On Bone Bridge

by Maria Hoey

  I wondered if she meant that she needed to go to the toilet. I did. I had needed to go for ages but had not liked to ask. It was, I thought, probably because of all that funny lemonade I’d drunk.

  “Do you want to come and see my princess dress, the one I’m wearing for the play?” said Violet-May.

  I nodded my agreement – if I was inside the house I would at least be closer to a bathroom.

  “Come on then and I’ll show you,” said Violet-May.

  Inside, the hall was cool and dim and quiet. As I followed Violet-May up that beautiful staircase, I remember reaching out my hand and letting it slide along the shining handrail.

  “Your house is like a palace,” I said.

  “Is it?” said Violet-May, as though the thought had never occurred to her.

  However, her bedroom when we reached it was not what I’d expected at all. The carpet was a nice shade of blue, if very faded, and the curtains were made of a silky blue material, but nothing was as pretty as I had imagined it would be. And yet, looking around me, I remember thinking that I wished this was my room. I had gone through a pink phase two years earlier and my Rainbow Brite themed bedroom had been given a makeover with pale-pink paint and darker pink curtains and duvet set. My matching dressing table and chest of drawers were white and had only recently been given a fresh coat of gloss.

  The wardrobe from which Violet-May took her princess dress was enormous and almost black in colour and all the furniture in the room was dark and old-looking. But she had a rocking chair which I envied greatly and an enormous brass bed so high off the floor you had to climb up into it.

  “Now, you can look but don’t touch,” said Violet-May as she laid the dress out over a chair for my inspection.

  I put my hands behind my back as I approached but, in any case, the dress was safely under wrap and I gazed in some wonder at the diaphanous creation in its protective polythene bag. The bodice was made of blue satin trimmed with matching lace. It had off-the-shoulder sleeves and a skirt of pale-blue tulle spangled with shimmering silver butterflies, over a voluminous pale-blue net petticoat.

  “There are matching blue satin slippers too,” said Violet-May.

  “You’re going to be so beautiful,” I said.

  Violet-May nodded her head in happy agreement. “And wait until I show you my dress for the party,” she said, “and my new shoes.”

  “OK,” I said. Then, because I could hold it in no longer, I finally asked if I could go to the toilet.

  Violet-May, who was putting her dress away in the cavernous wardrobe, said over her shoulder that I could.

  I hesitated. “Where is it?”

  “Down the hall, the second door on the right.”

  I remember walking down the hall to the biggest bathroom I had ever seen. The floor was bare wood and the bath was not attached to the wall – instead it stood by itself on four clawed feet in the middle of the room. The toilet had a dark wooden seat and a long chain that you had to reach up and pull. The door had no lock and this caused me great distress as it was impossible to sit down comfortably and relax for fear that someone might suddenly burst in. And what if that somebody should be Robbie Duff? The thought filled me with horror and, if my need to go had not been so pressing, I would have held it rather than take the risk. In the event, I perched nervously on the edge of the toilet seat, my pants around my knees, my gaze intently on the door and my ears pricked for the least sound of approaching footsteps. In that moment I thought very kindly of our little bathroom at home, all shiny white and sparkling silver and I decided that my mother, just like me, would not like this one at all.

  I was washing my hands at the big sink when I heard a lot of screaming and shouting coming from beyond the door. When I came out I was just in time to see Robbie on his way down the stairs, ducking his head to avoid being struck by whatever it was that Violet-May had just hurled at him.

  “I’m going to kick that dog!” she was screaming, “I’m going to kick him and kick him and kick him!”

  Going back to join Violet-May at the door to her room, I could see that there were tears in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, and she held out her hand and I looked down at the chewed wreck of a shoe.

  “Look what that dirty old mongrel dog did to one of my party shoes!” she said. “What am I supposed to wear to my party now? It’s all Robbie’s fault – Mummy told him not to let the dog into the house and now look what he’s done. I’m going to kick that dog, I’m going to kick him so hard. I wish he was dead, I do, I wish that stupid dog was dead!”

