Horace crouched down so only his ears showed over the top of the basket. He was used to travelling in the bike basket and often came for a ride with Cindy. She cut across the park towards her home. Some boys kicked a ball around on the oval, and a group of girls watched by the railings.
“Here comes little Miss Dirty Face herself,” someone sneered as she approached.
Constance and Prunella were among the group of girls. Constance still had her phone to her ear. Cindy wondered if she took it to bed as well. The others moved over to block the path.
“Teacher’s pet, too,” sneered another girl.
She was a heavily built girl with frizzy hair wearing purple eye makeup. Cindy recognized her as a classmate, usually the butt of Miss Hopkins’s dry remarks about idlers and loafers.
“What a funny looking cat.”
“It would look even funnier with a can on its tail.”
An empty soft drink can was immediately tossed to the girl barring Cindy’s way. It came from Prunella’s direction.
“Don’t you dare touch Horace.”
“Horace! Horace! Horace!” jeered the group.
The girls closed in a tighter circle. Cindy tried to ride away, but someone grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip. Apart from the boys at the other end of the oval, the park was deserted. There was no one around to help her.
The frizzy-haired girl had already tied a shoelace around the can. She smirked as she reached for Horace, cowering in the basket, his ears flat to his head.
“I’ll tie the can on his tail. This is going to be really funny,” she gloated.
Chapter Six
Cindy struggled to pull free as Horace was dragged from the bike basket, his body limp and dangling.
She stamped hard on a foot with her heavy lace-up shoe. One of the girls shrieked and slackened her grip. Cindy pushed hard on her pedals and rode straight at the girl holding Horace, who dodged. Constance yelled and went sprawling as the bike rammed into her.
Cindy swung the bike around to ride at the other girl again, and Horace finally galvanized into action. His back legs swung up and raked the bare arms and legs around him, and he sunk his teeth into the hands holding him. The frizzy-haired girl swore and dropped him.
He did a running leap into the basket of the bike, wailing his displeasure. Cindy pedaled hard through the gap that had opened between the girls. She had escaped! The boys stopped their aimless kicking of the ball to head towards the noisy group of girls.
Cindy breathed hard as she rode home. She wished she had rammed Constance harder! She wished Horace had bitten and scratched more of them! That would teach them to try and tie cans to an animal’s tail.
She latched the gate behind her and rode into the garage. Horace’s eyes glared a wild baleful yellow. His ears were flat against his head, his fur bristled, and his tail lashed his outrage.
“We’re home, so there’s no need to carry on,” Cindy soothed as she lifted him out of the basket, and opened the side door of the garage that led into the back yard.
She blinked and clutched Horace more tightly, hoping the view would go away. For a few bewildered seconds, she wondered if she had ridden into the wrong place. Horace began a low threatening grumble that rose into his high-pitched wail. Cindy put him down.
All the wisteria and ivy had been cut away from the pergola and the long back veranda. The veranda was shabby and unsheltered in the slanting rays of the hot afternoon sun. The house looked square and ugly without the softening creeper and wisteria that had clung around the walls and windows for so many years.
The back yard was equally bare and naked. The trees were lopped back from the swimming pool, the big shrubs uprooted. Drying dirt was leveled between the pruned-back trees. Already the hot sun was withering and drying the thick carpet of moss that covered the flagstones around the pool.
Without the shrubs and the old apple, pear, and apricot trees, the back fence was visible for the first time ever. Only the lemon tree flourished to throw its shade over the pen where Amanda and Hooper were imprisoned.
Cindy blinked tears away. Somehow she was going to make the Barrys pay for all the dreadful things they had done! She went inside.
The house was unchanged. The sun glared through the kitchen window, no longer sheltered by the ivy. Horace flung himself upstairs and sloshed up and down in the bath. Cindy washed and cut her meat and vegetables for the Irish stew and left them simmering. Gradually, the misery that had caused her eyes to smart and her throat to choke faded.
