by Sara Crowe
I told Joe over orange segments, all about my nightmares and he was riveted and offered to drive me over to Titford on his bike to help me to hunt for a note. He really, really likes me, there is no doubt about that. I wish I felt the same. But I decided to take him up on his offer of a lift to Titford (when the next good opportunity arises), so I suggested lunch at Green Place, and when we got back we were welcomed and sat down to Mrs Bunion’s Sunday cuisine.
‘Rainy isn’t it?’ said Joe.
‘No, it’s Sunday,’ said Admiral Ted, who is a little hard of hearing because he has tittinus.
‘Delia, I thought you were going to luncheon today at the Jeffreysons?’ Aunt C said casually.
‘No I wasn’t,’ said Delia.
‘But it says on your calendar that you have luncheon today at the Jeffreysons,’ said Aunt Coral.
‘I must have forgotten to cross it off then,’ said Delia, taking back the paper. Delia has her own private calendar hanging on the wall in the kitchen and there are often things written on there that bear no resemblance to what she actually did that day. Like Aunt Coral, I think she would enjoy a great many more appointments to go to and so I think she makes some up.
There was an awkward moment filled only with the sound of Joe and I at our dumplings. Joe was scraping his cutlery over Aunt C’s special plate.
Aunt C realised she had inadvertently exposed Delia’s calendar, and so attempted a rescue. ‘Careful of the porcelain Joe, it’s rather valuable. Porcelain is the most delicate and expensive form of pottery you see. It comes from the word porcellana which is Italian for seashell. If the pottery’s not translucent, and doesn’t let light shine through, then it’s not porcelain. You are eating off the finest Queen’s china in the south.’
‘Wow,’ said Joe, obviously very impressed. He placed his knife and fork solemnly on his plate without further scratching.
‘I was thinking of getting a cat,’ said Delia, unimpressed with Aunt C. ‘Mr Waiting has just had kittens.’
‘Oh Delia, don’t get a cat,’ said Aunt Coral, ‘that means that you’ll never get married.’ She wasn’t normally so tactless.
Delia arose complaining of heartburn and was shortly followed out of the room by Admiral Gordon, his stomach protruding through the gaps in his Sunday waistcoat.
Ever since Loudolle was here I’ve noticed that Aunt Coral and Delia have had some friction. Loudolle has driven a wedgie between them because, in Delia’s eyes Loudolle could do no wrong, and in Aunt Coral’s eyes I couldn’t, and so they have had to take sides. As Aunt Coral has not had her own children – she always says it would have taken a team of PHDs to get her pregnant – the bond between us is very close. I am like the daughter she never had, so of course she would take my side.
‘Is your young man spending the rest of the afternoon with us?’ she asked me after a short pause.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Joe at the same time, and we both laughed, a bit too much.
‘Why don’t you show Joe around,’ she said, ‘show him the cobweb kingdom?’
So I took Joe around and had a good look myself at some of the rooms I’d not yet been into, in the house that goes on for ever, room after empty room.
‘You could have boat people living in here and never know they were there,’ said Joe.
He was right; it would be easy to hide in Green Place. I spooked myself with the notion. I showed him the locked-room door, which always has an atmosphere, and then I took him up to my room. As we entered something happened to him – his colour changed and he grew quiet.
‘This is my room,’ I said. And when I turned round he was suddenly in front of me. He leaned in towards me and tried to steal a kiss, but he missed my lips and caught my nose by mistake, and then he trod on my toe.
‘I didn’t bring you up here for that,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.’
‘Thank you Joe, that’s kind of you.’
‘I love you Sue.’ He looked into my eyes for several moments, waiting for me to say it too, which I couldn’t, because I didn’t, and I couldn’t look away or say something else because he’d just tried to kiss me and so to ignore it or change the subject would be rude, so I didn’t say anything at all, which was awful, and as time went on Joe went more and more red.
‘Why do you like my brother so much?’ he said. ‘He doesn’t respect women.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, but he was already leaving, putting his foot through a tread on the stairs on his way out.