  She shoved the shoe into my hand then and turned away from me and into her room, banging the door loudly behind her. For a moment I just stood and stared at the door handle and wondered what to do.

  “She won’t come out for ages and ages,” said Rosemary-June.

  I turned to find her standing a little farther along the landing, watching me. I’d had no idea she was there. She was smiling which, considering her sister’s plight, I found a bit surprising but perhaps, I thought vaguely, it had something to do with being able to see fairies – perhaps nothing really seemed to matter to her.

  At that moment Mrs Duff appeared on the stairs, making her way slowly upward.

  “What on earth is all this noise about?” she said. “Did Mummy or did she not ask you all to be quiet while she rested her eyes?” She stopped when she saw me. “Goodness me, Kay, are you here again?”

  “I came to help Violet-May with the play,” I said and realised how tired I was of those words, “but the dog ate her shoe and –”

  “She locked herself into her room again,” Rosemary finished my sentence for me.

  I held out my hand so that Mrs Duff could see the evidence and she came closer and stared down at the remains of the shoe. I had never been that close to Mrs Duff before, and I could see the tiny cracks in her lips where the skin had peeled. Her eyes were brown like Violet-May’s and her face looked sort of swollen. I remember thinking that I didn’t like her, but I didn’t really know why. I wondered if it was because her voice always sounded sort of bright, as though she was happy, but her eyes didn’t look happy even though she smiled a lot and showed off her big bright teeth.

  She was smiling now as she turned and spoke to Violet-May’s door. “Violet-May, open the door now, please, and let Mummy come in.”

  “Go away!” screamed Violet-May.

  Mrs Duff glanced back at me, still smiling. She put her hand to her head and kept it there as she tried once more. “But what about Kay? She’s come specially to help you with the play. Now be sensible, Violet-May, and open the door and come out, please.”

  “Tell her to go home!” screamed Violet-May. “Tell her I hate the stupid play!”

  I felt as if she had thumped me in the stomach. I remember staring blankly at the door and then I heard sounds coming from behind it, thumps and squeals followed by more thumps followed by a sort of snarling sound I had only ever heard a dog make. I looked in bewilderment at Rosemary-June who had come to stand next to me and was smiling fixedly at the door to her sister’s room.

  “She’s having a tantrum,” she said calmly. “She thumps her pillow and bites it and she –”

  “That’s enough, Rosemary-June,” said Mrs Duff. She turned to me with her brightest smile. “Violet-May just needs some time to calm down. I’m afraid you had better go home, Kay.”

  Then she walked away down the landing, her hand to her head once more.

  “Now no more noise, please, while Mummy has a little rest!” she called over her shoulder.

  Then it was just me and Rosemary-June, standing on the landing looking at one another.

  “I suppose I’d better go home,” I said.

  I said it loud enough so that Violet-May might hear but, if she did, it did not stop her carrying on.

  Rosemary-June said nothing and, watching her, a thought crossed my mind.

  “You don’t think she’ll really kick Robbie’s dog, do yo
u?” I said. “It wasn’t really the dog’s fault, not if the door was open.”

  “She probably will,” said Rosemary-June. “She wishes he was dead, you heard her say so.”

  “But she didn’t mean it,” I said hopefully.

  “He ate her shoe and made her angry,” said Rosemary-June. “It’s best not to make Violet-May angry.”

  Then she too walked away, and I was left alone on the landing. I stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next, but there was nothing to do but go home.

  As I made my way slowly downstairs I saw the match of Violet-May’s shoe lying on the step where it had fallen. It was pale blue with a gold buckle and it was perfectly beautiful. I picked it up and placed it next to its chewed-up match which I was still carrying. I looked at them sadly before carrying them both downstairs where I placed them together on a small table.