She inspected the dining room carefully. She wanted it to look very special. She looked at the four jars of tadpoles. The narrow-necked jars on the dining table were the safest for tadpoles because the cats couldn’t reach, but the jars looked untidy.
She found the elegant glass water jug covered in a diamond pattern in the top cupboard. With its narrow neck and lip, it was just the right shape, so she poured all the tadpoles into it. The jug held the contents of the four jars comfortably and gave a finishing touch to the table.
When she lit the candles in the branched silver candlestick holder and turned off the light, the room looked softened and restful. The dust over everything and the stained wallpaper were unnoticeable. Dinner by candlelight was an elegant idea.
The aroma from the Irish stew wafted around the room. Cindy sniffed happily as she fed the animals, cleaned out cages, dried Horace and mopped up the mess he had left in the bathroom.
Cindy looked at the clock. She made chocolate crackles for dessert and put them in the refrigerator to set. Right on seven o’clock, Jennifer arrived.
“Something smells nice.”
“It’s my Irish stew,” Cindy explained. “I’ll give Dad another ten minutes before I dish up without him.”
“The table looks lovely.” Jennifer looked more closely at the water jug. “They are decent sized tadpoles. Are you collecting them?”
Cindy told her about the carp in the swimming pool and the family of terrapins in the downstairs bathroom. Jennifer admitted to liking pets, so Cindy introduced her to the terrapins, and took her outside to meet Amanda and Hooper.
Jim Plumstead whistled at the gate. Hooper lost interest in them to obey his summons. Cindy explained that Jennifer was having dinner with her. Jim grinned and suggested that Jennifer wait until he returned so they could walk home together, and jogged off with Hooper panting after him.
It was Jennifer who discovered the fishpond behind the pen. Its outlines were under the loose dirt, leaves, and rubbish that were left when the big shrub had been taken out. There was also a tap and pipes that led to the cairn of rocks along one side.
“It looks as if there was once a rockery and a fountain.”
“How beaut!” Cindy gloated. “Didn’t know that was there before. I can clean it out and use it for the tadpoles.”
A car turned into the driveway.
“That’s Dad,” Cindy said.
“You’re sure he won’t mind me here for dinner?”
Professor Jones didn’t seem to mind. Cindy was able to serve dinner to the pleasant sound of he and Jennifer discussing books.
There was a plentiful helping of steaming, tasty Irish stew and afterwards chocolate crackles washed down with sarsaparilla. Cindy apologized for running out of tea and coffee, but Jennifer assured her that her dinner was a lot more interesting than Mrs. Plumstead’s cooking.
Cindy flushed with pleasure at this compliment. For the first time in a long time, her father was so relaxed he was chuckling.
They all helped with the dishes and afterwards settled in the dining room and drank more sarsaparilla and talked of tropical fish, music, and travelling. Cindy couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed an evening so much.
When the knock came at the front door, Cindy offered to answer it.
“That will be Jim Plumstead. Is there enough sarsaparilla left to offer him a drink?”
“I think there’s a bottle left in the secret hoard,” the Professor said. “Invi
te him in, Cindy.”
Cindy danced up to the front door and opened it. The smile on her face died.
Mrs. Barry waited on the porch, with Prunella and Constance beside her.
Chapter Seven
“Good evening, Jacinda.” Mrs. Barry held Cindy’s father’s old jumper. “I thought we would return this.”
“Thanks,” Cindy stammered as she grabbed the jumper and started to close the door.
Her father’s hearty chuckle and a peal of mirth from Jennifer rang out. Mrs. Barry’s foot wedged into the gap of the closing door.
“Open the door, Jacinda.”
She pushed past Cindy in a wave of heavy perfume, her daughters behind her. The professor looked up and smiled as they came in and introduced Jennifer. Mrs. Barry took over the conversation completely. The pleasant atmosphere was gone.
