Cuckoo

by Anne Piper

“Of course they weren’t. They were only worried; like me.”

  “Were you worried, Liz?”

  “Like anything. You must promise never to do anything so silly again.”

  “I promise. It was much too nasty.”

  I thought I might tell a kindly white lie, so I said, “Prue, I forgot to tell you last week, I wrote to Mummy and asked if you could come and spend most of the holidays with us, and when she came today she said that would be a splendid plan. I do hope you’d like to.”

  “Oh Liz, I’d love it.” I thought she might be going to cry so I skipped out as soon as I could after that.

  “She’ll be back tomorrow after a good night’s rest,” San Sister told me, “unless of course she develops pneumonia.” I felt very fond of Prue again, but tonight I am wondering whether it isn’t just because she has made me feel magnanimous today. Mummy only said “a bit” of the holidays, and now because of feeling guilty I have stretched it to at least three weeks.

  CHAPTER II

  March 31st. The holidays began today — hooray hooray! Mummy came and fetched Prue and me in the car, and Prue was so happy she wasn’t even sick like she often is in cars. We got home in time for lunch. We had sausages and a jolly good sort of chocolate pudding without ANY lumps that Mary made. Mary is being very sisterly sweet (so far) but she is still awfully fat. I thought she would be thin again once she’d had the baby. I couldn’t help laughing when I saw it which rather annoyed M. It is so small and cross and red and it waves its fists about making almost as much noise as Mlle!

  April 1st. Managed to make fools of both Mummy and Mary. Told Mary there was a telegram for her, and told Mummy that Mrs. Blackett next door wanted to see her urgently, and she dashed round there. Neither of them thought it was a funny joke, Prue and I were in hysterics. In fact Mummy was so cross she drove us both out of the house and said, “And stay out till twelve o’clock and no more nonsense.”

  “Where shall we go, Prue?” I asked.

  “I’d like to visit old Edith,” Prue said, so we walked over to the row of cottages down by the river and knocked at No. 14.

  “Better not April Fool her, I suppose?” I asked.

  “No, she’s too old. She’d have an attack,” said Prue. After we knocked twice the door was opened a couple of inches, and then wide.

  “Thought you was those little varmints from the school-house. Been banging all morning,” said Edith. “Come in, Miss Prudence, and you Miss Liz. My word you both are getting tall this year.”

  She showed us into her cold little front room which I’m sure hasn’t ever had a fire in it. I clenched my teeth so as not to shiver rudely. The sun was shining hard outside, but none of it managed to get in. It was very difficult to move because the room has in it nearly all the furniture that Prue’s grandmother used to have in her drawing-room, even the awful black marble clock is there, practically knocking down the mantelpiece with its weight. We all sat down on three pink chintz chairs. I suppose the moving men struck when it came to getting the pink sofa along the narrow passage or perhaps Prue’s lawyers are keeping it somewhere for her. I must ask her.

  “Well, Miss Prudence, how are you getting along at school?”

  “All right thank you, Edith. I’m taking School Certificate next term. It’s a very difficult exam. I don’t expect I’ll pass.”

  “Course you will. Your father never failed exams.”

  “Oh dear. Didn’t he? Well, perhaps Mummy did.”

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” said Edith, primly folding her hands, “not knowing her when she was a young girl.”

  “And how are you, Edith? Was it an awful winter? Did the river come into the kitchen again?”

  “Not quite. Stopped just short by the water butt. Would you like to see the mark?”

  “Yes, please.”

  So we all squeezed our way out through the kitchen and Edith had made a paint mark on the water butt which we looked at very interestedly. Then Prue walked down the tiny garden path talking about Wanda and Julie primulas and saying Edith’s grape-hyacinths were larger than Mummy’s and how clever she was to have so many flowers. Edith was awfully pleased. Prue is very good with old people.

  “I haven’t been to the graves yet, Edith,” Prue said. “Are they all right?”

  “I keep them as nice as I can,” Edith said. “I take fresh flowers every week. I only use the lawyers’ money in the winter. In the summer I always take from my own garden.”

  “I’m sure Grannie would like your flowers better than bought ones,” said Prue.

