by Nina Bawden
‘Been asleep, have you?’ Aunt Alice said. ‘Well, that’s the best thing. Where does it hurt you, my love?’
Her voice was so kind. Mary thought—She never spoke to me like that, and rubbed the back of her hand, deliberately, against the spiky crystals on the wall. Then she sucked the blood from the scratches and sighed. Aunt Alice would have done, if only she’d let her. And now it was too late …
‘All right, darling,’ Aunt Alice was saying. ‘I won’t touch your poor tummy again. Yes I know it hurts, my pet, but we’re going to make it better, quite soon. A nice man is coming in a boat and we’re going to take you to a nice, warm hospital. Simon—go and see if your Uncle’s coming …’
Mary ran, jumping the narrow neck of the lake to the other side of the grotto and hiding in a tiny room that had a small, slotted window. She could see a small segment of the central cavern.
She heard Simon call, ‘Uncle Horace, we’re here,’ and then an answering hail from the lake. The boat glided in, rowlocks creaking as the rower shipped his oars.
Simon said, ‘She’s bringing him down.’
‘And you standing there?’ Uncle Horace said. ‘Letting a lady …’
‘It’s all right, Mr Trumpet. He weighs nothing. No more than a bird, the poor lamb.’
Standing on tiptoe, Mary could see Aunt Alice’s face as she appeared down the rocky stairs, and Krishna’s head, resting against her shoulder.
Simon giggled. ‘I should’ve thought a lamb weighed a bit more than a bird.’
‘Enough cheek from you,’ Aunt Alice said calmly. ‘Get in the boat. I’ll put him on your lap.’
She vanished from Mary’s view. The boat creaked.
‘There’s a boyo,’ Uncle Horace’s voice boomed hollow in the grotto. ‘Soon have you tucked up in bed.’
Mary stood with her face to the wall. In a minute they would be gone, all of them. And Aunt Alice hadn’t once mentioned her name …
The splash of oars, and voices, growing fainter. Then nothing. Silence. She was alone. They had gone and left her alone. Although this was what she had wanted—to be left on the island, an outcast, an outlaw—tears pricked the back of her eyes.
Aunt Alice said, ‘Mary …’
She peeped through the slit. Aunt Alice was still standing there.
‘Mary. Where are you, dear?’
Mary held her breath.
Aunt Alice said in a loud, conversational voice, ‘I think it may be his appendix. Poor little chap. Mr Trumpet will take him to the hospital in his van. Simon rang him at the shop and he came straight round.’
She stopped and waited. Listening. She said, ‘Mary …’
Mary didn’t move.
Aunt Alice said, ‘You know, I used to come here myself when I was about your age. The bridge wasn’t so broken down then, but no one else came, I used to come on my bike and leave it by the old gate. The path’s overgrown a bit since. I don’t remember all those nettles! I remember how I felt, though. Coming here by myself, I could be someone quite different. Pretty and clever. I used to pretend my parents weren’t my real parents, that they had only adopted me. I was really a Duke’s daughter. I expect it sounds silly.’
She paused—hopefully, it seemed. Mary felt an itch in her nose. She pressed her finger on her upper lip, to stop herself sneezing.
Aunt Alice said, ‘I even told people sometimes. Strangers, of course. Then I was terrified my parents would find out. I used to have nightmares …’ She laughed her high, nervous laugh, and turned it into a cough. If you’re not coming, dear, I’ll have to go back on my own. Although I’m not sure how I’ll manage the bridge.’
Mary had managed to stop the sneeze. She let out her breath, very gently.
Aunt Alice turned and left the grotto. Small stones rattled as she climbed up the side of the bluff.
Mary followed, keeping her distance. Brambles plucked at her clothes. Aunt Alice didn’t look back.
Mary thought—Perhaps she’ll fall off the bridge! If she did, she would leap in, and save her! She would drag her to the bank and then sink back, exhausted, and let the quick-mud drag her down. She would die, saving Aunt Alice from death …
Ahead of her, Aunt Alice gave a sudden scream, and Mary’s heart leapt. But there was no splash; Aunt Alice was nowhere near the bridge. It was Noakes that had frightened her, Mary saw as she ran forward; pouncing in front of her, his back arched, his fur on end. He looked fearsome …
‘It’s all right, Aunt Alice, it’s only Noakes,’ Mary shouted.