Horace stared unblinkingly at the newcomers. His tail lashed, and his eyes got their baleful yellow light. He kept up a low bad-tempered growl.
Constance became aware of Horace glaring at her. She looked uneasy and nudged Prunella. They whispered and moved closer to their mother.
“Those cats are dangerous,” Constance burst out during a lull in the conversation.
“They should be put down.” Prunella rubbed the vivid red scratches across one of her legs.
“You don’t like cats?” The professor seemed surprised.
“The girls love animals,” Mrs. Barry purred. “It’s just that they were attacked by a deranged cat of that breed.”
“They shouldn’t torment animals,” Cindy said loudly.
Prunella reddened. Constance looked into the distance.
Mrs. Barry arched her brows. “What a silly thing to say, Jacinda. My girls wouldn’t be unkind to animals.”
“They’re a beautiful pair, professor,” Jennifer said.
“Very well bred,” he said with a chuckle. “They cost a small fortune.”
“Those cats are actually worth money, Godfrey?” Mrs. Barry looked thoughtful, and a gleam came into her eyes.
“Quite a lot.”
Mrs. Barry talked, and Jennifer said less and less. Cindy was relieved when Jim knocked on the door, Hooper puffing at his heels. He followed Cindy back into the lounge room.
Constance and Prunella brightened up and started talking. Jim played tennis, and they belonged to the same club. Jim caddied at the golf course, and they were having lessons in golf.
The conversation went on and on about rock groups, bands, singers, and sometimes the names of songs. The subject of dancing came up. Yes, Jim did enjoy dancing, but he was either too busy or too tired to get to the school dances.
“What about the end of the year dinner dance?” Prunella asked.
Cindy listened, feeling more and more out of it. Everybody was talking about the end of year dinner-dance. Over the years she and her father never had attended. It was all right if you could make up a proper table with a full set of parents, family, and friends, but just one lone father and daughter couldn’t fill a table.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jim replied. “I hope you’re both going to save me some dances?”
“Are you going this year, professor?” Jennifer asked.
“We’ve never attended before,” he confessed. “But I suppose that now Cindy is getting older…”
“Of course we’re going, Godfrey,” Mrs. Barry said. “It’s going to be a lovely way to celebrate our wedding eve.”
Cindy scowled. Mrs. Barry was marrying her father the day after the dinner-dance. That was only nine weeks ahead from this week!
“It should be a terrific evening,” Jennifer said. “I’m sitting at the Plumstead table.” She stood up. “Come on, Jim. It’s getting late.”
There was a chorus of good-byes, and they left. Cindy closed the front door and came slowly back to the lounge room. The Barrys looked as if they were established for the night.
“Why don’t you show the girls around, Jacinda,” Mrs. Barry suggested. “You will have to sort out which bedrooms you will have before the painters shift in.”
Cindy didn’t want to leave her father alone with Mrs. Barry, but she also didn’t want the two girls snooping through her house by themselves. She led them out of the room.
“Look, Cindy. We’re really sorry we teased your stupid cat,” Constance said as soon as they had shut the door behind them.
“It was only a joke,” Prunella said.
“We really like animals,” Constance insisted.
“Jim and the other boys were furious,” Prunella added, which helped Cindy understand the reason for the apology.
“Stay away from Horace,” Cindy warned. “He’s taken a set against you, and he might really attack.”
“We won’t go anywhere near him, honest!” Prunella said.
“Which is your bedroom?” Constance demanded as they followed Cindy up the stairs.
Cindy then had to explain she and her father used two bedrooms each.
“How ridiculous,” Constance grumbled. “Prunella and I are squashed up in a cluttered little box at the flat, and you and your father are spread over four bedrooms!”
“What’s the door at the end of the hall?” Prunella asked.
“It leads to the attic.”
“An attic. I’m going to have that,” Prunella squealed.
“I’m the oldest,” Constance retorted. “I bags it!”