  Then Edith made us come into the kitchen and have a cup of tea and biscuits. She said she had the kettle boiling. It was warm and nice in the kitchen and the sun came in across the river. I sat by the window and stroked the cat and stopped listening while they talked about “Old Times.” I think “Times to come” are so much more exciting. I do hope the war lasts long enough for me to be old enough to join the WRNS. Prue doesn’t seem to want to do anything for the war.

  When we said goodbye to Edith Prue said she would be sure to come again, and then she dragged me off to the churchyard. “Would you rather go down alone?” I asked because she’s funny about her family. I suppose I would be if every single one of them was dead.

  “No, you come too, please, Liz,” so I came as far as the gate with her, and then I sat on an old mossy tombstone in the sun and made a pattern of dead leaves, and she went on by herself. There was a bunch of daffodils stuck in very stiff on one of Prue’s graves and I could see her shaking them out in a hopeless sort of way. She pulled up a couple of bits of groundsel and came back carrying them.

  “Edith’s too old to do it really,” she said. “And she can’t kneel. Oh dear — the stone has got as green as ever.”

  “Let’s see,” I said. And I came over with her because she sounded so desperate.

  “Oh, I like it green,” I said. “It goes in with the grass and makes it all look more eternal.”

  “Do you think so, Liz? I never thought of it like that.” She sounded quite bright again.

  “Yes — if tombstones are scrubbed and shining they look like those awful new Council houses in the fields outside the village — as if they didn’t belong. Come and look at the lovely one I was sitting on. That’s how you want yours to grow as soon as possible. When I’m dead I should like to have a Saxon barrow made over me — all grass.”

  And I managed to get her away by thus Changing the Subject. She spends much too much time in the churchyard when she comes to stay with us. She even goes down there at night. A thing I wouldn’t dare do. But she once told that she always wanted to meet a ghost, like other children want to meet fairies.

  April 3rd. Mummy really is rather bats about the baby. I think there must be something the matter with me that I don’t like babies. Prue is much nicer to Caroline than I am. She doesn’t mind holding her in her arms, as long as she’s sitting down.

  Prue and I went over to Prue’s grandmother’s house this afternoon and peered through the hedge. We couldn’t see the people who live there now. Mummy says she likes them, but we could see that the garden has turned into a wilderness. Of course Joe was called up, and I suppose they couldn’t get anyone else.

  Prue suddenly said, “It makes me feel much older than I am, having so much past already, and everything so much changed. Nothing’s changed for you, Liz, since you were born.”

  “No, I suppose not. Except Daddy going into the Army, and Mary getting married and now Caroline.”

  “But you’ve got the same house. That must be lovely always to have the same house.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I think it’s rather boring myself. I often wish I lived in London like you.”

  “But even if I liked living in London, which I don’t, I’m never there. I’m farmed out somewhere different every holidays — unless I’m lucky enough to get asked to you. Aunt Claire says it’s not safe for me to be in London because of raids, but there hasn’t been a raid for months.
I know it’s just because I’m a nuisance to her.”

  I couldn’t think of anything comforting to say, because I expect it’s true. Prue’s quite enough nuisance to me, so she must seem much worse to a grown-up. So I said heartily instead, “Begone dull self-pity. Let’s get on with this General Science revision.”

  So we found a dry place to sit down in the hedge and opened the books and started asking each other important questions till Miss Larkins came along and interrupted us.

  “Just like old times,” she said. “Seeing you two dear girls happy together. How your poor grandmother would love to see you now, Prudence.”

  She stood in the lane below us with her head on one side looking wistfully whimsy. We were terribly embarrassed, at least I was, but Prue thought of asking after Miss Larkins’ awful smelly poodle that should have been dead years ago, and that animated Miss L. out of her wistfulness and then she (Miss L.) said she was sure we must be catching cold sitting on the ground so early in the year and threatened to go into her cottage and fetch mackintoshes, but I jumped up and said not to bother please because we had to go home anyway and we rushed off to safety in Turner’s Woods instead.

