by Hilary McKay
“The doctor said they were proper chickenpox,” said Robin.
“I told her that,” replied Dan.
“What did she say?”
“She said she expected it was that silly young chap with long hair and the three-legged dog, who’d rather sit and talk than write out a prescription because he never was very bright at school and he only went into medicine because he liked play-acting.”
“How on earth did she know that?” demanded Mrs Brogan, laughing.
“She knows a woman who knew his mum,” Dan explained.
“Well, I suppose that settles Sun Dance’s chickenpox then,” said Mrs Brogan cheerfully, “because as a matter of fact she’s quite right. It was that doctor.”
“Poor old Sun Dance!” said Robin.
“Sun Dance!” said Dan. “Him and his ghosts and his chickenpox! Where do you think he gets it all from?”
But nobody knew where Sun Dance found his ghosts, or his stories, or his remarkably convenient chickenpox. Sun Dance had been puzzling his family and friends for years. They were not convinced by his ghosts and they laughed at his stories and they were often baffled by Sun Dance himself. They would never have believed in his chickenpox if they hadn’t seen the spots.
Chapter Two
In the morning the sun was shining, the sky was clear and the sea was as blue as a midsummer’s day, but the wind had a coldness that touched the bone. Autumn had vanished and winter had arrived overnight. There was not a green leaf left in the garden. Sun Dance appeared with the post, glowing with health and chickenpox and found Robin and Dan still in bed, trying to eat porridge. Robin had decided that chickenpox felt fairly awful after all. Early in the morning there was very little to choose between being in bed with chickenpox and being a hobbit in the First Year Christmas play.
“Get up, get up!” said Sun Dance, bouncing on to Dan’s bed and then taking a flying leap across to Robin’s.
“Mum says we’re to stop here until the house warms up,” said Robin.
“Oh come outside!” pleaded Sun Dance. “It’s lovely outside! Come and play football on the beach!”
“Are you sure you’re ill?” asked Dan.
Triumphantly Sun Dance pulled up his jumper and shirt and exposed his polka-dot stomach. Dan groaned and pushed his porridge away.
“Can I have it if you don’t want it?” asked Sun Dance.
“Didn’t you have any breakfast?” asked Robin.
“Only toast and cereal and bacon,” said Sun Dance. “I didn’t have porridge. Don’t you want yours, either?”
Robin shook his head, lay down and closed his eyes, and wondered why chickenpox should feel so much worse first thing in the morning than at any other time of day. It seemed unfair that Sun Dance should be happily scraping their plates while he and Dan could hardly enjoy orange juice. He thought that Sun Dance was looking far too cheerful to be good company and when his mother came in, she was even worse. She was shining with happiness.
“We’ve had a letter,” she told Robin. “Charley’s written!”
“Who?” asked Sun Dance.
“I couldn’t believe it when I first saw the name!”
“What name?” asked Robin.
“Charley! After all this time!”
“Who’s Charley?” asked Sun Dance. “Who’s Charley, Robin?”
“Don’t know,” said Robin. “Don’t care. Feel awful. Ask Mum.”
“Where do you feel awful?” asked Mrs Brogan.
“Throat,” said Robin.
“Perfectly normal,” said Mrs Brogan cheerfully. “Bound to have a bad throat with chickenpox. And as if you didn’t know who Charley was! It was Uncle Charley all day long from you when you were tiny! He asks if he can come for Christmas!”
“Can he?” asked Sun Dance.
“Of course he can,” replied Mrs Brogan. “Say something, Robin!”
“Good,” said Robin wearily.
“What is the matter?”
“I feel awful,” repeated Robin. “Sorry.”
“You ate your porridge,” said his mother, looking at the empty plates. “You both did.”
“We didn’t,” Dan told her. “Sun Dance had it.”
“Sun Dance!” exclaimed Mrs Brogan.
“They didn’t care,” said Sun Dance.
“Mrs Brogan, do you mind if I stop in bed for a bit?” asked Dan.
“I’m going to,” said Robin.
“This is terrible!” exclaimed Mrs Brogan. “You two lying there half-dead, while I feel like singing! Never mind, it’s only early-morning chickenpox feeling. It will pass.”
