Cindy Jones

by Margaret Pearce

  Mrs. Barry glided past, undulating in her form-fitting scarlet and silver striped dress. She was dancing with old George McLaren, who worked her arm up and down like a pump handle. She gave Cindy a critical stare before looking away in disinterest.

  Something very odd was happening. Every single friend recognized Cindy, but apart from the people on her table, not one adult, or Prunella, Constance, or Frazzle, seemed to see her.

  After the tables had been cleared, the band packed up and the speeches started. They were made by the headmaster, the president of the school association, and the chairman of the committee.

  The headmaster then stood with Miss Hopkins beside him, and started reading out names. Jim walked up in a storm of applause and the headmaster shook his hand. Jim had been announced Dux of the school — topping everyone in both science and English.

  Cindy’s name was called. Everyone clapped. The professor accepted the prize on her behalf and apologized for her absence due to illness. There were more speeches, more prizes, and more applause, polite rather than enthusiastic.

  “Time you weren’t here, Cindy,” Miss Hopkins warned as she rustled past.

  “We’ll drive her home,” Mike offered.

  “It’s not far to walk,” Jim said. “Thumb and I will see her home.”

  “And us,” Jeremy and Rork insisted.

  Cindy waved a cheerful goodbye and walked home with her escorts. It was midnight when they reached her house. Hooper gave a welcoming bark, and the two cats streaked out from the shadows to greet them.

  “The house looks really nice,” Jim said. “The workmen must have been really going to finish on time.”

  Cindy’s happiness seeped out of her. In the excitement of the evening, she had almost forgotten about the wedding. Mrs. Barry and her father were marrying in the big lounge room in the morning. The invitations had gone out and been accepted. There was going to be a buffet meal and champagne afterwards.

  “Hey, Cindy?” Jeremy asked. “Is that the professor’s car turning into the drive?”

  “Cut through the side fence so he won’t see you,” Cindy muttered and fled into the house, the cats at her heels.

  She ran up the stairs to her bedroom, wriggled out of the dress, dropped it, the bag, and headband into the box, and pushed it beneath the bed. She slid under her bedclothes, still wearing the sandals, just as her father came up the stairs. There was a soft knock.

  “You awake, Cindy?”

  “Yes, Dad,” Cindy called. She remembered she was still wearing makeup and nail polish. “Don’t turn the light on. It’s too bright.”

  The professor came in and sat on the side of her bed. He was a deeper shadow against the faint light from the window.

  “I want to apologize for my behavior tonight, Cindy,” he said. “It was unforgivable of me to leave you home like that.”

  “That’s okay, Dad.”

  “I kept worrying about you all night. There was a pretty girl there who reminded me of you, and I felt so guilty.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Dad.” Cindy decided she also felt a bit guilty herself.

  “I was so embarrassed when your name was called. You topped your class, you know.”

  “That’s nice,” Cindy said cheerfully, almost as if it was news to her.

  “I’m sorry I put the cats into the cattery without consulting you,” the professor continued. “It was highhanded of me. Perhaps when we get them back, we can keep them outside?”

  Something rustled under the bed, as if the tissue paper was being trodden on. Cindy hoped the cats would stay hidden.

  Her father seemed to be thinking aloud rather than talking to Cindy. “You are doing too well to change schools. I seem to have been too hasty in making decisions lately.”

  Cindy almost held her breath. Had the professor realized he had made a mistake in deciding to get married?

  “I don’t think it was hasty of you to decide to get married,” Cindy prompted. “I’ve been a terrible cook and housekeeper anyway.”

  “No. Cindy,” her father said in a slow, unhappy voice. “I have been selfish in expecting so much from you.” He stood up. “Try not to judge your father too harshly.”

  Cindy felt her face get hot. She had been judging her father. He had been lonely since her mother had died all those years ago. It was quite a natural thing for him to have fallen into the clutches of Mrs. Barry.

  “I’m sorry I have been so piggy about Mrs. Barry.” A wave of affection caused Cindy to grab at her father’s hand. “I promise I will try to be as nice as anything to her from now on.”

