The Trouble with Polly Brown

by Tricia Bennett

  “Yeah, shut your gob and turn off that bloomin’ light before I get out of bed to come over and punch your lights out, you stupid little toe rag,” another angry voice threatened.

  “She’ll get more than a fat lip if I am forced to get involved,” another voice boomed across the room in her direction.

  Polly ignored the wild and unkind threats as she came up from under the bedclothes and began to frantically but quietly rummage through the locker drawer in search of her precious gold book.

  “Phew! For one awful moment I thought it had been stolen,” she whispered before gently closing the drawer and turning off the light to once again settle back down under her thin blanket.

  “Sorry, everyone. Have a good night.”

  “You’ll soon be sorry, yer little guttersnipe, if yer don’t shut yer mouth and let us get some shut eye,” snarled another voice in the dark that Polly instantly recognized as being that of Gailey Gobbstopper.

  As Polly lay on her back with her hands tucked behind her head, staring into the darkness, she struggled to accept the horrid truth that she was, as usual, wide-awake and therefore in for another grueling night of sleeplessness. “Oh no, I really can’t do this any longer,” she unhappily groaned.

  Suddenly and therefore most unexpectedly, she felt the strange, tingly sensation return, only this time it was stronger than ever as wave after wave rolled over her tired body, systematically caressing each and every aching joint. Polly had no way of truly understanding what was happening to her, but nothing really needed any sort of reasonable explanation, for in all sincerity she was way beyond all that! After all, it was more than enough that she be consumed with such overpowering and wonderful feelings that in no time at all had her filled to capacity with the most wholesome, inexplicable gratitude.

  Polly soon found herself struggling to remain awake, for her eyelids became heavier and heavier, as though they were supernaturally forced to surrender to sleep. No sooner had her top and lower lids met to momentarily fuse together than she felt the gentle touch of a hand tenderly run the whole length of her brow, taking with it all her anxious thoughts and feelings that haphazardly and insidiously raced around her mind day and night without fail. Then all tormenting thoughts were powerfully swept away, causing Polly to enter into the deepest state of relaxation.

  “Hmm…I must be in heaven,” she muttered under her breath. Then like the patient about to go under the knife who surrenders willingly or unwillingly to the power of the anesthesia, she likewise went into a seemingly comatose state of mind, and all too soon she found herself right back in Piadora.

  Polly immediately let out a small giggle as she observed dear sweet Stanley Horlicks, the old school caretaker, who having hopped his way through the final chalk square, stood tall and proud as he was proclaimed to indeed be the winner of the hopscotch finale.

  He really is having the time of his life! It is so wonderful to see him so spontaneously free and happy after years struggling with that awfully horrid back pain, she cheerfully thought. Moments later she then watched on as dear Stanley received his prize, which turned out to be a disgracefully enormous knickerbocker glory ice cream that was smothered in thick, gooey hopscotch sauce and generously topped with crumbly flakes of chocolate. “Ooh, he’s so lucky,” she whispered, licking her lips as she imagined dear Stanley handing her a spoon before telling her to dig in.

  She had so little time to respond before she suddenly felt the warm, soft sand beneath her feet as she raced as hard as she could after her dear young friend Aazi. She could hear him burst into fits of laughter as he then playfully pulled her to the ground, taking the wind out of her sails as she fell backward onto the silky smooth sand, which very quickly had her struggling to regain her breath. Aazi then disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

  But it was not over, for as Polly let out a small gasp, she suddenly felt the sweet, warm breath of her beloved brother Thomas brush across her face as though he were playfully kissing her on the cheek. “Thomas, is that really you?” she joyfully whispered.

  “Who else could it be?” he mischievously replied as he then excitedly produced another painting that he had been hiding behind his back. “You haven’t been to this place yet,” he animatedly informed her as he waved the freshly painted picture in front of her face. “It is so utterly breathtaking that I was left with no choice but to paint it for you, my dear sister,” he beamed. Then another huge smile lit up his face further as, still pointing at his picture, he showed her a cool and sparkling brook meandering its way through a lush and fertile valley.