“I feel like singing too,” said Sun Dance.
“You’d better come with me, then,” said Mrs Brogan, “and we’ll leave the invalids in peace and celebrate together in the kitchen!”
“Celebrate what?” asked Robin.
“Oh, everything,” said Mrs Brogan. “Come on, Sun Dance!”
“Cracked!” murmured Robin when she had gone. “Poor old Mum!”
Dan did not reply, because it did not seem polite to agree. From the kitchen came the sound of loud singing and the crash of washing up. The song was “Ten Green Bottles” and there were whoops and cheers every time a green bottle accidentally fell.
“Sun Dance’s throat doesn’t sound very sore,” remarked Dan peevishly. “Do you think they’re smashing real bottles?”
“’Course not,” replied Robin, and then, after a moment’s thought, “They’re bashing saucepan lids together, that’s all.”
“All!” said Dan, in a voice that showed he considered this behaviour heartless in the extreme. “All! Huh!”
Robin understood and quite agreed. It was late in the morning before he and Dan felt well enough to get dressed and join Sun Dance and Mrs Brogan in the kitchen.
“You should have come before,” said Sun Dance. “You missed our concert.”
“We didn’t,” said Robin.
“Rude songs and carols,” said Mrs Brogan as she poured out mugs of cocoa. “Rude songs by Sun Dance, of course, not me.”
“They weren’t rude,” said Sun Dance.
“Well, they weren’t very polite,” said Mrs Brogan.
“I know some good ones,” said Dan.
“I bet you do,” said Mrs Brogan.
“But my throat’s too sore for singing,” said Dan regretfully.
“It was a concert for Charley,” said Sun Dance, “because Mrs Brogan’s so pleased he wrote to her. Who is Charley? Has he been here before?”
“Oh yes,” said Mrs Brogan. “Often! Not recently, though. Not since …” She paused, because the last time Charley had visited had been to come to the funeral of Robin’s father. Robin’s face, tense and waiting, showed that he was remembering the same event. But he said nothing, and after a moment his mother continued brightly, “Robin, you must remember the summer he spent here when you were six? You howled when he left!”
Dan grinned.
“I don’t remember,” said Robin. “I’m sure I didn’t howl!”
“Oh well,” said Mrs Brogan. “You’ll just have to make friends all over again, that’s all.”
“I might not like him,” said Robin.
“Of course you will!”
“Is he old?” asked Sun Dance.
“No,” said Mrs Brogan. “He’s younger than me. He was only a little boy when he first came here. He was nine years old and Nick was eleven and so was I. They stayed with us for a summer while their parents were between houses.”
“Between what houses?” asked Sun Dance.
“Between the house they were selling in one part of the country and the house they were buying up here. Charley and Nick came to us so as to still have a proper summer holiday, while all the moving went on.”
“Were they brothers, then?” asked Sun Dance.
“That’s right,” said Mrs Brogan, smiling across at Robin. “Charles and Nicholas. Nick was the naughty one!”
“How naughty?” asked Sun Dance
.
“Very,” said Mrs Brogan.
“What did he do?” asked Dan.
“What didn’t he do!” said Mrs Brogan. “He was always into something. He was a dreadful practical joker, for a start. I shall never, as long as I live, forget the sound of him singing down the dining-room chimney!”
“Down the chimney?” asked Dan. “From the roof ?”
“Down the chimney from the roof,” said Mrs Brogan. “This roof. He nearly gave my mother heart failure and he could have broken his neck!”
“What did he sing?” asked Robin, who had not heard this story before.
“ ‘John Brown’s Body’,” said Mrs Brogan. “It was the gloomiest song he could think of and it came booming down the chimney, like the voice of God, one Sunday afternoon. It was the most unearthly noise! We had to call the fire brigade to get him down!”
“Was he stuck, then?” asked Dan.
“Stuck?” asked Mrs Brogan. “Not a bit of it! He was standing on tiptoe on the ridge-pole, howling his song into the chimney-pot as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Perfectly happy! He was quite prepared to climb down the way he had got up, but my father made him promise not to move an inch until the fire brigade came … Don’t you dare look like that, Dan. If I ever hear of you doing such a thing, I’ll have you shot!”
