The Peppermint Pig

by Nina Bawden

  They went on the merry-go-round. Theo on a prancing horse with flaring red nostrils and Poll on an ostrich. The seat was slippery and she clutched its neck while she swooped and soared and the music played ‘Pretty Redwing’ and the coloured world flew round faster and faster. She saw her mother and shouted, ‘Look at me, look at me,’ and drummed her feet on the side of the ostrich, but the next time round, Mother had vanished. Theo cried out, ‘Look, Poll, look…’ craning round so he almost fell off his horse. He was red-faced and crowing with laughter. ‘Look, Johnnie,’ he screamed, and as the merry-go-round began to slow down, Poll saw their pig galloping past, Mother and George running after him. He was twisting and turning, a great, lumbering, lolloping pig, going mad with excitement as other people shouted and joined in the chase. ‘How’d he get out?’ Theo said, as he dropped from his horse to the still-moving platform, then to the ground. Poll was slower. By the time she was off the ostrich, she had lost sight of them all. She ran round the merry-go-round, crashed into someone who said, ‘Watch where you’re going,’ and when she looked up she saw Noah Bugg’s pale eyes gleaming down at her. He held her by the shoulders but she kicked his shin to make him let go and ran wildly on, shouting, ‘Johnnie, oh Johnnie…’

  He came charging towards her like a live cannon ball, his pursuers behind him. Poll held out her arms to stop him and he swerved, grunting, and shot through the open flap of a tent. There was a horrendous crescendo of squealing and shouting, the canvas sides of the tent shook and bulged and then a huge woman with a straggling grey beard sprouting out of her face came thundering out, Johnnie apparently chasing her.

  George hurled himself on top of the pig. Johnnie thrashed about, trumpeting, but George hung on to his ears like grim death and he stopped at last, exhausted and trembling.

  ‘Bloody pig,’ George gasped, but everyone standing round was roaring with laughter. Even the Bearded Lady.

  ‘Gracious Heavens, what a fright he did give me,’ she said in a high-pitched, ladylike voice so much at odds with her appearance that Poll gazed at her wonderingly.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ Mother said. ‘It’s our pet pig, he wouldn’t have hurt you, though you couldn’t have known that, of course. I thought he was safely shut up, I’d no idea he’d followed us to the Fair.’

  ‘Poor Johnnie,’ Poll said. ‘I expect he was lonely all by himself in the hen house and came looking for us.’

  She squatted down and fondled his ears. Noah Bugg said, ‘That your famous pet pig?’ He didn’t seem angry because she had kicked him but grinned at her in a friendly way when she looked up at him. Then his grin faded and Poll saw he had seen Theo who had pushed through the laughing crowd and was standing beside her.

  Theo gazed back at him steadily. Noah started grinning again. His gooseberry eyes roamed the circle of onlookers and rested on Mother.

  Poll said, loudly and quickly, ‘I saw Johnnie from the merry-go-round. Did you see me? I was on the ostrich. It was lovely, like flying. Shall we take him home, Mother? I will, if you like, but you’d better come too. He pays more attention to you.’

  ‘No, I’ll take him, unless you’ve had enough of the Fair already! Come along, you bad pig!’ Johnnie hung his head as if he knew he’d done wrong and the Bearded Lady gave a light, tinkling laugh and patted his head. ‘He looks a bit hang-dog, poor fellow. Or should it be hang-pig?’ Poll saw that her hands were big and strong like a man’s but looked away at once: it seemed impolite to stare when she hadn’t paid for it.

  Mother apologized again. The Bearded Lady bowed her head graciously, said no harm had been done, lucky he hadn’t knocked over a china stall, that would have been a fine how-do-you-do, and retired to her tent. The crowd began to drift away, now that the excitement was over, but Noah Bugg was still there, watching Mother intently through his pale lashes. She said, in a kindly voice, ‘How are you, Noah? Enjoying the Fair?’

  Noah wriggled his shoulders and licked his lips nervously as if gathering courage to speak. Poll was sure he was going to say something dreadful, give Theo away, and the full horror of what this would mean suddenly struck her: if Mother knew one of her children had been telling wicked lies about Father something would be broken that could never be mended. She pushed roughly in front of Noah and said, ‘Wasn’t she funny, Mother? That voice – she sounded like Lady March! D’you think she’s a woman with a beard or a man with a lady’s voice? She’s fat in the chest but that could be stuffing.’