Aunt Alice turned, and Mary skidded to a stop beside her.
‘Noakes?’ Aunt Alice said.
‘My cat.’
‘Oh.’ Aunt Alice looked at him. He was switching his tail and growling softly. Then he jumped sideways, into the undergrowth.
‘He wouldn’t have hurt you,’ Mary said. ‘He’s just a bit nervous.’
‘Nervous?’
‘I mean, he’s just not the sort of cat you can stroke.’
‘It wouldn’t occur to me to try,’ Aunt Alice said.
Mary wondered what to say next. They couldn’t go on talking about Noakes for ever!
Aunt Alice looked at her shyly, as if she were thinking the same thing.
Mary said, ‘I can take you across the bridge, if you like.’
‘Can you dear?’ Aunt Alice’s nose flushed pink and she stretched her jaw. ‘I supposed we ought to be going, then. Mr Trumpet will be coming back to pick us up and take us to the hospital.’
*
It was very hot in the hospital and the lights were very bright. Aunt Alice and Uncle Horace went away with a starched and creaking nurse, and left their niece and nephew stranded in the waiting room, full of empty armchairs and tables covered with old magazines. Mary looked at one or two, but there was nothing interesting. She would have preferred to talk to Simon but he was very quiet and shut away: frightened or grumpy.
Once a group of nurses passed the door and looked in at them. They were whispering and giggling, and Mary heard one of them say, ‘Are those the two kids, then?’
‘They’re talking about us,’ she said. ‘What cheek!’
Simon shrugged his shoulders. ‘Might as well get used to it. I daresay it’ll be all over the newspapers.’
This seemed unlikely, but exciting. ‘Will it be on the telly, too?’ Mary asked, but Simon only groaned and put his head in his hands.
They sat there for over an hour. When Aunt Alice and Uncle Horace came back, they were both half asleep in their chairs.
Uncle Horace said, ‘Well, that’s that. He’s being operated on in about half an hour. They’ve managed to get hold of Mr Patel.’
Uncle Horace was a large man with a balding head and a grey beard that straggled unevenly, like an old floor mop. He had a large paunch with a stained red velvet waistcoat precariously fastened across it: as he bent to pick up his raincoat, one of the last buttons popped off.
Simon picked it up. His Uncle said, ‘Well boyo, we’d better get on home and tell your Dad what you’ve been up to.’
Simon was very white.
Uncle Horace put a big hand on his shoulder. ‘No point in putting things off,’ he said.
‘Simon’s Dad’s a policeman,’ Mary whispered to Aunt Alice as they followed the others out of the hospital. She wondered if Simon was really frightened of his father, or if it was just his conscience worrying him again, now he had left the island.
She said, ‘We had to hide Krishna, Aunt Alice. We just had to!’
‘Oh, I can see,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘But other people may think differently, you must expect that,’
It was dark now, and had begun to rain. Heads down, they splashed through puddles on their way to the hospital car park.
Mary said, ‘Is having your appendix out like tonsils?’
‘Not so bad, in some ways. You don’t get a sore throat. Don’t worry, dear.’
‘I’m not. I think Krishna’s lucky.’ Mary had enjoyed having her tonsils out:
being in hospital and feeling important. ‘Everyone being nice and bothering about him,’ she said, and sighed.
Aunt Alice snatched Mary’s hand, and tucked it under her arm.
Mary snuggled close. In the rainy cold, it was comforting. She said, ‘What’s going to happen, Aunt Alice?’
‘Well.’ Aunt Alice seemed to hesitate. ‘I expect a policeman will want to see you. Just to ask a few questions. But you mustn’t let that frighten you. I’ll be there, or Grampy …’
‘Oh, I shan’t mind that. That’ll be fabulously interesting.’ Mary thought it was odd, the sort of thing grown-ups thought might frighten children! She said, ‘But I didn’t mean what’ll happen to me. I meant, what’ll happen to Krishna?’
