Poppy blushed. She thought Angel understood more than anyone. ‘The Great Escape, you mean?’
‘Whatever,’ repeated Angel.
‘Thing is. . .’ Poppy broke off.
‘Got to go!’ shouted Jude from the pavement. ‘See you tomorrow.’ Will had already left.
‘Thing is,’ Poppy began again. ‘My dad doesn’t want much to do with us. No visits.’
‘Doing his bird the best way he knows.’ Angel nodded wisely.
Poppy thought that sometimes Angel seemed much older than a schoolboy. ‘Anyway, I think escaping from Castlerock would be just about impossible, unless you were a seagull.’
‘Know what you mean. See you around, then.’
Poppy closed the door behind Angel. It seemed like the final final end of the Great Escape Plan.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ivy Underhill’s office was in a mews behind a big noisy road which went over a noisy railway line. Poppy, Will, Jude and Jude’s mum, who had driven them there, wandered up and down the road for ages before they found the right turning. Jude was only there because she’d made such a fuss about not coming – but her mum had turned out to be useful.
‘Magician Mews!’ cried Poppy at last. They all thought it a wonderfully romantic address for a publisher. But a heavy downpour had exploded over their heads as Sally parked the car and now they were wet, tired and late.
The door was opened by a girl in enormously high heels at the end of exceptionally long thin legs. She peered down at them. ‘Miss Underhill is expecting you.’
Jude stifled a nervous giggle and Will coughed.
They were shown into a large room whose walls were entirely covered with covers of children’s books. While they waited, Will, Poppy and Jude picked out the ones they’d read.
‘Welcome!’ A little round woman wearing green spectacles, striped jacket, a multi-coloured skirt and blue trainers came into the room. ‘Oh, dear. You’re soaking. Araminta didn’t say. Take off your jackets at once and I’ll get towels and hot chocolate.’
Right from that moment, the meeting wasn’t at all as Poppy had expected. ‘Unders’, as Ivy Underhill told them to call her, hardly talked about the book, but asked them all about their lives. With their wet hair wrapped in warm towels and mugs of hot chocolate in their hands, all three children were soon confiding in her the kinds of things they’d never usually tell grown-ups.
‘So you started writing the Rat in prison?’ said Unders, looking over her green glasses with little bright blue eyes. She seemed all colour and kind curiosity.
‘It was something to do,’ explained Poppy. ‘My dad suggested we did an alternative line story. Out loud first. Then we wrote it down. My dad’s innocent, you know,’ she added, almost without thinking.
‘Of course he is, with a daughter like you,’ agreed Unders understandingly. And my mum did the drawings,’ continued Poppy.
Unders looked enquiringly at Jude’s mum.
‘Not me,’ she said. ‘I’m Jude’s mum.’
‘So you are.’ Unders turned back to Poppy. ‘But I haven’t got your mum’s drawings here?’
‘They’re Will’s,’ said Poppy. ‘My mum only did a few, so when Will was recovering from his operation. . . .’
‘Oh, yes.’ Unders turned to Will, ‘You’re the one with the heart.’
The whole meeting was like that, one thing leading to another until Poppy felt Unders knew everything about them – even the Great Escape Plan which didn’t work and Angel who had got nicked but perhaps it had all worked for the best because now he could read.
‘I shall send his school some books,’ Unders said, and made a little note on a pad she’d been using.
After an hour or so, she looked at her watch and said regretfully, ‘If you’re dry now, I’ll have to let you go. Drop the towels in the corner.’ So the children unwound their heads and collected their mugs into a tidy group on the table.
‘Yes,’ said Unders. ‘Now we know each other, we can get on with Rat. I’ll send you an edited version
‘and a contract in the next few weeks. I am very glad to have made your acquaintance. Saving your presence’ – and she smiled towards Jude’s mum who had kept remarkably silent throughout – ‘I find kids far more interesting and imaginative than us old things. I hear no contradictions.’
Suddenly raising her voice, she shouted, ‘Araminta!’
In a moment Araminta tottered in and led them to the outside door. ‘See you again, I expect,’ she said from her great height, ‘Unders took to you, I could tell that.’