Aunt Coral saw him out and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in bed with Icarus’s eye, feeling bad about Joe but unable to help but love the man I loved.
It was the perfect night for bad dreams and I had the same dream about Mr Jewell, but with a different ending this time. In this version Mr Jewell did not stay for a cigarette, and got to my mother in time to save her. As he was walking away from the ambulance, he found her note in his pocket. Thinking nobody would read it now, he screwed it up into a ball. I was yelling at him that he should read it but he couldn’t hear me because I wasn’t there.
When I awoke at 3am the rain was falling like a million tears from Heaven. Perhaps she does think of me after all.
Monday July 6
Brackencliffe
By Sue Bowl
Keeper had run far away and lay asleep in a great black cave, spent from his flight o’er the moors.
‘Good boy, Keeper, good dog,’ said Fiona, as she found him and lay down beside him. She placed Cara’s locket round her own bonnie neck, feeding Keeper the remains of her lunch. Then they rested together, but knew not to tarry, for great was their fear of discovery.
Bemeantimes back at Brackencliffe, Van Day reached out to Cara. ‘Comely wench, aren’t you?’ he said ‘whyfore haven’t I seen you before?’
So he can speak if he has a mind to, thought Cara, defending her maiden’s weeds.
‘Come hither starlight,’ said the Knight and he pressed her close to his westcott. ‘My name is Knight Van Day,’ he said, ‘and I come from wither and yonder.’
Pretafer returned from the water cabinet and ordered Cara fetch her a plate of noodles, for though she had tons of suitors, she was jealous of the maid, and little knew what would have hap if Knight Van Day had tarried.
I read my latest work to Aunt Coral this evening in greatest secrecy in her bedroom. It has to be the last time I read her an extract, as we can’t afford to break the rules. (We are not meant to discuss our entries, so our efforts are entirely individual.)
‘Excellent Sue, really excellent, well done,’ said Aunt C. ‘Did they eat noodles in the seventeenth century?’
‘I’ll change it to barley,’ I said.
It was a good observation, but in truth it dampened my firework, as I only agreed to read it to her because she is still upset about her shoes.
Coral’s Commonplace: Volume 3
Green Place, March 12 1938
(Age 16 but pass for 18)
Until today, it has done nothing but pour for a fortnight. It’s like machines in the sky have been moving the rain sideways instead of letting it drop. This is what’s known as drifts, or swathes. A swathe is a committee of raindrops that have been caught on the wind and blown sideways. Sometimes they form interesting shapes such as gentlemen’s beards or coconuts. I’ve spent days looking out of closed windows, pondering the prospects of adulthood, but there is nothing in the paddock but a slick of water and Cameo’s dear old horse. If the rain continues the sharp fragrance will be rinsed from the tulips and the wisteria will remain a shrill green, sodden and gasping for light.
You can imagine our intense joy at the break in the weather this afternoon, when we were able to sit out on the terrace with Brown Bettys, restored by the sun’s faint heat, with distant rain fresh on the air and water gushing through all the ditches. Such a sensuous moment punctuated an otherwise dully repetitive day.
BROWN BETTYS
Wat
er
Brown
Sugar
Lemon
Cinnamon and cloves
1 Boil in a pot
2 Add contents into warming pan with:
Four bottles of strong ale
Six tots of brandy (per family of 4, or to taste)
Half a dozen pieces of toast spiced with ginger nutmeg ’n’ cloves
3 Float ‘en crouton’
And Mother had an inspired serving suggestion. Surely the best thing in the world is a cocktail that’s poured from a teapot?
Emotional News
Cameo and I, like Lady Chatterley, have both fallen for Sayler. He started gardening for us a week ago, since when we have been keen to assist with the weeding. I work myself into a state of classic gitters at the full panorama of his biceps. I have never known so divine a man and don’t think I shall soon forget him. (I give him 15 out of 10, but he’s potentially out of my league.)
