Nana doesn’t reply, either because she’s truly fast asleep or because she wants to block Mum.
And I can sort of see why…
“Well, your nana seems pretty out of sorts tonight,” says Mum, as soon as we get through the ward doors and walk towards the lift.
“She’s fine,” I say sharply. “She just needs to know we’re on her side, that’s all.”
“What do you mean?” Mum asks, shooting me a look.
“Listen, Nana says she doesn’t have dementia, and I believe her, and you should too,” I burst out at high speed. “I mean, she’s written this brilliant story, and how could she do that if she was losing her mind? And the clues she’s given me so I can find the chapters, that takes a lot of thinking about and—”
“Scarlet,” Mum cuts in over me. “I don’t want this to be true any more than you do. But we have to be realistic. If the hospital thinks there’s a reasonable chance that—”
“Fine! Believe the hospital if you want!” I say, taking my turn to interrupt.
“Well, I seem to be everyone’s favourite person tonight,” Mum grumbles, tight-lipped.
I hear the buzz of the phone in her pocket and feel like grabbing it and throwing it down the whole length of the corridor…
Meep, meep!
Mum locks the car, and we step out of the side street on to Hornsey High Street and head towards the old shop and Nana’s flat.
Mum and me are barely talking
I’m too mad at her.
And I’m pretty sure she’s mad at me.
But I don’t care – if she won’t listen to me, if she won’t even consider the fact that Nana might be fine, then there’s not much to say, is there?
I’ve spent the journey mostly staring out of the window, imagining the young version of Nana living here, loving here, all those decades ago. My heart skipped a beat when we drove past a big squat school building and I realized it was her old art college. I nearly pointed it out to Mum, but then didn’t bother – she didn’t deserve to know. All she can fixate on is this stupid test Nana’s got to do on Monday.
So we arrive at the front door to the flat lost in our own little clouds of gloom.
But when Mum throws the door open, we can’t help give tandem gasps of surprise. The staircase is no longer a second-hand bookshop. It’s bizarrely bare.
“Looks like Dean and Zephyr have been busy while we’ve been away,” says Mum, as a rackety scratching and yelps of welcome break out behind the parrot-painted door up above.
Mr Spinks jumps for joy, his skinny legs boinging like springs, as soon as we get up there and into the flat. It’s as if he’s bursting to say, “Well? Well? What do you think?”
I suppose what I think is “Wow…”
The hall is huge. Without the cardboard box forest, I see it’s practically as big as my bedroom at home.
I’m not sure Angie’s so impressed. She’s flying around madly above us, wondering where her towering perches have gone. As she swoops and flaps, for a second I think of Pearl alone in her attic cell, her only friend the scrawny, visiting pigeon, till Ruby came along…
“Hello?” Mum calls out.
“Hello!” trills Angie, in a perfect imitation of Nana.
“Hi!” Dean booms, from the direction of the living room. “We’re in here!”
Me and Mum follow the sound of his voice, staring around like stunned zombies. The room’s so large and light now that the hillocks of stuffed bin bags are gone. Lots of the lamps and clutter have been packed away too, downstairs to the shop, or to the outbuilding at the back, I suppose.
Dean and Zephyr are sitting on the sofa, looking tired and a bit grubby, but perfectly at home. Dean has his feet up on the coffee table, playing around with his laptop. Zephyr’s beside him, tanned legs crossed, drinking from a can of Coke.
“You’ve got so much done!” Mum announces, clearly impressed – and relieved.
“Certainly did!” says Dean. “We were just telling Missy about it. Hey, Missy – your aunt Ren and cousin Scarlet are here. Want to go get Mummy, and then everyone can say hi?”
A sudden panic comes over me as Dean turns the laptop round, and I can see a tanned, blonde little girl on the screen who looks like a mini Zephyr. Behind her, a woman with long blonde hair and a big smile is walking into view.
It’s too much. The sherbet in my head is fizzing again.
“Angie’s dying to meet you,” Dean says to me and Mum.
Even if my brain is fizzing, my face must be doing that shocked/dumb thing it’s been so good at today. And of course, Zephyr spots that straightaway.