*
‘That’ll be up to the Home Secretary,’ Grandfather said. ‘In the usual way children are not allowed to come and live here without their parents. Of course, it’s possible that the Home Secretary may make an exception in Krishna’s case, though I think it unlikely …’
‘He jolly well better,’ Mary said. ‘After all we’ve done! I don’t see what his parents have got to do with it, anyway. He’s got his Uncle he can live with, hasn’t he?’
‘That’s not the same thing as a mother or father, I’m afraid.’
‘Uncles and Aunts are often much nicer,’ Mary said.
Grandfather smiled, and lit his pipe. ‘I meant, legally,’ he said. ‘As far as the law is concerned.’ The smoke curled up round his shiny, baby’s face as he went on, talking about dependent relatives, which were children and other people who couldn’t earn their own living: and immigration laws and quotas. Although Mary was beginning to feel sleepy, after a hot bath and a huge supper, she tried to look as if she was wide awake and listening because Grandfather was so clearly enjoying himself explaining things to her, just as she had enjoyed herself earlier, telling him and Aunt Alice how she had rescued Krishna single-handed from the two men who had kidnapped him; and hidden him, and fed him …
‘I thought the store cupboard was going down rather faster than usual!’ Aunt Alice had said, but apart from this one remark, they had both listened without interruption and no mention of bedtime.
They were a much better audience than the policeman who had come while Mary was eating her supper. He had been very casual—almost amused, Mary had thought. He had asked her questions: about the date Krishna had arrived in England, and where they had hidden him, and why, and he had written her answers down in his notebook, but he had smiled a lot and made jokes, as if this was just a jolly game they were playing! Not a serious matter, at all!
Thinking about it now, made Mary angry. ‘We were breaking the law, weren’t we?’ she said, interrupting her Grandfather’s monologue.
He looked startled. ‘Well, dear …’ He tapped out his pipe. ‘I know you didn’t understand, but I suppose, strictly speaking …’
‘Of course you were breaking the law, Mary,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘And rightly, to my mind!’
‘Alice!’ Grandfather said.
‘Some laws are made to be broken,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘There’s no point in sweeping things under the carpet! Pretending Mary and Simon didn’t know what they were doing, and it was just a childish prank. It’s—well—it’s insulting to them both!’
She looked and sounded so indignant that Mary wished she could run and hug her.
‘Well …’ Grandfather said, and chuckled. Then he cleared his throat. ‘Would it be insulting, Alice, to suggest she went to bed? It’s late, and I suppose even hardened criminals get tired. And the next few days are likely to be rather exciting …’ He filled his pipe again and spent rather a long time tamping the tobacco down. Then he looked at Aunt Alice over the flaring match and said, ‘Have you told her yet?’
Aunt Alice said quickly, ‘Come along, dear. Grampy’s right. Time for Bedfordshire!’
Though this was the sort of silly remark that usually irritated Mary, it didn’t tonight. It seemed just friendly, like someone putting an arm round your shoulders. She kissed her Grandfather and went upstairs, yawning and dragging her feet with Aunt Alice behind her, saying, ‘Ups-i-daisy, now …’
It wasn’t until she was in bed that she said, drowsily, ‘Told me what? What haven’t you told me?’
Aunt Alice was at the window. She drew the curtains back and stood for a minute, looking out. Then she came and sat on the edge of the bed and said, in a light, far-away voice, ‘Your Mummy’s coming in a few days’ time.’
Mary said nothing. Round Aunt Alice’s head, there was a fuzz of light from the lamp behind her. Mary narrowed her eyes and made the fuzz spiky.
‘Won’t that be nice?’ Aunt Alice said.
Mary said, ‘Yes,’ because it was what Aunt Alice would expect her to say. She thought of asking if her mother was coming to take her home, and then of saying that she didn’t want to go, but she knew she couldn’t say that. Aunt Alice was being nice now, because she was a nice person, but underneath, deep down, she couldn’t really want her to stay. Not after all the things Mary had said about her.
Mary sighed a little and said, ‘Did you really tell people all that? About being a Duke’s daughter?’
‘Oh yes. I used to tell the most awful lies. Don’t most children? There’s usually a reason …’
Aunt Alice smiled. With her back to the light and smiling, she looked quite pretty and young, Mary thought. She put out her hand and Aunt Alice took it and turned it over thoughtfully, as if she were going to read the lines on the palm.