  As Polly stared at his painting feeling awestruck by its beauty, she considered that the scene looked so strangely real that it might well jump right out from the canvas.

  “But I must go now, for not a moment passes that does not have me feeling the urge to get out my brush and palette to start another painting. Oh, Polly, can you believe it? I have seen so much incredible beauty here in Piadora that I feel utterly compelled to continue painting forever and ever if necessary. And what’s more, I have the distinct feeling that even if I were to be granted a further million years to paint all I have so far seen, it would be nothing but a mere drop in the ocean. Therefore it would in no way be long enough,” he said with a lighthearted laugh as he planted another warm kiss on her cheek before giving her a spontaneous but much needed hug.

  “My dear sister, please know that I love you so very, very much, and every time my paint brush touches the canvas, I paint for you,” he said as he tenderly took hold of her hand to give it one final and very tight brotherly squeeze before vanishing into thin air.

  As Polly continued to lie motionless in her bed while being utterly mesmerized by the moment, she became aware of a couple of cold, wet tears trickling unchecked down her face, but as she did not wish to move a muscle, she declined to brush them away, preferring to allow them to continue merrily strolling down her cheeks before disappearing beneath her chin to then disperse.

  No sooner had Thomas disappeared than she found herself overwhelmed by the deliciously hazy aroma of jasmine and sweet honeysuckle, which had her immediately believing she was back in one of Piadora’s many indescribably delightful gardens. Moments later she found herself sitting under the shade of a magnificently majestic Hoolie Koolie tree, momentarily lost in the sweetest, inescapable communion with her close friend Hodgekiss. More puzzling still was that every unspoken communication between them found Polly experiencing the keenest, deepest sense of unimaginable joy that pervaded every cell and corpuscle within her body and so had every hair follicle on the surface of her skin standing to attention.

  Polly lay in the bed completely motionless, for she feared if she moved a muscle or had even the slightest nervous twitch, all these new and intensely profound feelings would instantly leave, never to return. She therefore prayed with all her heart and might that this utterly intoxicating, heavenly experience would continue to abide as long as possible, if not forever.

  Eventually she took another deep gasp as she made her way up some wide steps and opened the huge but now very familiar door that led directly into the Princesses School of Training. An abundance of fresh tears rolled freely down her face as once again she found herself standing outside Mrs. O’Brien’s classroom peering through the window. Polly watched on as her beloved and saintly teacher rolled out the pastry, at the same time keeping her girls amused with a number of humorous, if not slightly questionable, stories regarding her childhood days back in County Cork, Ireland. Polly turned her attention to the large stove and could clearly see chopped-up apples bubbling away in a copper-based pan, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that appletude pie was once again on the menu.

  “Dear, sweet Mrs. O’Brien, oh how I miss you so very much,” she quietly moaned.

  As Polly continued to watch, she could smell the delicious, sweet pastry wafting in front of her nose, and instantly her mouth began to water, causing her empty stomach to rumble like a waste disposal. Polly wanted mo
re than anything to open the classroom door and enter, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if she were to place even one foot into the room, well then, she would never again want to leave. As Polly deep down knew that this could not be, she courageously chose to content herself by just watching, her nose glued to the window in the same manner as when she passed her favorite tea room in the High Street back home.

  “Hmm…lovely jubbly,” she whispered as her eyes began feasting on the number of freshly baked apple pies that, after leaving the hot oven, sat cooling on a table as they waited for the eager girls to dust them over with fine icing sugar.

  “Girls, girls, remember that just as we sprinkle these pies generously with sugar, so we must endeavor to consistently sprinkle the lives of all around us with the sweetest and kindest acts of warmth and generosity,” Mrs. O’Brien loudly commented as she purposely leaned over shoulder after shoulder in order to make sure the girls were following her instructions to the letter.

  As Polly listened to her teacher’s heartwarming and most compelling advice, she suddenly felt the same invisible hand that earlier on had wiped her brow now gently plunge into the core of her being, and like a specialist surgeon, those hands tenderly took hold of her heart.

