looked bewildered.

  ‘Did I say something? Oh, of course, of course, it’s Fluck, isn’t it. I always balls it up. You were telling m
e about Charlie Fluck and how you sent him to Brighton – so clever of you.’

  I settled down on Auntie Maggie’s lap with my thumb in my mouth and was quite happy to watch and listen for a bit. Mr Herbert kept casting me small, reassuring smiles and once he even winked. It didn’t take me long to realize that despite her appearance, that booming voice and her cut-glass accent, Great-aunt Dodie was indeed ‘a right old duck’ as Paulette had said.

  21

  Time was marching on and there was still no sign of my tea. At last I could stand it no longer and whispered in Auntie Maggie’s ear about the state of my belly.

  ‘Now, Rosie, don’t whisper, it’s rude. Flo, what are we doing about food? Rosie here tells me she’s running on empty and I’m feeling a little hollow myself.’

  Auntie Flo looked flustered and muttered something about not being sure she had enough ham to go round. Great-aunt Dodie leaped to her feet and made moves to leave, apologizing all the while.

  ‘I am so sorry, I quite lost track of time. Of course everyone’s hungry. Archie and I will take our leave now. Thank you so much for your hospitality. Come on, Archie, shake a leg.’

  Uncle Bert held up an imperious hand. ‘Don’t be daft. So there’s not enough ham? That’s no reason to leave. It seems a pity to break up the party now. How about going to Coffin’s for a slap-up plate of fish and chips? That’s if you like fish and chips of course.’

  Great-aunt Dodie beamed, showing a set of teeth Hazel would have been proud of. ‘Like fish and chips? I should say I do. Remember, Mr Featherby, you’re talking to a woman who has not only eaten sheep’s eyes with the Bedouin but has survived the food at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Now that is no mean feat, I can tell you. What d’you say, Archie? Fish and chips at Coffin’s? Then I suggest a stab at plan B.’