  I was walking disconsolately to the hall door when Mr Duff appeared in the hallway behind me.

  “We meet again, Miss Kay,” he said. “Not going home so soon, I hope?”

  “Violet-May doesn’t want to play with me,” I told him. “She locked herself in her bedroom.”

  “Ah,” said Mr Duff and he waggled his ear. “Is that so? Well, well, what a pity, what a pity. But perhaps you might allow me to drive you home, Miss Kay?”

  But I did not want to be driven home. The truth was that I still had hopes of Violet-May changing her mind and coming rushing after me.

  “No, thank you, Mr Duff,” I said. “I’d rather walk.”

  He said nothing more but he opened the door for me and stood aside as I went out into the sunshine, and then he walked with me as far the gate.

  As we passed under the trees in the avenue I looked back several times, but there was no sign of a penitent Violet-May calling me back, back to the second garage and the play and the proximity of her brother Robbie.

  Perhaps Mr Duff read my mind because when we reached the gate he gave me a little bow and said with a sad smile, “Never mind, Miss Kay, you must come again when the storm is over.”

  But looking at the sky I could see no sign of any storm, and as I walked away I remember wondering sadly whether Violet-May would ever want me to come again.

  Chapter 4

  We were watching Knight Rider when the car pulled up outside the house. Mrs Duff got out first then the passenger door opened and I saw Violet-May. I jumped up and my mother’s eyes followed my gaze to the window.

  “Sit down, Kay,” she told me. “Sit down and wait until they knock.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but one look at her face told me not to waste my breath. I had not mentioned what had happened earlier but I had been quiet since getting home, and I think she suspected something because she made a point of giving me an extra slice of cake with my tea. Now she got up, walked slowly across to the television set and turned it off, then she came and sat down again and we both waited. Even when the knock finally came, she motioned to me with one raised finger and I had to stay where I was while she went into the hall alone to open the door. As soon as she was out of the room, I jumped up to listen at the door but I made sure to be back in my seat by the time all three of them came into the sitting room.

  “Your home, Mrs Kelly, is perfectly lovely, perfectly lovely,” said Mrs Duff. “And as for your garden, the flowers are perfectly lovely too – you will have to tell me what your secret is.”

  My mother’s face lightened visibly at Mrs Duff’s praise and I saw that her chin which had been up had come down again. My mother was fiercely house-proud. Our front steps shone, and not a petal of her Busy Lizzies or geraniums was allowed to lie a moment on the porch floor. The windows glittered, the net curtains were brilliantly white, elaborately looped and tied on either side with lace bows. The lino gleamed and she hoovered and polished every day. When she was not cleaning in the house, she was weeding; the small square of front garden and only slightly larger back one were pristine; our garden shed had net curtains in the window.

  I had jumped up from the sofa by now and while Violet-May and I stood and stared at one another without saying a word, our two mothers talked about plants and flowers.

  Mrs Duff turned to me with a big smile on her face, “Kay, Violet-May asked especially that she be driven here to apologise personally for her rude behaviour today.”

  I could see by the sudden rise of my mother’s chin that this was unwelcome news.

  Then Mrs Duff turned her smile on her, saying, “A little upset, Mrs Kelly, between Violet-May and her brother, nothing at all to do with Kay of course. Now, Violet-May, what do you have to say to Kay, who was kind enough to offer to help out with your play?”

  I remember thinking that it was our play and that I had not offered, Violet-May had asked, but somehow none of that mattered when Violet-May, who had been staring fixedly at the grey screen of the television, turned and smiled at me.

  “I’m sorry, Kay,” she said.

  “Well now, that’s settled,” said Mrs Duff, “and perhaps, if you have no objection, Mrs Kelly, you would allow Kay to come back with us for an hour or so. Of course I’ll drive her home afterwards.”

  “Can I, Mam, please?” I said. “We need to finish the play today.”