  Polly held in her breath and listened intently to the hypnotic beat of her heart as something unimaginably precious was delicately placed into its very center. She thought she could hear a faint whisper in her ear, and it seemed to repeat over and over, “Never be afraid, for I hold you always in the palm of my hand.” Bizarre as all this might seem, even hearing those simple words helped her to lay all fear to rest.

  Added to this was the harsh fact that every waking moment of her life had found her constantly struggling to fight off a subversive and hideously foul morass of pure evil that desired to drag her down into its thick and choking abyss, so surely what was taking place in this small space in time must come from the other end of the hemisphere, perhaps beyond infinity itself! One thing was certain, and this was that the whole unimaginably overwhelming experience seemed far beyond any words of description and therefore way beyond the scope of the human mind with its rational grasp of all things considered tangible and therefore real. Whatever it was, it clearly stood firmly on the side of good, as all fear was immediately vanquished, and she found herself revived with fresh hope that sought to exchange her ever-grieving heart for a deep and timeless abiding joy.

  Eventually Polly slowly and most reluctantly opened her eyes, and in doing so, she was instantly brought back to Earth with a bump, for all too quickly she realized she was once again lying on the thin and lumpy horsehair mattress of her old, rickety iron bed. Polly pulled the thin blanket up to her chin, for despite being in the middle of summer and so presumably less cold, she still found herself shivering from head to toe. “Oh why, oh why, did I ever allow myself to be talked into leaving Piadora to come back to this draughty hate-filled castle?” she sighed. “I must be stupidly crazy after all.”

  Polly gave another shudder that went the full length of her spine. “Come on, Langdon, you’re not doing your job properly. You, my young man, are meant to keep me warm as toast, for I am in most urgent need of some shut-eye, as I’ll have you know I’ve got school tomorrow,” she said as she nuzzled her face into her confidante’s very floppy blue ear. She then miraculously fell into the best and deepest sleep she had ever known, a gentle slumber where all nightmarish dreams and torment are swiftly banished, replaced only by the sweetest, fanciful dreams filled to bursting with endless possibilities as well as the purest contentment, dreams that should rightfully fill the hearts and minds of each and every sweet-smelling, tender child as they lie tucked up tight in their beds, feeling deliciously safe and loved.

  Chapter Two

  THE CHOCOLATE-SEALED LETTER

  THE NEXT MORNING found Polly up and out of bed much earlier than usual, as rather miraculously she found herself feeling surprisingly good on the inside and so extremely optimistic about her day to come. With so much time on her hands, she thought this might well be as good a time as any to pen Aazi his very first letter from her. She had absolutely no idea what to say in the letter except that she was already missing him. So after tearing a sheet of paper from an old, unwanted exercise book, she began to put pen to paper with the full intention of writing down some of her deepest innermost thoughts.

  Dear Aazi,

  I trust this letter finds you safe and well. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is it like for you living with your uncle? I hope for your sake he is much kinder than Uncle Boritz. Are you able to attend school? If so, can you give me some details so that I can compare it with mine?

  This coming Friday our school will be showing us the first of many films about life in Africa, and I have to tell you that as a result of meeting you, I’m truly looking forward to learning more about your wonderful country and your people.

  Although we are well into the month of June, sadly to date we have not seen much sun. In England when it rains and rains for days on end, it seems to affect everybody I meet. The grown-ups in particular are noticeably far more miserable and moody. In fact, if truth be told, they most definitely become decidedly peevish!

  Zimbabwe sounds such an awfully nice place to live, especially as I’m told that the sun shines gloriously all year round. How unfair this all seems! I mean, our weather is so miserably cold and blustery, and yours, well, it sounds so perfect that this surely must go a long way in explaining why you, my little friend, are constantly smiling.

  I confess to missing you so very much; therefore, one of my latest dreams that I’ve now added to my ever growing wish list is to one day pay you a little visit. Until then I have little choice but to content myself with closing my eyes, and then I can clearly see your beautiful, smiling face with those big, white chompers, although I might add that even this has its pitfalls, as I now spend a large percentage of my days bumping into walls and doors in my ridiculously desperate endeavor to keep your impish features constantly fresh and alive in my memory. Yes, if the truth be known, I am indeed covered from head to toe in minor bluish bruises and bumps, but who cares?

