by Gene Kemp
“I thought Gran was coming,” I told her.
“She rang up to say she couldn’t come for another fortnight yet as your grandad wasn’t very well. I really ought to go and see him but the car drive would be too much for me right now. But you can stay in and help. It’s been very tiring nursing Tim. He was really ill and cross.”
So are you, I thought, but it didn’t do to say it with Mum in a mood. I cleaned and tidied, did some cooking, walked the dogs.
“Now don’t go too far with them, mind. I don’t want you getting lost. You’re so dreamy these days. No, I definitely don’t want you going to that tower! I’m not keen on it at all. Who knows who might be wandering round there? Besides, you can read to Tim. His eyes are still hurting as they do with measles. He can’t read much or watch television. Stay at home and help!”
I said ‘Help!’ too, but inside where she couldn’t hear, as I didn’t want to get my head snapped off. Perhaps Big John would come to the Tower with me sometime, but the Stone brothers told me he’d gone over to the other side of the moor with his dad for a few days. Still, at least Chris and his brother came over to play with Tim, who was out of quarantine now.
With Mrs Cotter back at school, the work got harder. Inspectors were coming, she said, to see how we were getting on, life was tough again. I remembered that wicked afternoon in the woods with Mrs Biddulph, the best day of school ever, we’d called it, and we’d remember it for always.
But it was gone and we’d said goodbye to Mrs Biddulph. I hadn’t liked her at first, but now she seemed like a fairy godmother compared with Mrs Cotter and my mum, who was determined to keep me down.
“Nose to the grindstone, that’s what they used to say,” shouted Mum, though I noticed she didn’t go on at Tim as much.
“He’s not well yet,” she answered, when I pointed this out.
One morning I took her a cup of tea in bed, tripped and poured it all over her. She shouted at me horribly, and I said, “Mum, why are you so nasty to me these days? I’m doing my best. But there’s a lot of homework and a lot of housework and I get—” I couldn’t go on. Then I cried, “I wish Dad would come home!”
“So do I,” Mum cried. “I’m sorry, Widget. Sorry I was horrible.”
She put her arms around me and we both cried. She was soaking with tea and it felt awful, but I felt better. That night Dad phoned us, but he couldn’t come home yet, he said.
Next day Mum came out in spots. She’d got measles.
Chapter Eleven
THERE MAY BE TROUBLE AHEAD
The doctor arrived. “She’s quite ill,” he said to me and Tim, as if we were grown-ups.
“You’d better stay at home to look after her today till I can fix something up. She may have to go into hospital. Now, keep the blinds drawn as the light will hurt her eyes. Give her cool drinks. Do you know anyone who can come?”
“My aunt Dinah’s gone to America and Gran can’t come ’cos Grandad’s ill. There’s only me. And Tim.”
“Hmph.Tim’d best go to school. I’ll come back later. Don’t worry now. Just keep her comfortable. I’ll see if I can get someone to come and help.
Mum was asleep as she hadn’t slept at all the night before. Nor me as I’d gone into bed with her. I got Tim off, fed the animals, put them in their run in the garden. I couldn’t watch television. Life was grim.
And I was scared. Scared stiff. Suppose she died? People did die. Suppose she did. Whatever would we do? How I wished Dad would come. How I wished anyone would come. I’d never felt so lonely in all my life.
Sitting there with her, I tried to imagine the Tower with Lady Nest and Lord Tarquin and the knights and ladies on the lawn, but it wouldn’t come. All I could see was Mum in bed, flushed and sweaty and ill.
There was a gentle knock on the door and in walked – what a surprise – Mrs Biddulph. I flung myself on her and howled.
“There! Shhh! She’ll be OK. The doctor’s sent me to look after her. I did a bit of nursing before I took to teaching, you know. Tried everything in me time. Come on. Cheer up. She’ll be fine. I’ll get you something to eat. Bet you’re starving.”
I was, though I hadn’t known it. After a bit I fell asleep ’cos I’d been up the night before with Mum. I woke up at last to find I was in bed. Mrs Biddulph had put me there with Hanna and Frizzy all in a heap on my patchwork quilt.
Mum was taken into hospital and put in a ward by herself so that other patients wouldn’t catch the measle bug.
People came. Mr Stone, lots of people, but best of all Gran.
“Grandad was fit enough to look after himself,” she said. “I’d rather look after you. He keeps telling me off,” she whispered.
“Can we visit her? When can we visit her?”
“We’ll have to see what the doctor says.”
But the doctor made me angry. He said Tim could visit because he’d had the measles and was now immune. But I hadn’t, so I couldn’t.