  ‘Be quiet, Poll!’ Mother was frowning. She took Poll by the wrist and drew her away from the tent. ‘It’s sad either way, the poor soul. I’m ashamed of you, she might have heard what you said. I’ve half a mind to make you come home with me to teach you good manners!’

  ‘I’m sorry’ Poll said. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘Then you should! People like that have feelings just like the rest of us. It’s bad enough that they should have to earn their livings this way, without rudeness from ignorant children.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘All right, then.’ Mother gave Poll a doubtful look, as if wondering what lay behind this unusual meekness, but Poll kept her face fixed in a look of penitent sadness and Mother said, finally, ‘Just remember in future,’ and produced an extra threepence out of her purse and told her not to buy too many sweets or she would make herself ill.

  When she had gone, a docile Johnnie trotting behind her, Poll giggled to herself and looked round for Theo. She wanted to tell him how clever she’d been, distracting Mother’s attention from Noah, but there was no sign of him. No sign of Noah, either, though Poll looked for them both for some time. She bought a toffee apple and watched herself eat it in front of a distorting mirror that made her look thin at the top with a long neck like a swan’s, and fat and spread out with little short legs at the bottom. Then she paid a penny and went in the tooth-pulling booth to watch a boy have a tooth out. He sat in a chair on the platform with a sheet round his neck but when the man bent over him with the pincers he turned his back on the audience and another man played a loud tune on a trumpet so Poll couldn’t hear if the boy cried or not. When he got out of the chair he looked pale and there was blood on his chin, but he smiled bravely and everyone cheered him.

  George was outside the booth with a friend, looking at the notice that said PAINLESS EXTRACTIONS BY SKILLED OPERATOR. He said, ‘Hallo, you bloodthirsty child. Was that gruesome enough for you?’

  Poll was annoyed by his superior tone. She said, ‘I was just looking for Theo, I thought he might be there,’ and George laughed again as if she had said something enormously funny.

  He said, to his friend, ‘If someone was having their legs amputated my young brother and sister would be sure to be in the front row!’

  Poll tossed her head and stalked off. George ran after her and tugged her hair gently. ‘Sorry, Poll, just a silly tease. If you really want Theo, he went up the church path while you were watching that painless extraction.’

  A young man and a girl came running down the church path towards her, gasping and laughing. The girl’s strong, shining hair had come loose from its pins and hung down to her waist in thick curls and when the young man caught her up he picked up a handful and kissed it. She stopped laughing then, and put her head on his shoulder, and they passed Poll with their arms around each other.

  When they had gone it seemed extra dark in the path as if they had been carrying a light and had taken it with them. Poll hesitated at the churchyard gate, seeing shadows that moved as the wind tossed the trees, ghostly shapes flitting between the tombstones. Although she wasn’t afraid – after Bride’s Pit, no ghost could really alarm her – her pulse quickened a little and she was glad of the friendly sound of the Fair close behind her. As she walked between the quiet graves, she sang ‘Pretty Redwing’ to keep her courage up.

  The bright moon washed the stone of the church and whitened the grass between the moving black patterns the trees threw upon it. In its clear light, the faces of the two boys tu
rned towards her were drained of all colour: they looked like bleached linen.

  They were some way off the path, among a cramped huddle of old, leaning tombs, standing in stiff, frozen attitudes as if the approaching sound of her singing had turned them to stone. Their stillness made her nervous. She said, in a busy, cross voice, ‘There you are, Theo! I’ve been looking for you for ages!’

  Theo said quietly, ‘Go away, Poll. Go back to the Fair.’

  His mouth and his eyes were dark holes in his linen-pale face. He was like some cold stranger.

  She laughed awkwardly. ‘What are you doing here, Theo? Playing hide and seek?’

  He repeated in the same dead, even tone, ‘Go away, Poll.’

  She pouted babyishly. ‘Not unless you say what you’re doing.’

  ‘None of your business. Noah and I have something to settle.’

  He stared at her with those dark, stranger’s eyes, and she was afraid suddenly. She tried to ignore it. How could she be frightened of Theo? She said, ‘You’re not fighting? It’s stupid to fight…’ But her voice trailed away and the fear grew inside her.