  April 4th. Mummy asked Brian Stephens to tea today. Rather annoying of her really because I’m sure he didn’t want to come. He’s seventeen now and although he didn’t mind playing with me when we were all small it’s obviously different now. I mean he’s practically in the Army. However it wasn’t any good being cross with Mummy once she’d done it, so Prue and I tidied up a bit, and took off our shorts and put on ladylike dresses and Prue unwound her plaits and brushed out the bits of twig that had been in them since yesterday.

  Mummy said she’d told Brian to bring his tennis racquet so that was something for him and me to do after tea anyway, and I guessed the grown-ups would cope with tea time and prevent any Awkwardnesses. However, unfortunately when he arrived there was only Prue and me in the drawing-room and we couldn’t think of anything to say. Neither could Brian, once we’d got over when the holidays began and ended and how he was going back for his last term. He sat with his racquet between his knees clicking and unclicking the press till luckily Mummy came in and charged about with heavy conversation, hardly waiting for answers. I rather blushed for her, but Brian didn’t seem to mind.

  Mary had made a jolly good cake for tea with lots of fruit from a food parcel Daddy sent, and we talked a bit about the Army; perhaps I’ll join the ATS after all. Then after tea I went to get my racquet, and when I came back Mummy and Mary were washing up in the kitchen, and Prue and Brian were alone in the drawing-room and Prue had started to play the piano. At first I thought how rude of her, but when I saw Brian’s face all pleased round his spots, I realised he must have asked her. Neither of them noticed me come in, so I sat down by the door. Prue began quietly and worked up to a terrific Chopin thing.

  “Gosh, you are good,” Brian said in a surprised voice.

  I got up and came over and leant against the piano. “Yes, isn’t she?” I said. “She’s best in the school already.”

  Brian said, “I wonder if I could bring my clarinet over one morning? Are you a good accompanist too?”

  “I could try,” said Prue.

  I knew it would be all right because she plays all sorts of difficult things.

  “Do you feel like a game of tennis, Brian?” I asked.

  He said “Yes rather,” but in a polite, not a keen voice, and he added, “Shall we ask Prudence to play one more thing first?” And without waiting for me to answer, he asked Prue if she could play any of the 48 Preludes and Fugues, and she played at least three before she stopped.

  “Gosh,” Brian said. “I’d give anything to be as good as you. Well, young Liz, what are we waiting for?”

  And he came out at last, but it wasn’t much fun because he wasn’t really trying and I beat him easily.

  When we were walking back to the house he said, “Has anyone professional ever heard Prudence play? You know she really ought to take it up with a talent like that.”

  “Oh, I think she’s going to take it up anyway,” I said carelessly. I was getting rather bored with the whole thing. We went back in the drawing-room, but Prue had disappeared and Brian said he must go.

  “Tell Prudence I’d like to come on Monday morning with my clarinet,” he said. “That is if your mother won’t mind?”

  “Oh, no,” I said. “I expect Mummy would like it.”

  So we left it at that. I shall do a lot of History revising on Monday. It will be very useful.

  April 8th. Have been too busy to write my diary for several days though can’t quite think what with. Brian got us to go to the cinema in Fullersham with him. The film was “The Lady Eve,” and very funny and afterwards we had tea at Pansy’s Pantry. Mary is expecting Tom home on leave, so the whole house has had to be spring cleaned, though obviously T. won’t notice anything. It makes Mummy very busy because Mary is only strong enough to look after Caroline.

  Brian did come on Monday and he and Prue were shut up together the whole morning thumping and blowing. I took them in cups of coffee at eleven and they looked very pleased with themselves. One of Prue’s plaits had come undone and she hadn’t even bothered to do it up, so I brought her a new rubber band for it. Then Mummy nabbed me and made me clean the silver, and I couldn’t even get on with History as I wanted to.

  “I suppose you simply want me to fail this exam.?” I asked her bitterly.

  “You’ve plenty more time to revise this afternoon, darling.”

  “But Prue and I wanted to go out for a terribly long walk this afternoon.”

  “Now, Liz. Don’t be childish, it’s only a little thing I’m asking you to do for your brother-in-law. After all he is fighting for you.”