‘Well!’ exclaimed Sally when they were outside. ‘She wasn’t very businesslike, was she?’
The children breathed deeply. The rain had passed, leaving a sunlit evening. Their heads felt light and airy without the towels. Poppy could feel her hair standing up and waving in the breeze.
‘I liked her,’ she said.
‘That’s good.’ Sally took them back to the car. The big road seemed less noisy now. It was lined by huge trees from which leaves were floating gently down. One landed at Poppy’s feet. It was large and flat and shaped like a hand.
Poppy bent down and picked it up. She laid it on the palm of her own hand; it was much bigger – the size of Big Frank’s hand, although she didn’t call him that any more. She would have liked to have told him about Unders.
‘Come on, Poppy!’ called Jude’s mum. ‘Did I tell you I put a chicken and ham pie in the oven?’
Poppy was now almost used to living in a house with only her mum. Even though her dad’s presence had never been very reliable, he’d always been expected and when he did come, everything was larger and more fun.
The days and weeks moved on quietly. She did send Frank letters now and again but they were fairly boring, saying things like, ‘I was top in the history test today,’ while his to her were so short as to be hardly letters at all. They said things like, ‘I hope you’re well,’ and ‘I’m very well.’ But then Poppy supposed there wasn’t much news where he was. He hadn’t even commented when she told him a bit about Unders.
It was as if he didn’t exist, now that he was in that faraway prison. In fact, it was hard to believe in the existence of HMP Castlerock on the top of its rocky island.
School was better. She was working hard again and getting high marks in all the subjects she liked. Will and Jude, although so completely different from each other, were her closest friends. About once a week Angel appeared at the end of the school day and they sloped off to Poppy’s house. Irena was used to him now and told Poppy that he was ‘a very courteous boy’, which made them all laugh.
As autumn speeded up, so did the leaves, falling faster and faster from the trees. Often Poppy tracked the big ones to where they landed on the pavement. Sometimes, if one was an unusual colour, she would pick it up and take it home to her room. Soon she had quite a collection – red, gold, bronze, dark-green, lime-green, yellow, or a mix of several colours.
‘They’re beautiful!’ Irena came into her bedroom and stared at the top of her chest of drawers where all the leaves were laid out.
‘I like them,’ said Poppy diffidently. She didn’t tell her mum that they reminded her of hands. Especially she didn’t tell her that they reminded her of her dad’s hands. They were not talking about him at the moment. I’ll tell you what,’ suggested Irena. ‘We could stick them on to a board. They would look lovely and they wouldn’t curl up so quickly.’ So they spent a happy evening together making patterns with the leaves on a large piece of cardboard and finally hanging it on the wall.
‘There!’ Irena stood back to admire their work. ‘A masterpiece.’
Poppy looked at her mum. Her cheeks were pink, her hair loose round her face. She had taken on so many new students that two days ago she’d had the piano moved from Poppy’s bedroom to the living room. ‘It means I can teach here at home,’ she explained to Poppy. ‘Which mean more money.’
Poppy had been about to say, ‘Dad will be furious!’
when she realised that Dad wouldn’t even know. She told herself she was glad her mum was busy, because the worst thing was when she was miserable and lonely. When Poppy felt lonely, she went up to her bedroom and wrote her diary.
The leaves hung where the piano had once stood. Poppy could see them from her bed and at night, when the only light came from a street lamp outside the window, they seemed even more like big hands reaching out towards her.
The weeks passed. There were no more leaves on the trees and it was already dark on the way home from school. Unders called them for another meeting and they began to make changes to the Rat. Otherwise nothing very important happened, unless you counted Irena announcing that she didn’t think it worth making her special Polish Christmas pudding this year. But that was just sad.
Then one evening, Irena met Poppy at the school gates with a look of suppressed excitement.
‘What is it, Mum? What’s happened?’
‘I’ll tell you when we get home,’ said Irena, and she walked with her head down as if to avoid temptation.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘So?’ asked Poppy, the moment they were through their front door.
‘Follow.’ Irena went into the kitchen.