  Noah shifted lumpishly from one foot to the other. He muttered, ‘She’s right. Let’s give over.’

  Theo shook his head.

  Noah said, ‘I don’t want to go on. Never did.’ He sounded bewildered and plaintive. ‘It was you kep’ it up, all along.’

  ‘It’s got to be ended now,’ Theo said. ‘There’s no other way.’

  His voice was stretched and taut. Like a bow string, Poll thought – and knew – he was dangerous! In this mood, Theo was dangerous…

  She whispered, ‘Noah.’ Meaning to warn him. But he tittered, unwisely, and Theo swung round with a hissing intake of breath, fists clenched, head flung back. Noah looked him up and down and then said, impatiently, ‘I don’t want a fight over nothing. Grow up, Greengrass, can’t you?’ and this echo of that long-ago taunt on the ice was the last straw for Theo. He gave a sharp cry and rushed at Noah, jabbing a foot behind his calf to throw him off balance. Noah reeled, but recovered, and they wrestled together, panting and grunting and staggering in a kind of absurd, drunken dance, their arms round each other. They were evenly matched now, the same height, the same weight, but Theo was wild with rage and that gave him the advantage. He broke loose and punched Noah in the throat, a murderous blow that made Noah gurgle and gasp. Theo hit him again, in the stomach, and Noah doubled over and fell. Theo kicked him as he lay crumpled against one of the tombstones. Poll saw Theo’s face, pale and exultant and terrible, and shouted, ‘Stop, oh stop, Theo,’ but although he turned his head briefly towards her he took no notice of her anguished cry. He flung himself on top of Noah and fastened his hands round his neck…

  Poll saw Noah’s head rolling limply as Theo shook him up and down. Whimpering, she wound her fingers in Theo’s hair and tugged hard, digging her heels in the ground and throwing her weight back. He yelped and struck at her but she hung on until she had dragged him off Noah. Then she let go and backed away, frightened.

  But Theo didn’t come after her. He was standing still, staring down. He said, ‘Get up, don’t play the fool,’ but Noah didn’t move. He lay like a bundle of old clothes on the ground. His eyes were half closed, rolled up under the lids; his mouth drooping open. Poll said, ‘He looks dead.’

  Theo said, ‘He can’t be!’ He looked at Poll and she saw horror dawn in his eyes. He said, ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘No one could stop you.’

  He nodded, and swallowed. The wind and the distant tune from the merry-go-round sighed in the tall trees above them.

  Poll said, ‘It wasn’t Noah’s fault, none of it. I don’t mean just now, him not wanting to fight, but before. All that about blackmail! Noah just teased you, that’s all! You made the rest up!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. It’s all muddled.’

  She said, triumphantly, ‘You wanted a quarrel because he called you a runt. That’s all it’s been all the time. And now you’ve killed him because of it.’

  Theo was watching her, fascinated. He said, ‘Poll…’ but she started to cry. ‘Poor Noah,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, poor Noah.’

  Her tears fell like rain. Poor Noah but poor Theo, too! She gasped out, ‘Run Theo, run away quickly before someone finds out! Or they’ll catch you and send you to prison!’

  He said, very bitterly ‘Now that I know what you think of me, what a mean, shabby person I am, I’d rather stay, thank you! I just hope they’ll catch me and hang me!’

  This made her cry harder. Through a veil of tears, Theo’s face wobbled in front of her. He said, ‘Listen, Poll, I can’t run away! Can’t just leave him…’

  She started to scream in little, short bursts. Someone shouted, ‘Shut your bawling, you silly great mawther!’

  She stopped, choking. Noah was sitting up, grinning. She rubbed her eyes but it was true, not a dream! She said, ‘You were only pretending!’

  ‘Only way to stop him, warn’t it?’ He got up, feeling himself very carefully as if wondering how many bones had been broken. Then smiled slyly at Theo. ‘Took you in, didn’t I?’

  Theo frowned. Poll was afraid he was going to say that he hadn’t believed Noah was dead for a minute, it was only his stupid young sister! She said, ‘Theo was scared to death! We both were!’

  Noah beamed. Theo smiled shakily. He said, ‘I’m sorry, Noah. Poll was right what she said. I made it all up! All what I told you!’

