by Gina Wilson
Mother reappeared in a few moments and asked us all to go through to the dining-room. The afternoon was overcast and dark and when we went in I was surprised to find that the curtains had been drawn and the room was lit with candles. The girls were all very delighted with the effect; Father helped them into their chairs and they started to pull crackers and put on paper hats. Only I, at first, noticed Mrs. Briggs lurking in a dark corner, her red face glistening under a pointed paper hat. I watched her as Cora shuffled in, last in the line. Her eyes bulged like marbles, her face loomed purple in the flickering light. She made an explosive sound like a stifled sneeze. Then I watched Cora, waited for her to spot Mrs. Briggs in the shadows. When she did, she choked on a sausage-roll and Father had to thump her on the back rather hard to dislodge the crumbs. Mrs. Briggs enjoyed that. I thought she’d probably like to be in Father’s place, hammering away at poor Cora’s bony little spine. The meal progressed; the food was delicious; Mother and Mrs. Briggs made sure our plates were never empty. It wasn’t obvious that Mrs. Briggs never offered anything to Cora. I was at one end of the table and Hermione and Barbara were on either side of me; Father sat down at the other end and acted the clown, to Susan’s delight; even Cora couldn’t help laughing at him. At the end Mother brought in my birthday cake with its candles and I blew them out while the girls sang “Happy Birthday.” Cora’s voice rose sweet and clear with the others. Everyone wanted the candles lit a second time, so we repeated the procedure and afterwards Mother said: “What a beautiful voice you’ve got, Cora.” And Cora, warmed through, smiled like a little pixy under her dark cap of hair.
Father said: “Bet you’re full of secrets, Cora, eh?” I could see he was rather captivated by her shy, hesitant manner. And certainly he was favouring her now as he sensed that, for some reason, she was odd one out. Perhaps it even pleased him to thwart Mrs. Briggs, whose outburst against Cora he could not have forgotten. When we’d eaten all we could he swept Cora out of the dining-room right under her nose, saying: “A rare blackbird we’ve got here, don’t you think, Mrs. Briggs?”
After tea Mother organized us in the front room again. She decided we should have a Beetle drive while we digested our food and soon we were all seated round the card-table, heads lowered, dice rattling. We had three or four games, and Cora won most of them and was presented with a prize at the end, which nobody seemed to resent. After this, things became less orderly. Mother and Father decided that we could entertain ourselves for the time remaining and they retired to the kitchen to have a cup of tea with Mrs. Briggs. Joseph and Dorian were delivered back from next door and came bursting in to see what they’d missed. They loaded themselves up with chocolate biscuits from the dining table and, after initial shyness, started to show off to the girls.
I myself eventually suggested a game of hide-and-seek all over the house. I wasn’t sure that Mother and Father would approve, so I insisted that everyone keep very quiet—no yelling, shouting or thundering up and down stairs. It turned out to be rather exciting as we all crept stealthily about in the gathering gloom; Mother and Father hadn’t switched on the upstairs lights yet as they hadn’t been expecting us to leave the front room. After a while I became aware that nobody was looking for Cora any more and that she’d been hidden for ages. When it was my turn to seek I searched high and low for her but couldn’t find her and decided not to hold the game up on her account. I never mentioned her to the others, nor did I suggest that they try to find her. As a matter of fact I thought that, as things had gone so well, it didn’t really matter if she was abandoned in some dusty corner for the last half hour or so. I could always find her when everyone else had gone home, and make some sort of amends.
We had just finished a round of the game and were all laughing and flopping about in the front room when the kitchen door opened, and Mrs. Briggs came out and headed for the stairs.
“That’s Mrs. Briggs going upstairs for something,” I said. “Better not muck around up there for a bit with her on the prowl. Let’s have another game of Beetle or something.”
We began to organize ourselves desultorily when suddenly appalling screams from upstairs filled the house. My heart leapt. I rushed into the hall. Mother and Father burst out of the kitchen. Mrs. Briggs, panting and shouting, rushed wildly down the stairs with Dory in her arms.