“Nana named the parrot after my mum?” he says, in that surprised, questioning way he does that winds me up. Like it’s ridiculous that I don’t know this stuff. He’ll probably love telling me next that Mr Spinks is named after his sister’s hamster or something.
’Cause Zephyr’s oh-so-perfect side of the family are much more connected to Nana than my flaky side, aren’t they?
My brain suddenly feels like an overheating computer that’s about to crash.
Without saying a word I turn and go, clattering up two flights of stairs with my overnight bag from home banging against the walls and banisters – just like Ruby’s awful, drunken uncle in Chapter Three of The Pearl in the Attic.
And that’s what I want to do right now: be alone – OK, maybe with Mr Spinks because he’s just thundered up past me – and lie on the bed, losing myself in the story of Ruby and Pearl so far, so that I don’t have to think of the chaos and complication of my own life.
With a thwack of wings and a current of air on my face, I realize that Angie is joining me too, but that’s all right. Animals and birds are fine; it’s only humans I want to close the attic door on right now.
Though I can’t even do that, since Angie has just settled herself on the top of the door. She stares down at me as I hurry inside my room and throw my bag on the futon, where Mr Spinks has begun his pre-floop on the bed with a few circling walks. His padding paws are alternately silent on the squashy duvet and rustly as he steps on discarded pages of Chapters One, Two, Three and Four of The Pearl in the Attic.
“Dumb dog,” I say fondly, quickly leaning down to grab the precious loose pages.
And then I remember my promise to Nana, to say goodnight to the palace for her.
I go over to the window, and examine the drawing pins holding the vintage tea towel/curtain in place. They should be easy to prise off, I think, and then realize the tea towel is bulging a little, as if something behind it is weighing it down.
Flip! And the top left-hand pin pops out. The tea towel slumps.
Flip! The top right-hand pin pops out. Something tumbles down along with the tea towel, and my reflexes kick in, catching the bundle of folded papers in my hand.
So Nana asking me to say goodnight to the palace . . it was the next clue, I realize with a smile.
But before I look at Chapter Five – tied with its neat red ribbon – I have something pretty amazing to look at, though at the moment it’s only visible through a film of dirt and bird poo. I push at the stiff window, which gives in with a metallic screech, and prop it open with the rusty bar attached to it.
And there it is at last; Alexandra Palace, with its glass domes and arches, its winged stone angel on the apex above the stained glass of the huge Rose Window.
It’s spectacular, especially now that the sun is thinking about setting, and the sky is a watercolour wash of moonstone blue and pastel pink. No wonder this place was so special to Nana, and her Manny too. I really need to ask her more about her life as a student here in Hornsey, and about the years in Australia. I mean, I remember her once saying that she fell out of love with Grandad Manny but never fell out of love with Britain, and knew she had to come back to it.
Growing up, Nana was just my grandmother, there for me to have fun – lots of fun – with.
But now I really want to know everything about her, all her stories and—
“Hi!”
I turn to look at Zephyr in the doorway, all messy hair and goofy smile.
Only he doesn’t stay in the doorway; he walks right in.
“When Dad and me were moving stuff, we came across this,” he says, holding something out to me.
It’s a slightly crumpled photo, of Nana crouched down beside a four-or-five-year-old me in her old garden in Southend. I’m stroking next door’s cat, the one that liked to wriggle under the fence and come visit.
“It was behind some bags near the fireplace. I think it must’ve been on the mantelpiece, but because it wasn’t in a frame, I guess it fell down and—”
Zephyr’s prattling makes something snap inside me, and sharp-edged words whip right out of my mouth before I can think.
“Get OUT!” I roar at him as I snatch the photo from his hands.
“Huh?” Zephyr says, staring at me like I’ve gone crazy. “I just thought you’d want this, since it’s of Patsy and—”
“Look, she’s MY grandmother, and has been for thirteen years,” I find myself shouting. “OK?”