  “We could finish it here,” said Violet-May. “It’s not fair for Kay to have to come to my house all the time. We could do it here, couldn’t we, Kay?”

  I said nothing but the truth was that I did not want to stay to work on the play in our house. In our house there was no possible chance of seeing Robbie Duff. And it was perfectly obvious from the look on Mrs Duff’s face that she did not want us to do it at our house either. But as she opened her mouth to say so, Violet-May interrupted.

  “Please, Mummy, I want to stay here. I want to, Mummy, I want to!” Her eyes were a little puffy still from crying and the something in her voice that told me another tantrum might not be far off obviously did not go unnoticed by her mother.

  “Well, if you really want to,” said Mrs Duff, “I suppose you must.” Her eyes strayed doubtfully to the window, beyond which I could see a couple of the estate kids circling her car. “But mind, Violet-May, it’s only for a couple of hours. I’ll be back then to collect you and I expect you to be ready and waiting when I do. And, mind, no playing in the street.”

  She turned to my mother.

  “Mrs Kelly,” she said, “I’m sure you’ll understand that I would prefer if Violet-May did not play in the street. Her little weakness means that Violet-May needs to take extra care and not expose herself to unnecessary dangers.”

  Why doesn’t she just say kidneys, I remember thinking, and I watched Violet-May’s face grow red. Every single person in our class knew about Violet-May’s kidneys.

  “That’s fine,” said my mother, “they can play in the back garden. I don’t think it’s particularly dangerous there – would you like to inspect it?” Her chin was up again and I think Mrs Duff realised she had caused offence.

  “Oh no, Mrs Kelly,” she said, “I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely, perfectly lovely. Violet-May can play in your back garden for a little while, of course she can. As long as she doesn’t sit on the grass – you won’t sit on the grass, will you, Violet-May?”

  She need not have worried; Violet-May had no interest in sitting on the grass in our “perfectly lovely” garden. As soon as Mrs Duff had left, my mother going with her as far as the gate, Violet-May went and stood in front of the television.

  “Can we watch it?” she said.

  “You mean after we finish the play? Yes, of course.”

  “No, I mean now, can we watch it now? Why can’t we have it on while you – while we’re doing the play?”

  “Well, I think my mother is watching it now,” I explained. “But we could go up to my room and finish the play and then come down and watch the television later. My mother will be baking buns so we can watch whatever you like then.”

  “Oh alright,” said Violet-May. “Come on then and let’s hurry and get i
t done. I wish I never said I’d have a stupid birthday concert – then we could forget about the boring old play and watch the television. I never get to watch television.”

  “Haven’t you got a television?” I asked, trying not to be insulted that she considered my work on the play boring.

  “No,” she said, “Mummy won’t have one in the house.”

  I looked at her for the first time then with genuine pity in my heart which nonetheless was alloyed with secret joy because we had something the Duffs did not. My mother, against my father’s wishes, had rented our television set from the local electrical shop and feasted on The Love Boat, Hart to Hart and Cagney and Lacey. Together we watched Magnum P.I., Dallas and Knight Rider. My father mocked us mildly but was not above watching the football, the snooker, Yes, Minister and The Streets of San Francisco.

  “Well, you can watch anything you like when the play is finished,” I said.

  She nodded sulkily, and we went upstairs.

  I was sorry that the play and the concert had now been relegated to the ranks of stupid and boring, but thrilled that Violet-May Duff was in my bedroom. And so I threw myself into the play, all the time knowing that she was only waiting for the moment when we could close the copybook and go downstairs and watch television.

  But, even so, when I read the finished product to Violet-May she looked at me with gleaming eyes and said, “I told you you’d write the best play ever, Kay.”

  And in that moment I could have cried with happiness, even knowing as I did that what I had written was not the best play ever but rather a hotchpotch of fairy tales with elements of Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and Rumpelstiltskin all flung in for good measure. Violet-May loved it and that was all that mattered.