“She’s killing him! She’s killing him!” she shrieked as Mother seized him and he burst into screams of fright. “First her mother, then my baby, then the Spenser baby—now yours! I’ll get her, the little devil …!” She turned, her eyes glaring madly, and made for the stairs again. Father grabbed her. It took all his strength to hold her. Over his shoulder he ordered me and the others back into the front room. As I closed the door behind us I saw him hauling Mrs. Briggs into the kitchen and soon afterwards we heard his footsteps on the stairs. He was going up for Cora.
Susan was sobbing on the settee and Barbara was comforting her. Hermione sat motionless and white on the floor. After a while, when she started chewing her fingers, I dared to approach her and speak.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what on earth’s happened …”
She hissed: “Didn’t I tell you? I warned you. I wasn’t supposed to but I did. I told you all about her. But you still invited her. You must be mad!”
“I didn’t realize … I didn’t mean …”
“It’s too late now. Look at Susan. What effect do you think it’s had on her?”
I crawled across the carpet and knelt before Susan, looking up into her trembling, wet face. She and Barbara had heard nothing of what Hermione had said. “Susan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” said Susan bravely, wiping her face. “You couldn’t have known about her and what she did to my little brother.”
“Oh yes she could,” said Hermione with icy clarity. “… I told her.”
“But I didn’t understand,” I pleaded as I saw shock hit the faces of the other two. “Forgive me. I can see it all now. I won’t speak to her again. Not ever.” I burst into tears myself. “Don’t chuck me out because of this … Please don’t.”
It was Barbara, sensible Barbara, who made the decision. “It’s O.K., Becky. Don’t fret,” she said. “Even if Hermione told you the facts I can see how hard it would be for a newcomer to understand. I suppose it was even nice of you to try and be friends with Cora—but it can’t be done, you see …”
“Oh, I can see that now. Honestly I can. I shan’t try again.”
“Well, I think that’s good enough,” said Barbara. “What about you?” She looked at Susan and Hermione.
Susan sniffed in a determined and final way and stuffed her hanky up the little fluffy sleeve of her bolero. She sighed. “All right,” she said. “Let’s forget it. It’s been a super party apart from this bit. And I do want you to be our friend at school. But no more Cora. Please, no more …”
“There won’t be. I promise,” I interrupted.
Hermione was silent. We all waited for her to speak, but she was still staring dumbly down at the carpet when the door opened and Cora slipped in. She made for the nearest corner and slid to the floor. There she sat, hugging her knees, head lowered, until the first parents arrived. That’s how we were, silent and visibly shaken, when Mother and Father walked in with the Spensers. Susan rushed out for her coat and was buttoned into it in seconds. There was just time enough for her parents to notice the abject Cora. Then they turned and made for the front door with Susan before Father could so much as suggest sherry. The Phillipses and Fosters came and went in much the same way. Then Mr. Ravenwing arrived for Cora. I opened the door but didn’t ask him in and Mother and Father didn’t appear at all. He was all muffled up in a coat and scarf, and I could hardly make out his words as he asked for Cora. She looked surprised to see him but she scuttled out without a word. That was the end of my party.
I stood in the hall for a moment before daring to go into the kitchen. I couldn’t imagine what would be going on in there but I c
ould hear Mrs. Briggs, only partially calmed, by the sound of it, talking on and on and on … At last I opened the door and went in. Jo and Dory were playing on the floor with their cars; they were subdued but not unduly upset. Mother and Father and Mrs. Briggs were in a tight group around the table, leaning over their cups and talking keenly.
Mother was saying: “It’s an awful tale, Mrs. Briggs! I wish I’d known before. I’d never have had the child in the house.”
“Mental, she is,” muttered Mrs. Briggs. “Or worse …”
“Now, now, Mrs. Briggs …” said Father.
“You mark my words, a child of the devil.”
“I can’t accept that …”
“Well … but, Edwin …” began Mother.
“Well but nothing,” said Father. “Disturbed she may be. The child’s had a very disturbing life. But ‘child of the devil’—no—that I won’t have. I’m not saying include her in everything, or even anything, come to that. But I won’t be party to malicious slander.”
“After what she nearly did to your own son?” gasped Mrs. Briggs. “Damn near suffocated him …”
“What did Cora do?” I asked in a small, shocked voice.