A tiny, sensible part of me knows I’m not being fair; knows I’m angry with Mum and the hospital and the strangeness of everything. That I’m angry that the subject of my dad is cropping up again, and I don’t know how that makes me feel. And so the furious, mixed-up side of me is really enjoying taking it out on this annoying boy standing in my room right now.
“OK! Whatever!” says Zephyr, holding up his hands in surrender as he begins to back away.
“And another thing; I don’t need YOU to tell me anything about Nana. I’M looking out for her. ’Cause Nana and me, we have a special connection, and she knows she can trust me and—”
At that moment, in a flutter and a flap of wings, Angie comes between us – and sails straight out of the window and into the night…
The Pearl in the Attic
Chapter 5
The tapping was a small sound, but insistent.
At first, still half-sunk in sleep, Ruby supposed it to be raindrops hitting the window. But soon enough, she realized the noise was coming from the ceiling, and hurried out of bed, the seeping light of the dawn helping her find her shawl on the back of the nearby chair quite easily.
As she fastened the shawl about her nightgown, Ruby peered out of the window at the bakery down below, where the door lay wide open, letting the heat and steam of the ovens escape. Uncle Arthur and Wilfred would have been hard at work on the morning bread and rolls for an hour or more already this morning.
As for Aunt Gertrude, she would not rise for some time yet, till nearer six. By the milky pinks streaking the sky, Ruby supposed it to be a little after five, so she could safely pay Pearl a short visit before the day began proper.
Biting her lip, Ruby turned the handle of the door to her room, carefully inching it open, unsure of the creaks and squeaks it might make.
All was quiet.
Tiptoeing across the chilly oilcloth of the landing, Ruby gently tried the first step of the stairs to the attic. And another, and another. The few creaks there were sounded slight, and surely would not waken Aunt Gertrude, slumbering behind the closed door to her room.
But for a second, Ruby almost lost her nerve, her hand gripping tightly on to the banister, wondering if she should turn back and lock herself away in the safety of her room.
A soft thunk changed her mind.
Up ahead, the attic door had been opened.
“Quick!” mouthed Pearl, waving her on.
With a few nimble steps more, Ruby was in the attic, Pearl closing the door behind them, and they both smiled shyly at each other, hearts racing at the riskiness of their meeting.
As if as pleased to see them as they were to see each other, Pearl’s pigeon cooed softly at the little window.
“So you heard me, then?” Pearl asked, two dimples appearing in her cheeks, which Ruby had not noticed when she discovered her hidden here yesterday.
“You shouldn’t have knocked – what if Aunt Gertrude had heard?” whispered Ruby, pointing to the side of the attic that was the ceiling to the front bedroom.
“I tapped over there,” said Pearl, pointing to the other side of her unmade bed, which she retreated to, curling herself up on the crumpled counterpane and patting the place beside her.
Ruby sat, feeling the crunch of straw stuffing beneath her, like the mattresses back at the cottage.
“So,” said Pearl, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “what happened yesterday morning? What was the commotion?”
“Auntie Gertrude didn’t tell you?” Ruby replied.
“She didn’t come yesterday – it was Mrs Price that saw to me. All she said was that Tante Trudy was very busy.”
Ruby knew that to be true; after the morning’s drama, and the tense day that followed, Aunt Gertrude had to work late into the night in the bakery, helping Uncle Arthur make fresh cakes to replace those that were spoiled.
“But from the way Mrs Price held herself, I could tell something notable had happened,” said Pearl, folding her arms across her chest in the manner of Mrs Price, and pursing her lips the way Ruby had seen the old woman do, as she’d helped clear up the mess.
Despite the memory of yesterday’s upset, Ruby’s lips curled into a smile at Pearl’s talent for mimicry.
“Well, the shop had an order for today, for some rich lady’s gathering at her house,” Ruby began to tell Pearl, seeing she was keen for any news from the outside world, just as a prisoner in solitary confinement would be. “Uncle Arthur had a tray of fondant that was setting, to make decorations for the cakes, and already had a big batch of fondant roses made and laid out to harden.”
“And so?” Pearl urged her on. “What was the cause of his shouting? And what of the smashing sound we heard?”