“I was only wondering what it was like up there,” said Dan. “Nick sounds all right. Was Charley the same?”
“Not at all,” replied Mrs Brogan. “Chalk and cheese! Charley was a darling!”
Robin and Dan caught each other’s eyes and grinned and Dan mouthed a silent rude opinion of Charley that Mrs Brogan happened to catch.
“He was no sloppy drip!” she said, giving Dan’s head a friendly brush. “Far from it! I was the only sloppy drip around that summer. Charley put the rest of us to shame when it came to courage! He was kind-hearted, that’s what I meant, always running around after people. He thought Nick and I were wonders. He loved Harriet right from the start …”
She broke off suddenly and changed the subject.
“Lunch! Could you manage soup and ice cream, do you think? What about you, Sun Dance?”
“Can I have whatever I like?” asked Sun Dance eagerly.
“Depends,” answered Mrs Brogan. “What is it?”
“Crisp sandwiches,” said Sun Dance. “With cheese inside and brown sauce to dip them into.”
“Gosh!” exclaimed Robin in admiration.
“Very funny sort of chickenpox you’ve got,” remarked Dan. “Me and Robin can hardly swallow!”
“I’ve got proper chickenpox all right!” protested Sun Dance indignantly. “I’m much spottier than you!”
“So you are!” said Mrs Brogan. “Take no notice of these two, Sun Dance! You shall have your sandwiches. How many can you eat?”
“As many as you’ll give me,” replied Sun Dance. “Mum says mine are sympathetic chickenpox and they’ve made me terribly hungry. I shouldn’t mind soup and ice cream too!”
“You shall have it,” said Mrs Brogan. “Go into the living room, all of you, and you can have it on your knees round the fire. It should have warmed up in there by now. Buzz off out of the way for half an hour and I’ll bring it in.”
“Who was Harriet?” Sun Dance asked Robin, but Robin did not know and Sun Dance forgot the question when lunch arrived: three plates of soup, three dishes of ice cream, a large pile of cheese and crisp sandwiches and the brown sauce bottle.
“I don’t believe you were ever a sloppy drip!” he told Mrs Brogan, with his mouth full.
“Cupboard love!” said Mrs Brogan.
“You’re not one now, anyway,” said Sun Dance.
“Mum,” said Robin, suddenly remembering Sun Dance’s question, “who was Harriet that Charley liked?”
“Harriet?” asked Mrs Brogan. “Oh, Harriet was a long time ago, bless her!”
“The summer that Nick and Charley were here?” asked Sun Dance.
“That’s right,” said Mrs Brogan, and said no more, as if there was nothing else to say.
“Why did Charley like her so much?” asked Robin.
“Drink your soup,” said Mrs Brogan, “and take no notice of your old mother’s drivelling! Charley liked everyone!”
“You said Charley loved Harriet right from the start,” remarked Sun Dance.
“I talk a lot of rubbish,” said Mrs Brogan. “It’s old age! It’s something you can’t understand until you have it, like sympathetic chickenpox!”
“How old are you?” asked Sun Dance.
“Thirty-eight,” said Mrs Brogan mournfully.
“Even older than my mum!” exclaimed Sun Dance, round-eyed.
“How old was Harriet?” asked Robin.
“Eleven,” said Mrs Brogan reluctantly. “Harriet and Nick and I were all eleven together that summer.”
“In those days,” said Sun Dance, “were there cars?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Mrs Brogan stiffly.
“Computers?” asked Dan wickedly.
“We didn’t need computers,” replied Mrs Brogan. “We had brains!”
“They invented the wheel,” said Robin solemnly. “Give me a sandwich, Sun Dance! I feel much better!”
“Nick and Harriet will be thirty-eight as well, then,” said Sun Dance, handing Robin the sandwich that he had just taken a bite from. “And Charley will be thirty-six. All grown-ups.”
“Oh Sun Dance!” said Mrs Brogan.
Robin looked anxiously at his mother and was relieved to see that she was still smiling.
“What?” asked Sun Dance.