  “Thank you, Cindy.” He patted her hand. He sounded depressed rather than pleased. He went out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Cindy unbuckled her sandals and threw them under the bed. Both cats leaped into their accustomed places. Cindy lay awake for a while. She seemed to have a lot to think about.

  She had discovered she had a godmother — dry old Miss Hopkins of all people, who definitely wasn’t what she seemed. She had discovered she could dance and liked it. Also she had discovered that she didn’t resent the professor’s decision to remarry anymore, even if he was going to marry a meanie like Mrs. Barry.

  Perhaps the professor had changed his mind. He sounded sad and depressed. Then again, if he had changed his mind, why hadn’t he said so?

  Cindy yawned. Her eyelids were getting heavy. Could her father change his mind at the actual ceremony? It was a nice thought to drift off to sleep with.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cindy inspected the big lounge room with mixed feelings. It was only another half-hour until the wedding.

  From the kitchen came the clatter of crockery. There were flowers everywhere; banked on the buffet, on all the mantelpieces, and in the big vases by the stairs. Long tables were set up in the second lounge room. Everything looked beautiful, but strange and unfamiliar, as if she had strayed into the wrong house.

  “Have you seen my black shoes, Cindy?” her father called.

  “Under your bed.”

  Cars were pulling up. Cindy scowled at her clean jeans. She was going to look out of place. All the guests were dressed in good clothes.

  She opened the door to Jennifer and Mike, Mr. and Mrs. Waterbury, Thumb and Carrots, and then Gretta and George McLaren. The big lounge room was suddenly crowded with people laughing and talking.

  “Everything looks lovely,” Jennifer said. “Those pink silk curtains really set the room off. Why haven’t you changed, Cindy?”

  “Into what?” Cindy asked with a shrug. “I only have the dress Miss Hopkins lent me last night, or Prunella’s ghastly hand-me-downs.”

  “Let’s have a look,” Jennifer said cheerfully. “We can organize something.”

  “Like a miracle,” Cindy retorted as she led the way upstairs.

  “Hum,” Jennifer mused as she studied the three offending dresses. “Do you have any nice blouses?”

  “My new gray cotton, which I’m wearing, but I only have jeans to wear with it.”

  “It matches the gray patterned dress,” Jennifer said.

  It did, too! The material in the dress was good quality silky cotton with the same shade of gray through it.

  “A nice sharp pair of scissors,” Jennifer ordered.

  Cindy produced the scissors and watched with fascinated horror as Jennifer put the gray dress on the floor and hacked the skirt off above the shirred waistline. Cindy pulled off her jeans and slipped the skirt on. The gray blouse and the gray patterned skirt looked a perfect match, except for the untidy raw waistline.

  Jennifer ripped open the full gathered neckline and started cutting. “There’s enough material here for a sash. We can turn the edges in. Find some safety pins to fasten it with.”

  When Jennifer had finished pinning the sash, the outfit looked surprisingly good. With the tailored cotton blouse and the full skirt swinging out from the tight sash, Cindy felt elegant and grown up.

  “Get those shoes and socks off,
and wear the silver sandals,” Jennifer advised. “They will look better with that outfit.”

  After Cindy changed into the sandals and brushed her hair, she gave Jennifer a hug. It was amazing the confidence and pleasure that wearing the right clothes gave.

  “You look very pretty, Cindy.” Her father beamed with pleasure when Cindy and Jennifer came downstairs. “I don’t know why you make such a fuss about wearing dresses.”

  Cindy smiled and moved around offering drinks and showing the guests to chairs. The minister was waiting by the flower-covered buffet, whispering to old George McLaren.

  Miss Hopkins smiled when she saw Cindy, but her head kept swiveling around as each newcomer came into the room. Everyone sat down. There was a lull. The pianist looked around and started playing. Cindy found a chair at the front. She thought the Professor looked nervous.

  Mrs. Barry, wearing a pale mauve dress and a matching picture hat, walked through the door. She carried mauve roses and leaned on the arm of an elderly man. Prudence and Constance, dressed alike in blue dresses, followed her.

  “That’s her old uncle,” Gretta whispered to Cindy.