  I am therefore waiting with bated breath and the greatest anticipation to receive my first ever letter from you.

  Take care. Sincerely yours. Oodles and poodles of love.

  Polly, xxxx

  PS: Stupid me. I forgot to ask, Do you miss Piadora as much as I do? What a ridiculous question. Of course you do! I know this might sound a bit peculiar, but I feel much more grown up as a result of all the trials that we both faced getting there. Yes, so much older and wiser, although to be honest I’m a little unsure as to whether the wiser bit is a good thing or not. What do you think, Aazi? Should we leave stuff like being wise well alone, as most grown-ups tend to suffer from far too much wisdom for their own good? Please write and tell me your truest thoughts on all such matters, as well as anything else you just might care to.

  Polly then rummaged around in her locker drawer as she searched for an item she knew was there. Why? you might ask. Well, simply because she had hidden it there herself several weeks previously.

  “Yes, thank goodness I’ve finally found it,” she delightedly whispered to herself as out from the drawer came a small, round, and very dubious-looking lump of chocolate. She used force to squash the slightly stale and therefore hardened chocolate outer shell between her thumb and index finger until the gooey caramel inside the chocolate began to ooze its way out. Then when she was fully satisfied that it was now suitably mushy, she took her chocolate-covered thumb and pressed down hard on the paper in a manner that suggested she might well be sealing an important legal document. She had seen this done before on a number of legal documents Uncle Boritz carelessly left lying around his study. The only difference was that his splodge was done with melted red wax and not chocolate. She then blew on the paper in her bid to encourage the thick but deliciously melted splodge of gooey chocolate to dry thoroughly.


  “Terrific. An excellent job done, if I say so myself,” she pronounced, a little on the smug side. She then reached for her pen to add a further PS alongside the dried-out chocolate imprint that was now firmly attached and now weighing down the bottom of her letter.

  PPS: Oops. Sorry about the second PS attachment, but surprise, surprise! Yet another afterthought haspopped into my crazy, runaway head. Aazi, I do hope you’re as committed a fan of chocolate as I am. In England these popular caramel-filled chocolates are called Rolos, and not only are they exceedingly yummy, but it has become very British to selflessly give up your last one to someone that you truly care about. Sorry it’s not the whole deal, for that would have proved very impractical to post, but might I suggest that you take out your penknife to scrape it off the paper. Or better still, throw all caution to the wind and hold the letter up to your face to just lick it off. That way you can get a pretty good idea of what it really tastes like, and I think you’ll wholeheartedly agree with me that it tastes divinely scrumptious! So go on, Aazi, why wait? Do it now!

  Finally, with her letter now finished off to her complete satisfaction, Polly rustled around in her drawer until she came across an old, yellowing miscellaneous envelope. After slipping the letter into the envelope, she then sealed it down with a quick lick of her tongue.

  Afterward she applied a quick squirt of very cheap cologne that had been given to her by someone who no longer cared for its smell. She placed the envelope under her nose to give it a quick sniff. “Mmm, it now smells fabulously gorgeous,” she brightly declared. Turning it over, she proceeded to copy down the address he had written on a small scrap of paper, all the time wondering how on earth she would ever pay for the stamp that was now required if it was to have any hope of getting to its final destination.

  Happily, that very necessary moment of inspiration was about to come forth. She had just written SWALK (“sealed with a loving kiss”) on the back of the envelope, which she followed up by giving the envelope an impromptu kiss, when out of the blue she had that most essential moment of enlightenment. “I know. I’ll pay a visit to dear, sweet lavender-and-lace Mrs. April Strudel and ask to be allowed to take her dogs for a walk. She always says yes, as the dogs need the regular exercise, and she never fails to give me a few pennies as a thank-you. Yes, I do believe those precious but yappy little pups are about to get more exercise than they ever dreamed of, as I intend to write many insightful letters to Aazi in the coming months.”