“Nothing,” said Mrs Brogan. “Only it sounded strange when you said it. To think of Nick and Charley and me all growing up.”
“And Harriet,” said Sun Dance.
“I really can’t imagine Harriet grown-up. She was so little. Far smaller than Charley, even, although he was two years younger.”
“Was Harriet stopping here, too?” asked Robin.
“No,” said his mother. “No. We met her on the beach. It seems to me now that we spent all that summer either on the beach or prowling along the cliffs.”
“Were you allowed?” asked Dan.
“Well, funnily enough, we were. The cliffs were nothing like as dangerous, of course. They hadn’t crumbled as much as they have now but, even so, we were allowed an awful lot of freedom. People didn’t seem to worry the way they do today.”
“Was there chickenpox in those days?” asked Sun Dance.
“No,” said Robin who was reviving rapidly with food. “Just the Black Death.”
“I bet there wasn’t sympathetic chickenpox anyway,” said Dan, and he watched rather resentfully as Sun Dance crunched brown sauce-dipped crisps and swallowed them without flinching.
“Was there chickenpox?” asked Sun Dance.
“Yes,” said Mrs Brogan. “There was everything, chickenpox, mumps, measles, which could be horrible. Poor little Harriet had measles.”
“When you met her?”
“Oh no,” said Mrs Brogan. “Long before we met her.”
“Did you and Harriet wear long skirts?” asked Sun Dance.
“Crinolines,” said Robin.
“With parasols,” said Dan.
“And ten petticoats,” said Robin.
“And hats and veils and long black gloves,” said Dan.
“On the beach?” asked Sun Dance. “What did the boys wear? Did Harriet have a hat and veil and long black gloves, or was it just you?”
“For goodness sake, Sun Dance!” exclaimed Mrs Brogan. “I didn’t quite hobble out of the ark! I wore shirts and shorts, or trousers when it was cold, just like the boys.”
“And did Harriet, too?” persisted Sun Dance.
“Harriet! Harriet! Harriet!” said Mrs Brogan. “What’s so fascinating about Harriet?”
“Everything,” said Robin.
“It’s the way you don’t talk about her,” explained Dan.
“I’ve been talking about her
,” protested Mrs Brogan.
“Talk more,” said Sun Dance.
“I’ve talked for ages. It’s your turn now! How is Old Blanket? Has he recovered from the flea powder?”
“He’s stopped sneezing so much,” said Sun Dance, “but he still won’t go near Mum and he looks much unhappier than he used to. He’s missing his fleas; I’m sure he liked them. They were probably company in the night for him but, anyway, Beany thinks they might still come back. We were going to have a funeral but we couldn’t find any dead ones, so perhaps they jumped off and went somewhere safe.”
“Did you know Beany was saving those fleas for you?” Robin asked his mother.
“No!” said Mrs Brogan. “Good Heavens! How awful! I hope they didn’t go somewhere safe!”
“Mum flea-powdered Old Blanket outside,” said Sun Dance, “so if they have gone somewhere safe, Beany and I think it’s probably on Mum somewhere. But don’t tell her if you see them walking about, will you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Mrs Brogan.
“Because we want them back,” said Sun Dance. “Now tell us about Harriet! Or can’t you remember that far back?”
Chapter Three
“It wasn’t that far back!” said Mrs Brogan.
The tide had turned and was coming in. All the time the sea was breaking a little further inwards. The beach sloped so gently that yards and yards of wet sand were left empty behind each breaking and retreating surge of water.
“Come on, then!” said Nick.
The game was to follow the sea back as far as possible, wait for as long as the nerve held, and then run like mad in front of the next advancing wave. It was made more exciting because the three children were fully dressed. Charley was wet to his knees in five minutes. He was always the first to be soaked, even though it was Nick and Kathy who stood their ground the longest before turning to flee. Kathy could run by far the fastest of the three and Nick jumped like a cat from ridge to ridge of sand, while the foam broke beneath his feet.
(“Were you Kathy?” asked Sun Dance.
“I still am Kathy,” said Mrs Brogan.)
Nick turned to follow another wave backwards down the beach while Charley hopped around on one leg, trying to roll his wet trousers up to his knees.