  The person playing the piano thumped out the wedding march. A part of Cindy’s mind noted one key was still flat. Her new stepmother walked slowly between the aisle of guests. Mrs. Barry’s face was flushed an attractive pink, and her large dark eyes glowed. She stared straight ahead to where the professor waited.

  Cindy felt the dislike and irritation rise at the sight of her, but she suppressed it. From now on Mrs. Barry was going to be the second Mrs. Jones, and Cindy intended to get along with her. Mrs. Barry reached the professor’s side and handed Constance her flowers. Both girls sat down beside Cindy.

  The minister opened his book, took a deep breath, and started to drone his way slowly through the marriage service. He went on and on. The professor shifted from one foot to another. Above his nicely polished black shoes peeped one black and one green sock. Cindy glanced around but no one else was looking at his feet.

  The minister raised his voice to intone, “Whereas speak now or forever hold their peace”.

  Hooper barked. Someone shushed him. There was the sound of a raised voice and more annoyed shushes.

  “I do object,” a vaguely familiar person insisted.

  The minister looked startled. Everyone turned around. A man with untidy gray hair, a brown weather-beaten face, and grey whiskers, dressed in a shabby gray suit, pushed his way towards the professor and Mrs. Barry.

  “Gwenny can’t marry the professor,” he said loudly. “She’s still married to me.

  Mrs. Barry looked around. Her eyes widened, and her face went white. “Thomas,” she quavered and fainted into the professor’s arms.

  “Wake up, Gwenny.” The shabby man pushed closer. “I’ve come back.”

  Mrs. Barry opened her eyes. “You can’t be Thomas! He drowned six years ago.”

  “Well, I’m not drowned, am I?” he said. “Lost my memory for a while, maybe. Pull yourself together, Gwenny.”

  “Stupid old man,” Constance sneered. “My father didn’t look a bit like that old tramp.”

  Tom Barry spun around, his gray eyes sharp. “That will be enough nonsense from you, missy! You can wash that muck off your face, too.”

  Old George McLaren peered at the old man more closely and put out his hand. “Welcome back, Tom. I must say you look well.”

  Tom Barry shook his hand. “Fishing is a lot more fun than banking, George. Think about it when you retire.”

  “Fancy turning up in that dreadful old suit, Thomas.” Mrs. Barry moaned. “And why aren’t your bottom teeth in?”

  “A fisherman doesn’t need a suit, Gwenny. And those fancy teeth were uncomfortable.”

  “Are you really my father?” Prunella’s eyes were rounder than ever.

  “Yes, Pru,” Tom Barry assured her. “And have I got a real good little whistler put aside for you.”

  “We can’t have pets in the townhouse,” Mrs. Barry said immediately.

  “But we aren’t going to live in the townhouse, Gwenny,” her husband said. “We’ll live at Seaview. There’s the local high school the girls can attend.”

  “Seaview,” Mrs. Barry echoed in a stunned voice.

  “Seaview,” her husband repeated. “There’s a good living in fishing.” He patted her arm. “Picked out a nice big house down there for you, Gwenny.”

  “So you can have some more bottom teeth fitted,” Mrs. Barry said in a high stressed voice. ‘Really Thomas, I’ve always told you, you have to persevere with false teeth.’

  Cindy decided it was an odd thing to say, but then perhaps Mrs. Barry was a bit taken aback at finding she still had a husband on her wedding day? She did seem less in control than usual.

  Cindy saw that both Constance and Prunella had whipped out their mobile phones in the same matching blue as their dresses and were whispering into them.

  People rushed up to shake Tom Barry’s hand and congratulate Mrs. Barry on her husband’s return. Mrs. Barry’s smile was wavering, but she kept assuring everyone how happy she was.

  The professor, deep in a conversation with the minister, stopped talking to him, turned around, raised his voice and called for silence.

  “Friends,” he said. “I think we are all happy about Tom’s return and equally happy for Guinevere and the girls to regain both a husband and father. I am inviting you all to celebrate the welcome home for Tom Barry.”