“You’d have it like a pigsty,” Prunella retorted as she grabbed at the door.
Constance’s heavier build gave her the advantage. She shoved through the door and up the steep stairs first. Cindy switched on the stair light and followed them.
The attic was a small room with a sloping ceiling and dormer windows. It was cluttered with empty packing cases and discarded furniture.
“It will look so quaint when it’s been painted,” Constance gloated. “Why are the windows wide open?”
“For the possums.”
“What would you have possums in the house for?” Prunella asked.
“Because all the trees have been cut down and there’s nowhere for them to sleep.”
“No wonder it stinks!” Constance flung the wardrobe door open more widely to look inside.
There were hissing grunts and coughs of fright. A wave of possums cascaded out of the wardrobe. First, the big old possum landed on the floor with a thud and streaked for the window. After him came the other big one, which jumped from one packing case to the other to vanish through the window.
Several smaller possums scrabbled past the shocked Constance. The last out was the baby, who misjudged its leap, landed on Constance’s head, slipped down to the back of her neck, and clung tightly.
“Get if off! Get it off!” Constance shrieked.
“Stop jumping up and down. You’re scaring him.”
Constance ignored Cindy’s warning. She tried to brush the clinging animal from the back of her neck but couldn’t reach. She fled out of the attic.
“There’s a dreadful thing on my neck,” she screamed.
“Just stand still a minute,” Cindy yelled after her.
Constance scrambled down the steep stairs still shrieking. Halfway down, the small possum unhooked himself from Constance’s hair and shot back up the stairs to flash through the open door of the attic.
“It’s gone,” Cindy said as she grabbed Constance’s arm.
Constance didn’t hear or even notice. She pulled herself free and ran along the passageway, down the stairs, and into the lounge room, with Cindy and Prunella behind her.
“Get it off,” she screamed.
“What is it, Constance?” Mrs. Barry said crossly.
“Get it off. Get it off,” Constance sobbed.
“There nothing on you, silly,” Mrs. Barry snapped as she turned Constance around.
“Get it off,” Constance sobbed again.
Her wails became louder and more uncontrolled until she was screaming. She kept brushing her hands down the back of her head. Mrs. Barry rea
ched for the glass jug in the center of the table and tipped it over Constance.
Constance stopped screaming and gasped.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Cindy said indignantly. “You’ve tipped my tadpoles all over the carpet!”
Constance blinked the water from her eyes. One last tadpole, vestigial legs trying to catch in the wool, slithered down the front of her jumper to join the others on the carpet.
“Oh!” she gasped.
Her eyes turned up in her head, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.
Chapter Eight
Over chocolate crackles and toast the next morning, the professor was reproachful.
“I’m very disappointed you were so rude last night, Cindy.”
Cindy met his eyes across the water jug of tadpoles. This morning, there was a lot more room for them. In the confusion Pearl and Horace had eaten several before Cindy managed to rescue them.
“Sorry, Dad.”
She wasn’t really sorry. Nobody had invited Mrs. Barry and her daughters around to spoil their nice evening. Constance was plain stupid to cause such a fuss.
“I’m going to dig out the fish pond,” she announced, changing the subject. “Will you be able to get the fountain going? I think some of the pipes are broken.”
“There used to be a pump to recycle the water, and we had water lilies in that pond,” her father remembered. “I’ll order some more pipes.”
Cindy felt more cheerful. She always looked forward to Saturday. It was her father’s free day. She was going to have him to herself all day.
A car horn sounded out the front. The professor stood up and looked at his watch. “Guinevere wants me to look at wallpaper patterns.” He reached for his jacket without meeting Cindy’s eyes.
“Will you be home for dinner?”
“We’re having dinner at Mrs. Barry’s. Be there about six,” he said as he hurried out.
There was the slam of a car door. Cindy thought of all the swear words she knew and took a deep breath. Horace glared at her.
Cindy Jones Page 3