  “Oh Mummy, don’t be ridiculous. He can’t help fighting for us. He got called up same as anyone else. And I bet you he doesn’t notice anything except Mary and possibly Caroline. At least it would be very difficult to avoid noticing, or at least hearing, Caroline.”

  “Yes, dear. Here’s the Silvo and a dirty rag and a clean one for polishing, and keep it all on this newspaper, and I’ll come back when you are feeling in a pleasanter mood.”

  I was left sitting at the dining-room table with grinding thoughts about the impossibility of parents, listening to the maddeningly rhythmic tootle bump, tootle bump from next door.

  Today Tom has really come. Mary went in a taxi to Fullersham to meet him. He has grown an awful little moustache, but Mary seems to like it. He is soppy about Caroline, saying, “My word, she’s a tough one,” and other such nonsense.

  Mummy has given Prue and me a lecture about leaving Mary and Tom alone together as much as possible, so we hardly dare speak to either of them, and we slip out of the room whenever they come in.

  April 11th. Yesterday it was a wonderful sunny morning; Prue and I planned at breakfast to go out for the whole day with our lunch into the woods. Mummy seemed quite keen, and it would obviously suit T. and M., but at half past nine Brian arrived to say could he and Prue go over a Mozart sonata? I was jolly annoyed, but Prue didn’t seem to mind and they shut themselves in the drawing-room.

  I took Macbeth and Virgil and went off crossly to the old summer-house at the bottom of the garden. It faces towards the morning sun luckily, as it has long ago got too rusty to turn. Most of the floor has fallen in now, and there are dandelions growing through it, but if you pick your way across to the seat that is quite safe. I’d brought a cushion too so I made myself comfortable, and put my legs out to brown.

  I didn’t seem to get much work done, what with lambs baaing through the hedges and rooks cawing and even bees (!) buzzing, but when I heard Mummy calling around the garden for me I thought to myself, No, I will not wait on Tom hand-and-foot any longer! He’s got a wife and a mother-in-law and he can jolly well count his sister-in-law out of his dusting. Probably wants his horrid pips polished, I thought, getting quite worked up, so I put my fingers in my ears and went back to
“Bring forth men children only.” When I began to get hungry, I came out of hiding and sauntered innocently into the house.

  “Oh, there you are, darling,” Mummy said. “Wherever have you been? We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  “Why?” I asked, and added sternly, “I was revising.”

  “For your picnic. We called all over the garden and up the road for you. The others have gone without you in the end.”

  “What others?” I said stupidly.

  “Why, Prue and Brian of course. They told me to tell you they’d keep up the course of the stream and you could find them that way.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m not sure that I want to go.”

  “Oh, you must, darling. They’d be so disappointed, and I’ve made your sandwiches and everything.”

  There was indeed a neat brown paper parcel on the kitchen table. I picked it up and swung it by the string. “I suppose I’d better,” I said, but I didn’t want to at all any more.

  “Of course, and besides I haven’t really got enough cooked lunch for you now.”

  “Oh well — that settles it — I’d say those potatoes were burning dry by the smell.” Mummy moaned and rushed at the stove, and I left her.

  I tied an extra sweater round my neck, pulled up my socks, which will get under the heels of my gymshoes, and walked slowly away from the village. The aubrietia and alyssum are out in all the cottage gardens now, rather a horrid mixture of purple and yellow. I didn’t feel much in tune with Nature somehow.

  I went into the woods through the gate at the top of the hill. There are primroses everywhere and I stopped to pick a bunch for Caroline’s room. It must have been after one by the time I reached the stream and started to work my way along the bank.

  I came in and out of the pine trees softly like a Red Indian and suddenly I saw Prue and Brian sitting on the opposite bank with their lunch laid out on a clean hankie. I could see Prue’s glasses lying next to the corned beef sandwiches, and they, P. and B. that is, were HOLDING HANDS. They were looking at each other, and neither of them saw me, so I backed quickly into the woods for about three minutes and then came crashing forward again with much stumbling and whistling and cracking of twigs. I waved very heartily when I saw them for the second time, the lunch between them, and each clutching a sandwich (only one bite out) in the hand.