They all turned on me. They hadn’t heard me open the door. Mother stretched out an arm. “Oh, Becky, sweetheart. What an awful end to your party and after it had all gone so beautifully too.”
I went and stood beside her at the table and she put her arm round my waist. “What did Cora do?” I asked again.
“Not very much when it comes down to brass tacks,” said Father eyeing Mrs. Briggs sharply and standing up. “She hid in the airing-cupboard when you were playing hide-and-seek. She took Dory in with her and closed the door. Mrs. Briggs went up for clean tea-towels, opened the door, and there they were, huddled up asleep like two dormice. Too hot, you see …”
“She could have killed him,” said Mrs. Briggs. “That’s what she nearly …”
“In that case she’d have killed herself too,” said Father briskly. “Now we can’t have any more of this. It was your mistake, Mrs. Briggs … and an understandable one in view of the things you’ve told us. But …”
“Surely Cora didn’t want to kill Dory!” I said.
“Of course not,” said Mother gently. “The airing-cupboard’s not airtight anyway. And if she’d wanted to do anything cruel she wouldn’t have got in there beside him. She was just hiding. But Mrs. Briggs got an awful fright when she opened the door and they were both squashed up in there with their eyes shut. For a second she thought they were dead.”
Mrs. Briggs was mumbling under her breath throughout this explanation and at the end of it she said to me: “She’s a bad child, that Cora. I’ve told you that before. None of the other children have anything to do with her. None of the other parents will have her to their homes. You shouldn’t have asked her to your party. You know she’s bad, don’t you?” Her bulging eyes leered at me. I wondered if she knew I’d been told the local tales about Cora or if she was guessing.
Mother said quickly: “Oh, Becky couldn’t know anything about what you’ve told us, Mrs. Briggs, and I think it best that she doesn’t.”
“Quite,” said Father. “Come on, Becky, you come with me and we’ll start a spot of tidying up.”
But Mrs. Briggs kept on glaring at me and I found it hard to break away from her basilisk stare. She knew I knew.
Mother had been hoping that Mrs. Briggs would stay to help with the washing up, but in view of her shocked state Father offered to drive her home instead, and it wasn’t long before she’d wrapped herself up again in her damp rain-cape and departed. While they were away Mother spoke to me again about the incident. “Becky, that was a shocking outburst of Mrs. Briggs’s and I know it absolutely ruined the end of your party, but I’m sure the girls will remember the nice bits too when they get home.”
“I expect so,” I said meekly. I knew that Mother herself must be disappointed that none of the parents had stayed at the end for a chat.
“Now, the thing is,” Mother said, “that Cora really is a bit of a problem child—there’ve been all sorts of ongoings we knew nothing about. And Mrs. Briggs has been very closely involved. We mustn’t hold this incident against her … And—well—I really think it’d be better if you didn’t see Cora any more.” She broke off abruptly and looked at me. I said nothing. “Do you think that’s terribly unfair?” she asked.
“Of course I do,” I said.
“Becky, look, we’re new here. Don’t let’s be awkward customers straight away. See how the Spensers and the Phillipses and the Fosters couldn’t wait to get out of the house when they saw Cora was here. How are we ever going to fit in if we keep having her round? We’ll just be stuck with Cora and her father for company. How’re you going to like that? I thought you liked the other girls. There’ll be no more going round to Hermione’s, you know, if you have Cora tagging on like a little shadow all the time.”
I knew she was right and I knew that I didn’t want to lose Hermione and the others. Furthermore, I had promised them faithfully that I’d cut Cora off at once. But that was when I thought she’d really done something wicked to Dory. It was all Mrs. Briggs’s fault; if she hadn’t leapt to hysterical conclusions and lost her head none of this would have happened. “All right, Mummy,” I said. “I’ll give Cora up. I’m not that keen on her anyway. But I do think it’s unfair to her.” It was true that in a way I found it difficult to be fond of Cora; her lapdog attitude to me was too irritating. There had been moments when she’d seemed less dependent on my approval and goodwill but so far these hadn’t lasted. All the same, I was bothered by the total injustice of what everyone was demanding—that I should cut her off completely.