  Noah thrust his hands deep in his pocket and swaggered. ‘Think I didn’t know that? You’re not the only person with brains.’

  ‘No, I know that,’ Theo said humbly. Now it was over, he looked very sick.

  Noah said, ‘That’s that, then. I reckon we’re square now. You bashed me up and I fooled you!’ He took his hand out of his pocket and offered it to Theo, who stepped forward and shook it. They looked at each other and laughed in what seemed to Poll a loud, stupid way. Even though they were not enemies now, they were too different to be friends, so it was silly of them to pretend they could be.

  She followed them back to the Fair, feeling a little resentful because they went on ahead without once looking back at her, but too occupied with her thoughts to be really jealous. Theo had said she would understand what he’d done when she was older but she understood now – and better than he did! Theo was clever but he wasn’t sensible like ordinary people and it set him apart from them. Even Noah understood that: it was why he had been so magnanimous. Poll thought, Theo will always be lonely, and it made her feel proud and sad to know this, and very responsible. It was as if someone, a teacher, or a clergyman, or Aunt Sarah, had suddenly said to her, ‘Your brother will have a hard time all his life, you will have to look after him.’ She would have to do that, now she’d been asked, however angry she might sometimes get with him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AUNT HARRIET WAS shouting at Mother. Hesitating at the back door, Poll heard her say, ‘I don’t care what you say, Emily some children feel more than others and that one wasn’t raised in a cow pat!’

  She swept out of the kitchen, almost falling over Johnnie and Poll on the step. She was huffing and puffing with temper but when she saw Poll she laughed her loud, mannish laugh and said, ‘Talk of the devil! Go and put on a clean frock, we’re off out, you and I!’

  She whisked off, skirts flying. Poll went indoors and said, ‘What was all that?’

  ‘Just your aunt having the last word as usual.’

  ‘What about? What child wasn’t raised in a cow pat?’

  ‘Never you mind.’ Mother was pressing a dress, soaping the seams. The flat iron hissed as she banged it down harder than was really necessary and her lips were compressed. She said, without looking at Poll, ‘Your blue and white check will do. And a fresh petticoat. She’s ordered the governess cart from The Angel, so hurry up and don’t keep her waiting.’

  Aunt Harriet was at the door, the grey pony fidgeting. It had started to rain, big th
undery drops, but with the gig umbrella up and the waterproof rug over their knees, they were warm and dry in their small house on wheels. Aunt Harriet did not seem disposed to talk but she slapped the reins on the fat pony’s rump, singing ‘Pretty Redwing’ in a strong, cheerful voice, and by the time the rain had stopped and she had folded the umbrella and put it back in its holder, she seemed in fine spirits and Poll dared to ask where they were going.

  ‘Mystery tour,’ Aunt Harriet said. ‘Wait and see.’

  The governess cart rattled through lanes dusty with summer and stopped outside a cottage with a slanting roof covered with roses and a green water butt outside the back door. A plump woman came running out and helped them down from the trap. She had a chrysanthemum head of fiery red hair and her face was a round moon of freckles and laughter. She called Poll, ‘My chicken,’ and clasped her to her cushiony chest, scratching Poll’s nose on a brooch, then released her and cried, ‘Harriet, what fun, you’re just in time for tea!’

  Outside the cottage door, in the sun, was a huge wooden box squirming with puppies. Their mother came forward to greet them, crouching belly to earth and showing white teeth in a smile. ‘She won’t hurt you, my chicken,’ the plump lady said. ‘You can pick up her puppies.’

  Poll was enchanted. Five of the puppies were smooth-coated like their mother, the sixth was covered with tight, brown curls. When Poll picked him up, he was heavy and warm in her arms, his soft stomach firm as a drum. ‘He’ll make a fine dog, that one,’ his owner said. ‘All the others are bitches. First thing’s first, though, you’ll be hungry after your journey.’ Poll set the puppy down and he stumbled back to the box on short, splayed-out legs, crying for his mother.

  Tea was laid on a table under an apple tree. They ate bread and butter and blackberries and damp harvest cake. The two women talked and laughed and Poll watched the puppies. She liked the curly one best, he was so bold and strong, trampling his sisters to get to the side of the box and stand up looking over, and his nose shone like a black boot freshly polished for Sunday.