‘Why did you tell Simon I used to be a nurse?’ she asked, so suddenly and unexpectedly, that Mary answered at once.
‘To make him fetch you, of course. Because I wanted you to come.’
Aunt Alice sat very still. Then she said, in her bright voice, It was just as well I did, wasn’t it? Poor little boy.’
‘I didn’t mean just that,’ Mary said. ‘I mean I wanted you to come for me.’
‘Oh,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘Oh Mary …’
Her voice sounded quite different now, and Mary was afraid she was going to cry, so she tugged on her hand to make Aunt Alice come down to kiss her. And when she did, Mary put both arms round her neck and held her tight.
THIRTEEN
The Last Refugee on the Island
WHEN THE FRONT door bell rang, Mary flew out the back way and across the lawn and into the shrubbery. She sat huddled up on the damp, leafy ground, arms wrapped round her knees. She whispered under her breath, ‘I’m afraid Mary’s not here, anymore. I’m sorry there wasn’t time to let you know, and stop you coming. No, we don’t know where she’s gone. She’s quite all right, though, quite safe. She asked me to tell you that, and not to try and find her, because you never will
It was raining. The rain dripped through the leaves and plopped on top of her head and trickled down her face. She put out her tongue and caught a drop on the end. It tasted salt, like the sea. Or like tears.
She said, ‘I’m sorry you had such a long journey for nothing. All this way. But there’s no point in waiting. Or in calling her. She won’t come
Aunt Alice said, ‘Mary …’
She crept into the shrubbery, and crouched on her haunches. Twigs had caught in her hair and tweaked out wisps from her bun. After one look, Mary put her head down on her knees.
‘Mary dear,’ Aunt Alice said. ‘You know who’s here?’
Mary pressed down as if she could push herself into the ground and grow roots. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps.
‘Please,’ Aunt Alice said. She touched Mary’s hand.
‘I can’t,’ Mary said. ‘I can’t …’
Aunt Alice said nothing.
Mary lifted her head and looked at her. ‘I feel sick inside.’
‘I know.’
‘You could say I wasn’t here. Or dead. Or something …’
‘It’s no good running away,’ Aunt Alice said.
*
They came out of the shrubbery, across the lawn, and into the ho
use. Mary watched her feet walking. Aunt Alice was just behind her.
There were three people in the room. Grandfather and another man, standing by the window; and her mother on the hearth rug, her hand stretched out to the first fire of the autumn. Rings winked on her fingers.
‘Darling,’ she said. ‘Goodness, you’ve grown! Quite a beanpole!’
Mary felt clumsy; her arms swung at her sides like weights. She stumped across acres of carpet and stood to be kissed.
‘You smell of violets,’ she said.
The man by the window laughed.
‘Darling!’ her mother said, and laughed too, as if Mary had said something ridiculous. ‘It’s a terribly expensive scent!’ She put her hands on Mary’s shoulders. ‘Let me look at you!’
Mary looked at her. She had forgotten how pretty she was—all shining, smooth hair and big, soft eyes—and how young. Too young to be anyone’s mother!
The man by the window said, ‘I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it!’ He had a loud, jolly voice.
‘True, I’m afraid,’ Mary’s mother said. ‘This really is my enormous daughter. And Mary darling, this is Jeff. I hope you are going to be great friends.’
‘I’m sure we will be.’ Jeff came over to the fire. He was tall and good looking, like a man in an advertisement. ‘I’m sure we will be,’ he repeated, and winked at her. ‘Quite a girl, aren’t you? I’ve been reading all about you in the newspapers!’
Aunt Alice said breathlessly, ‘I’m so sorry … The reporter came to the door and talked to Mary before I could stop him. Actually, I thought he was the gas man. That’s why I let her answer the door. It’s all my fault.’
‘Nonsense, Alice,’ Grandfather said. ‘It doesn’t matter, anyway. Just a nine days wonder …’
‘I liked being in the paper, Aunt Alice,’ Mary said, although in fact she had neither liked nor disliked it. It had simply seemed strange, reading about herself, and Simon, and Krishna. As if they were three people she didn’t know at all …