“It is a bit unfair,” said Mother. “I’m not that happy about it myself, but I can’t see any alternative. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe later … if it all dies down … But at the moment you’ve got a new school to settle into and we’ve all got new friends to make. We must make an effort to fit in—there are the boys to consider as well.”
On my way up to bed I saw Cora’s little present lying unopened on the hall window-ledge. I must have shoved it there absent-mindedly when she arrived. I unwrapped it as I went upstairs. It contained two postcard-sized pieces of cardboard, and carefully sandwiched between them was a piece of paper which had obviously been carefully cut from a notebook. I turned it over and there was the most delicately painted forget-me-not that I had ever seen. The colours and details of petal and leaf were just right; it was exquisite. In the bottom corner was a clear signature—“Myra Ravenwing”. Cora had included a little note: “Dear Becky, I wanted to give you some of Mum’s roses on your birthday but you weren’t happy about that so I hope you’ll be happy with this instead. With love from your friend Cora.” I stared at the little painting and felt strangely excited. Cora had actually taken scissors to one of her mother’s diaries so that I could have it. What would her father say if he found out? What had she risked for my sake?
I lay for a long time after I’d got into bed just gazing at the flower propped up on my bedside table. When I heard Mother coming up to kiss me goodnight I instinctively seized it and hid it between the pages of the poetry book that Hermione had given me. Afterwards that seemed symbolic; that was what I’d have to do with Cora. She’d have to be secret. I would be openly friendly with Hermione and Susan and Barbara but secretly there would always be Cora.
When I lay down something dug into my wrist and I sat up again sharply and turned my bedside light on. Mrs. Briggs’s hobgoblin glinted up from my arm in triumph—he’d done for my party all right! In rage I tore the bracelet off, opened my window and flung it out into the dark night. It wasn’t found for weeks and by then it was so tarnished and rusty that I never had to wear it again, though Mother made me keep it to save Mrs. Briggs’s feelings.
Chapter 7
The Hideout
THE NEXT DAY WAS SUNDAY AND THE NEW SCHOOL TERM was due to start on Tuesday, so there
wasn’t a lot of time to do what I finally decided would have to be done.
In the morning Mother was gratified to receive phone calls from the Phillipses, Fosters and Spensers saying how much the girls had enjoyed the party and how rude it must have seemed that none of them had stayed long enough to introduce themselves properly. Mrs. Phillips phoned first and Mother and Father agreed over lunch that it looked as if the others must have selected her as spokeswoman, for she was on the phone for a considerable length of time and took it upon herself to apprise Mother of some of the aspects of Cora’s life which had led to her being, by now, totally ostracized by the community. Whatever Mother really thought she reacted to the news in the way she knew Mrs. Phillips would want her to. I sat out of sight at the top of the stairs and listened to her end of the conversation. “… Yes, quite, Sylvia … If I’d known … Mrs. Briggs did tell us afterwards … No, Becky doesn’t know … we’ve decided it’s best … yes … The others don’t discuss it? … Quite … No … I thought not … No, she’s no idea … No, she’s not going to see her again. She can see the others are upset by her—and she’s very fond of Hermione, of course … Oh, she does? That’s nice. Yes, they enjoy it, don’t they?”
So Hermione hadn’t told her mother she’d told me all about Cora! She must have decided to forgive me after all. I’d been worrying about her continuing silence after the other two had expressed their willingness to overlook the blunder of inviting Cora to the party. Only Hermione had sat remote, white and silent, undecided as to whether such crassness on my part must rule me out as a suitable friend. Now it seemed all was well. She’d concealed the full extent of my knowledge from her parents and might even, from the sound of it, have said she liked me, enjoyed our poetry discussions … In the midst of my pleasure at seeing the way clear again to being one of a foursome with the others I did not overlook the fact that in order to tell her parents the truth she’d have had to confess to gossiping to me about Cora, a thing they’d expressly forbidden. But her motives didn’t bother me greatly. What I was overjoyed by was the prospect of the new school term with her as my best friend. It was more than I deserved after the tactlessness of subjecting all three of them to an afternoon of Cora.