“Nell was the cause … she had gone through to the bakery to fetch a tray of rolls,” Ruby carried on. “It seems she caught Uncle Arthur’s elbow with the edge of the tray. He threw his arm up and sent the whole lot flying. Then he shouted at Nell, and she was so alarmed that she stumbled back and knocked over the fondant that was setting and the tray of roses, ruining them all.”
“Oh, poor Nell,” murmured Pearl, though she had met neither the young woman or her awful uncle in the flesh, Ruby remembered.
“That’s not the end of it,” Ruby said, drumming her leg and then stopping herself. “Nell ran out into the yard, and Uncle Arthur ran out after her, saying she was dismissed; then he threw a jar of damson jam at her head.”
Pearl gasped, putting her hands to her mouth.
“The jar did not hit her, thankfully, but it did go clean through the glass of the back door,” Ruby told her quickly, in case Pearl worried for Nell’s safety. “Billy saw the whole thing. He told Aunt Gertrude that Uncle Arthur’s face was as red as the damson jam!”
The shock seeped from Pearl’s face, and a quivering smile took its place. In the second it took for her to slap her hands down on Ruby’s, she was shaking with giggles.
The sound of it was so unexpected and delicious. A silly, infectious sound that made Ruby think of her little brothers and sisters at home, playing catch in the cornfields.
Before Ruby knew it, some dam of sadness and dread burst inside her, and she found herself giggling too, rocking on the bed, gasping for breath, her hands clutching Pearl’s…
Until she realized she was the only one laughing.
Lifting her head, she saw Pearl’s eyes wide and staring at something behind her.
Or someone.
As Ruby’s turned her head to see who was there, she felt the warmth of laughter turn to the chill prickle of alarm.
Aunt Gertrude stood in the attic doorway, fixing her blank gaze upon both girls.
For a long moment they all seemed frozen, Ruby holding her breath, waiting for the bite of the furious words that must come.
But they did not. Aunt Gertrude suddenly stirred from her shocked stillness. She hurried into the attic, sh
ut the door behind her and crumpled to the floor in cloud of puffed cotton nightgown. Her hands covered her face as she sobbed.
“Tante! It’s all right, Ruby is my friend,” Pearl burst out, leaping off the makeshift bed and rushing to the older woman’s side. “She won’t tell. Will you, Ruby?”
Pearl glanced back at Ruby, her expression as well as her words urging her new friend to help her reassure their aunt.
“No, no, of course not,” Ruby said quickly, picking the skin of her nails. She didn’t know Aunt Gertrude in the way Pearl did. It was not her place to offer her comfort. But to see a grown woman in such distress was disturbing, and Ruby wished there was something more she could say or do…
“So, please, darling Tante Trudy,” said Pearl, slipping a skinny arm around her aunt’s shoulders, “please don’t worry.”
At those words, Aunt Gertrude raised her head. She looked beaten and broken.
“But all I can do is worry, Pearl!” she said with a choke in her throat. “I brought you here, but what now? How can I make you safe? Truly, I am at my wits’ end…”
Aunt Gertrude was desperate, her mind fogged with fear. Fear of her husband and what he was capable of, Ruby realized. What would become of Pearl at his hands; how he might punish his wife for her deception?
But suddenly, Ruby stirred as an idea came to her. With Father, to offer a thought or suggestion risked a slap for her cheek. But Father wasn’t here.
She looked at the woman and the girl by the door, clinging to each other as if they’d found themselves on a sinking ship.
What Ruby had found was her voice, and it rang out clear and strong.
“I think I know what to do…”
She was to be known as Polly.
It was the name of Ruby’s youngest sister and would come readily to mind whenever Ruby had to address the new shop girl.
Aunt Gertrude had barely spoken when Ruby first suggested the plan, but her face – a picture of hope and possibility and relief – said it all. After that, she and Ruby had set to work very quickly, lifting the tin bath up to the attic together, each gripping a metal handle. They had boiled kettles and took them in turn to Pearl, so that she could bathe and wash her waist-length sheaf of hair.
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