Poppy saw there was an envelope on the table. Her mum took out a slip of paper from inside and slid it across to Poppy. ‘It’s an invitation,’ she said.
Poppy read to herself:
THE GOVERNOR OF HMP CASTLEROCK
AND
THE TRUSTEES OF THE FOSSIL MUSICAL SOCIETY
INVITE YOU TO A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE OF
GUYS AND DOLLS
There was a time and date and an RSVP to an e-mail address.
Poppy looked up at her mother. Irena nodded. ‘It surprised me too. It arrives three days ago. Then yesterday I had a letter from your dad. Everything is explained. He has a big part in the production. Some of the cast are professionals. Some from the prison. Your dad’s voice is so good that he has a main part.’ Irena’s eyes shone. ‘Have I not always told you he has a great voice. I am so proud!’
Poppy still couldn’t think what to say? Did Dad want to see them now? After so many weeks? She knew she couldn’t say it out loud without sounding angry and she didn’t want to spoil her mum’s excitement.
‘There’s more to know.’ Irena came round and gave Poppy a hug. ‘It’s not just you and me who are invited. You can bring friends. We must e-mail all details for security. Birth certificates. They must find birth certificates. Oh, darling. At last something good. Not just work, and your dad so far away!’
Irena looked happily into Poppy’s face. She knew she must say something, but it wasn’t clear what. Did her mum really think Jude and Will and Angel (who spent too much time in prison visiting rooms anyway) would want to travel hundreds of miles to admire her dad’s singing?
‘They will love it, your friends! And afterwards I will treat you to fish and chips on the sea front.’
Irena’s cheeks glowed as she pictured the occasion. ‘What do you think, my darling?’
‘It’s fab,’ said Poppy, adding in a mumble, as her mum still wore a questioning look, ‘I’ll talk to the others. They might be busy.’
‘But it’s weeks away,’ said Irena. ‘They’ll have time to make plans.’
‘I’ll ask them tomorrow.’ Poppy made a huge effort, which made her blush because really it was a lie. ‘I’m very glad Dad’s feeling better and wants to see us.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Irena fervently. ‘This is a bright day.’
Poppy didn’t tell any of her friends about the invitation for a while. Then she told Jude and Will as they stood in the playground, shivering together in the cold. Their reactions were exactly the opposite of what she had expected. Jude was wildly excited and Will, who’d always been so sympathetic, was doubtful.
‘How odd,’ he said, frowning. ‘A musical in prison. I mean, where will they do it? They can’t have a theatre.’
‘What does it matter where it’s done?’ Jude broke in. ‘It’ll be great to go and support Big Frank doing his thing.’ She began to jump up and down, swinging her arms to keep warm.
‘Do you think he really wants us there?’ Will looked pale and small.
‘That’s what he wrote to my mum,’ said Poppy. ‘Angel too.’
‘Angel?’ exclaimed Jude.
‘Of course, Angel,’ said Will. He seemed to make up his mind. ‘If Angel comes, I’ll come too – if my mum lets me.’
Jude stopped jumping and looked concerned. ‘I see what you mean. Although I think it’s more my dad who would say no.’
Poppy frowned, and wound a bit of hair round her finger. It wasn’t very nice to think that her friends might be forbidden to go and see her dad, wherever he was. For the first time, she felt keen to go herself.
‘Well, I’m going, anyway,’ she said fiercely.
‘Of course you’re going,’ said Jude. ‘Big Frank’s your dad.’
Poppy looked at Will but he didn’t say anything. She let go of her hair so it sprang upwards. ‘This is the man who we tried to help escape from prison because he’s INNOCENT!’ She was shouting by the end. I’ll ask my mum,’ said Will in a subdued voice. ‘I suppose I’m a bit frightened. Sorry.’
‘At least you’re honest!’ Poppy’s eyes flashed scornfully towards Jude, who’d started jumping again. She remembered all over again how horrible Jude had been when Frank first went into prison.
Jude stopped jumping. ‘I’m sorry, too. I think I’m frightened as well. And I do think my dad might refuse to let me come with you.’ She looked down at her shoes as if they’d suddenly become interesting. ‘He’s not very kind about people in prison.’