Other men of my acquaintance:
Doctor John – reassuring, brains, nice pocket watch, but confirmed bachelor (7)
Father’s solicitor Howard – Heathcliffian, miscast as a lawyer (a whopping 8.5)
Other charismatic corkers (not to be openly admitted!):
Daniel-the-useless, Mrs Morris’s nephew – good-looking but very resentful. He’s supposed to ‘help as required’, but he won’t iron because it gives him a nose bleed. Mrs Morris loves him like a son. (7)
Mr D’Olivera, our grocer: painfully good-looking, knows the fine line between a ripe fruit and a rotten one and chooses out the best for his girls. (Cameo displays his fruits by her bed and calls this ‘Still Lifeing’. Mrs Morris throws them away when they grow fur. Father rails that it takes three weeks to ship one banana here from the West Indies in a vessel with good refrigeration, and so it is very wasteful of us to let anything rot.) (9)
Johnny Look-at-the-Moon, our coal boy, so-called because of his prophetic dreams. In fact he is renowned in Egham for his important dreams, and can tell you the Derby winner, or a good day to go to the bingo. Mythical, lyrical in attitude with dreamy eyes, even if he is always filthy with coal. And how I love the way he pronounces ‘Thursday’ without an ‘H’. If he were older I would definitely fall, but as he is only 14, this would be wholly unsuitable. (However, I still give him 10 out of 10.)
Cameo and I actually had a row over Johnny, because I told her I had a painful crush, so she said she had a painful crush too, but only because I had said that I had one. It is troubling however, because she happens to be the right age for him. To be three years younger than your husband is perfect. In the end we agreed to leave Johnny alone and divide Sayler and Mr D’Olivera between us instead. We came to an understanding that sisters will always come first.
‘I cannot let there be hatred in my heart Coral, I love you far too much,’ Cameo said.
‘If there is no hatred in your heart, Cameo,’ I said, ‘then why is it coming out of your eyes?’ It was one of our most literate quarrels.
Last night after we made it up Cameo came into my bed again, when I really wanted to be alone. I think she just wanted to check we were still a happy family.
‘Don’t tell me I can’t talk about sex because I’m eleven,’ she began. ‘Sex is wonderful,’ she continued, swirling an arm as if she were dangling it off a rowing boat.
‘How do you know?’
‘Everyone says so,’ she said.
‘Actually, I was rather hoping to crack on with my medical series – I’ve got prostates and sternums tonight,’ I said.
This had the desired effect and she slithered off. They grow up so fast.
House News
The downstairs Mary, Miss Lunn, has been dismissed because she was delusional and convinced that Father wanted her to sleep with him in the afternoons, and that the reason for his withdrawn attitude was that she didn’t, and nothing to do with his sternum. She has been crying in corners and, ultimately, it impacted too much on the household. Mrs Morris has kept a lid on it. Mother doesn’t even know. I hope Miss Lunn catches a glimpse of comfort in the near future.
Father, in a bad mood because of his sternum, has accused us of laziness, saying we never lift a finger round the house. But we do our bit in our own way; I just don’t think he sees it. Cameo trails her languid fingers through the dust, leaving symbolic drawings. She claims she has lost the ability to dust, as if it is evolution.
Sue
Wednesday 8 July
I’ve been trying to find out more about the mysterious Nana Cameo recently. As a child she fell down a mountain and a ski pole went through her eye. As a consequence she wore a glass one which Aunt Coral says did little to steal from her beauty.
‘She had the face of an angel and hair as pale as Victoria sponge. She never once had to pay a bus fare if there was a male conductor,’ she said.
Outside in the garden there’s a plaque where Cameo buried some of her dollies.
It was a great tragedy she died so young, although perhaps even more of a tragedy for Aunt Coral, who was left alone to look after their father, once Nana Pearl had also gone. During this period nobody in Egham saw her. She had all their food delivered and for some reason kept their calendar always to the same year. I wonder if she wanted time to stand still, or felt that she could save up the lost years for betterment? Great Grampa Evelyn became reclusive and took her for granted. She says that some days he did not come out of his room. They had no Mrs Morris any more, and the maids never stayed very long. Mrs Bunion didn’t come on the scene until later. It must have been hard for Aunt Coral, I don’t like to think of her fading like that, it wasn’t right for her. She is a definite people person and so delights in a group.