  The uproar became general. The caterers circulated with trays of drinks and savories, until the guests all settled at the tables and started eating. Tom Barry sat at the wedding table with his wife. The professor found another chair and sat beside Cindy.

  After they had finished eating, Cindy’s father radiated goodwill and happiness as he stood to propose a toast to the newly reunited family.

  “Do you think Dad is relieved not to be marrying Mrs. Barry?” Cindy whispered to Gretta as she went past filling glasses with champagne.

  “I don’t think the professor would make a good bigamist.” Gretta chuckled.

  Prunella’s face glowed with happiness. For the first time since Cindy had known her, she looked pretty.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Cindy,” she mumbled through her fruit salad and ice cream. “It’s like having all your wishes come true at once. I’ve got my father back. I’m going to have a canary of my own. We’re going to live at Seaview and go to school there. I’m just so happy, Cindy, and I owe it all to you.”

  “That common old fisherman can’t be my father,” Constance sneered. “My father was distinguished and dignified. I just won’t leave all my friends to live in a horrid, moldy fishing village.”

  “Yes you will, missy,” warned Tom Barry. “And I’ll expect you to study a lot harder next year, or you will start work at the fish cannery.”

  “Fish cannery,” Constance screeched. “You wouldn’t dare! Mother wouldn’t let me do anything so gross.”

  “Your mother will agree with me, missy,” Tom snapped. “Now put a pleasant expression on your face and make yourself useful.”

  Constance stood up without a word and started collecting the dirty plates.

  “It’s a terrific welcome home party, Dad,” Cindy whispered to her father.

  “Very successful, Cindy.”

  The professor watched Gretta as she came over to their table again. Gretta looked at the professor. A secret smile dimpled the side of her mouth. The professor smiled up at her.

  “Would you be terribly disappointed in me if I kept the idea of a wedding in mind?” he whispered to Cindy.

  Cindy glowed with pleasure. Yes, Gretta would certainly do as a replacement stepmother! “With all the practice, another wedding should be easy to organize.” A sudden thought struck Cindy. “Why didn’t you tell me that Miss Hopkins was my godmother?”

  “I’m sure I told you at some stage that Miss Hopkins was your godmother, and George McLaren your godfather,” the professor explained. “Miss Hop
kins knew your mother all her life.”

  “She’s been just like a fairy godmother,” Cindy said with a happy sigh. “Everything has turned out so right. She must have worked magic to fix my life so well.”

  “I don’t know about that.” The professor looked at Cindy. “I’m surprised at you, Cindy. An almost grown-up young lady like you, being so fanciful!”

  Gretta and Cindy exchanged glances. Cindy smiled at her father. He probably didn’t understand about happy-ever-after endings either, but he would learn.

  “Yes, Dad,” Cindy agreed meekly.

  About the Author

  Started off my writing life as a copywriter in an advertising agency and took to writing fiction when raising children. Completed an Arts Degree as a mature age student at Monash University, which put me off writing anything factual for life. Lurk in an underground flat in the Dandenongs still writing.

  The Togetherness Routine

  Chapter One

  I’ll Do What I Like

  “This isn’t for real!” Gail yelled. “Someone had better tell me this isn’t happening!”

  “Kelvin Jackson is always welcome around here,” her mother said coolly. “I just repeat what Allan has pointed out. At fourteen—”

  “Nearly fifteen.” Gail’s anger flared.

  “You are too young to be settling into a steady relationship. We don’t mind if you go out with Kelvin occasionally, but you can drop this inseparable twin act, as of right now.”

  “I’ll do what I like,” Gail retorted. “Try and stop me!”

  “I’m sure I can spell it out to Kelvin myself,” her stepfather warned her. “I just thought it would seem more adult if you cooled the relationship yourself and put some time into actually doing schoolwork.”

  “Or have you been too busy to care about your abysmal school report?” her mother asked.

  Gail bit her lip. She felt the tears come to her eyes as she glared at her anxious mother. If her mother had been fat and frumpy like everyone else’s mother, she wouldn’t be in this situation. Why did her mother have to be so slender and young-looking, with her dancing, hazel eyes and the way she smiled so easily? Except right now, she was not smiling.