‘My dad’s innocent!’ repeated Poppy. She couldn’t think why she was suddenly defending her dad when she’d been so cross with him.
‘I know.’ Jude looked embarrassed. Luckily for her, the end of break bell rang. ‘I’ll ask,’ she said. And they all went inside.
It was another few days before Angel appeared and Poppy could ask him. It was raining and both of them had their hoods up. She was on her own, waiting for her mum – who was late.
‘Hey,’ said Angel.
‘Hi,’ said Poppy.
‘Won’t need a shower tonight,’ said Angel.
‘Want to come home?’ asked Poppy.
‘Just stopping by. Good, are you?’
‘Apart from my mum being late.’ Poppy wondered if she should tell Angel then and there about the invitation from HMP Castlerock. Somehow it felt harder than asking Jude and Will. ‘My mum’s made some new cakes,’ she said. ‘English ones.’
‘Hello, Angel.’ Irena emerged from under an approaching umbrella. ‘Coming back, are you? I’ve baked new cakes.’
‘I’ve told him that,’ said Poppy. She thought that sometimes Angel seemed like a wild animal you had to gently win over.
‘Just for a bit, then. Got to babysit Gabriel and Seraphina, haven’t I. Mum’s working.’
They walked briskly back, not talking. Soon they were in the warm kitchen with sugared cakes and hot chocolate. (Ever since visiting Under’s office Poppy had drunk a lot of hot chocolate.)
‘I hope you’re coming to hear Poppy’s dad sing,’ said Irena.
Angel looked blank. Blanker than blank, actually.
‘I was just going to ask him, Mum,’ said Poppy. ‘The thing is, Dad’s singing in a musical. . .’ As she explained, she saw Angel’s face change from surprised to wary to anxious, and back to surprised. You want me there?’ he asked.
‘Certainly,’ said Irena. ‘My daughter’s friends are invited. We must get security clearance for those ten years and over.’
‘Me,’ said Angel.
‘There you are,’ agreed Irena.
Poppy could see that her mum had expected more enthusiasm. ‘Angel has a lot of childcare to fit in,’ she said.
Angel looked thoughtful. ‘My dad was in one of those prison gigs. We all went along. He was helping with the stage
managing – you know, lights and things – before they threw him out. He was found with a bit of . . . you know. We went along anyway, though. It wasn’t bad. My dad’s friend acted a pimp. Found it easy, didn’t he.’
‘Then you know all about it,’ said Irena, in her determined-to-be-positive voice.
‘Cheers,’ said Angel – which was more positive than either Jude or Will.
To Poppy’s surprise, Jude’s parents and Will’s mother said they could go to the prison, and then Angel said he could go too. Poppy suspected he’d given himself permission, but he said his mum’s sister was visiting, so she’d help with the children.
‘There you are!’ Irena clapped her hands when she heard the news. ‘We’ll have a lovely day out. I knew it would work out. ’
Poppy wasn’t so sure. The leaves on her wall had curled up and gone an ugly dark brown colour before dropping on the floor. She didn’t think it was a good omen.
Then, with no warning, a railway strike was announced for the day of the performance.
‘Oh, no. No! No!’ Irena held her head in her hands and rocked to and fro.
Unable to comfort her, Poppy went up to her room. A little later she heard the phone ring.
‘Poppy! Poppy!’ Her mother called up to her. ‘Come down quick.’
Poppy found her mum sitting at the piano playing one jolly Polish dance tune after another. ‘Guess what! You remember the Lennie who gave us a lift to Blackmore Bay with husband in prison? Yes? She gives us a lift. All of us. She borrows a car with many seats and her son will drive. She has rung just now. She is a good woman to think of us. All is well again. You see!’ Irena ended with a triumphant run up the piano.
‘Yes,’ said Poppy, and hugged her mum and tried to forget that she’d been relieved they might not be able to go.
‘Only four days,’ murmured Irena, playing a slower and more romantic tune.
But two days later, Irena was back with her head in her hands. Outside the window, thick white snowflakes poured down from a leaden sky. The temperature was freezing. Outside London, it was even colder.
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