My mother was around of course when Great Grampa Evelyn was getting old, but she had turned her back entirely on privilege when she left boarding school, found her job and married my father. But she often talked of her guilt at having not visited more often and having left Coral alone to manage. But in her defence, I think my mother felt banished by her boarding school days, because had Nana Pearl lived longer, it is very unlikely she would have been sent away.
But, as for Aunt Coral and Cameo, as in so many cases, it was the most dutiful daughter who was treated like an old slipper, whereas Cameo, prior to her death, had always been treated like a jewelled sandal.
Aunt Coral eventually confided one evening last week, after one too many Sapphires, that it is in the locked room in the East Wing that Cameo died, and that behind the locked door are all her things just as she had left them. I think this often happens when somebody dies suddenly; it helps them to last a bit longer in the minds of the people they’ve left behind.
‘But it’s not only her things, it’s a feeling I get when I go in there,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘It’s like there’s something inside.’
‘Imagination?’ I said. (I was her true follower, choosing the pragmatist’s view.)
‘Must be,’ she said, and then her defence gates burst under a rush of memories.
‘The thing about losing Cameo is that it was such a shock. I was called back from Oxford and by the time I got home my sister was gone. It was all so sudden.’
‘But how did she die?’ I said, for I thought this might be a good moment to ask her. But Aunt Coral filled up at the thought of it all and asked if she could explain when she was feeling sober. It is odd she is so cloak and dagger about it; Cameo’s death certainly seems shrouded in mystery. I did ask my mum about it once a long time ago, and she said she wasn’t sure, but thought it might have been a stroke.
‘I know you know how it feels,’ said Aunt Coral. ‘I loved her; I wanted to take care of her.’
I tried to comfort her with a nugget from my own life experience.
‘I’ve always wanted a brother or a sister but now I think that not having one has been a kind of a blessing,’ I said.
‘How do you mean?’ said Aunt C.
‘Because I could never lose them,’ I said.
Monday 20 July
>
The thing that I keep coming back to is that Icarus asked me out once, and if he’s asked me out once, he’ll do it again, surely, especially with Loudolle out of the way? Taking the extra care that is necessary over my appearance in the mornings is proving a time-consuming business. It means early starts and long trips to the bathroom to keep fresh and in tip top shape.
Aunt Coral describes me as girlish, Delia says I am cute, Joe said he thought I was gorgeous, (this was before I spurned him). Hopefully, I may be all those things, to all those people, but Loudolle is really beautiful, with coltish knees and glamour locks, and I don’t know if Icarus sees me that way.
If I could just get close enough to him to ask him why he asked me out, then at least I’d know that he actually had, and that I hadn’t just imagined or dreamt it. I try without ceasing to find a moment to talk to him, but every time there is one, my courage fails me. Asking him why he asked me out isn’t an easy question. There are always so many people around to listen.
A new Maid has started at the Toastie called Charlie Harker. She comes from New Zealand and drinks Whisky Macs. She is the kind of girl who’d give Loudolle a run for her money, though she is not what you’d call a beauty. She has the smell of airports, or rather, the stuckdown bits in magazines which have fragrance you wipe on your wrists. I admire her a lot for having travelled from the other side of the world.
Mrs Fry has appointed her Head Maid. She’s all about getting maximum performance from everyone and she gets it by operating rewards. Being Head Maid means that Charlie has extra breaks and doesn’t have to wash any pots. My hands are peeling because they are always in water, and I’d have loved to have been Head Maid, but I don’t think Mrs Fry has ever liked me that much.
At the moment I am working from seven in the morning till five in the afternoon, five days a week, sometimes doing extra hours in the evenings making picnic orders for deliveries. My earnings have shot up from £30 per week to £100, and I give most of it to Aunt Coral for upkeep, bar the pound a week I am putting aside to buy back her handbag, and three pounds a week for my personal savings. With occasional babysitting for Mary-Margaret Fry I am able to swell my salary further and afford occasional treats.