“So am I!” I cried. “I’m immune. I shan’t catch measles, I know!”
But nobody took any notice of me. When Gran and Tim went inside, I was left in the car cuddling the dogs. I wanted to know how she looked and how she was. They told me she was comfortable and OK but she longed to see Dad.
I wasn’t satisfied. Perhaps they were trying to spare me. And what about the baby? I’d heard that measles could damage unborn babies. I worried and fretted inside.
“Stop sulking,” Tim said.
“I’m not sulking. I’m worried. Besides, it’s not fair.”
“Yes, it is. You were boasty and stuck up when you didn’t get the measles. Well, now it’s my turn.”
I kicked him. Gran told me off and I burst out crying.
“I do wish Dad was here.”
“He probably wouldn’t be able to see her.”
“Did he have measles when he was a little boy?”
“Yes, he did. Spots everywhere,” Gran said.
“So he could see her. There.”
A plan was forming in my mind.
Chapter Twelve
TO THE TOWER
“I’ll be OK on my own. Honest.”
“Are you sure? I don’t like leaving you.” Gran’s face was worried. “It’s all a bit much,” she sighed.
“Look – I’ve got the dogs. I don’t want to sit and wait in the car. It’s so boring. Here – well, I can lock the doors and if anyone comes I won’t answer it and they’ll think I’ve gone with you.”
“Well, we’ll be quick.”
“No, stay as long as Mum wants you and send love and kisses from me.”
At last they left. I thought they’d never go, Gran still worrying and wondering was she doing the right thing. I knew she was.
Alone at last, I put on the dogs’ leads and slipped out of the back door. They were very quiet as if they knew. We checked Frizzy’s puppies. Fine. Getting big now. Off we went, silent and determined. After a bit Death’s-head joined us, very subdued for him, as if he knew he couldn’t yelp and jump up as usual. I was pleased. Death’s-head is so big and ugly he makes you feel safe. Frizzy didn’t even squeak.
Off we ran at a steady pace through the fields and the cows to the outskirts of Rushford wood, followed the track leading round it until – I knew the right place this time – we came to the grey granite pillars. The afternoon was clear and still and warm. It was as if we were being welcomed. All my worries gone, I felt happy.
After all, I was going to the Tower. My Tower. Nest’s Tower. The Wishing Tower.
I couldn’t believe it. The wood had turned blue. For the bluebells had blossomed and a misty sea rose before us into the trees. The path wound on and on through the flowers. I let the dogs off the lead; they bounded ahead, tails wagging like crazy. On and on, up and up – the broken-arm-and-hand branch pointed the way. Nothing lay in our path. Nothing to stop us. No brambles. No nettles. Only flowers.
A turn in the path. Almost there. A space opened out, silver birch trees shining white all aro
und; flowers and blossom everywhere, then the lawn of blue-green grass and on the other side of the lawn stood the Tower, its archway inviting me to enter. All was totally still and quiet – the setting sun golden through the tops of the trees.
I felt in my pocket for the silver coins (one for me, one for Tim) and the little bag of bread.
I stopped still. From under the archway appeared an old man; long hair, long grey beard, battered hat on head, long tattered coat with pockets hanging outside, trousers tied with string, toes poking through ancient plimsolls.
We stood still and looked at each other. Pictures of fear swirled through my mind; monsters, ghosts, ghouls, children seized and murdered, terror… But the dogs ran round him, sniffing. Death’s-head leapt up to lick his face. Even Frizzy wasn’t scared. She lay down at his awful feet.
Besides, I couldn’t go back now.
“I’ve come to wish,” I said. “My mother’s very ill. I want my dad to come home.”
“Yes,” he mumbled.
I went nearer. Red Hanna came and walked beside me – she reached up and licked my hand.
“It’s my home,” he said. I could hear him clearly now.
“I live here. It’s my home,” he repeated.
I remembered the smelly heap of rubbish in the corner of the room.
“I thought lords and ladies lived here,” I whispered sadly.
“No. Only me.”
I stood hopelessly lost. Then all his wrinkles lifted. He broke into a smile.
“But the wishes still come true,” he said, “for those who come. Make your wish. Don’t be afraid.”
The dogs stood round me as I put the silver coin and the bread just inside the archway. The tramp moved away.
“Can I have a bit of the bread and one of the coins?” he asked.
“But they’re for Tim—” I said and stopped. “No, it doesn’t matter. You have them.”
He took a coin and some bread and disappeared inside. I buried the rest under the stones as John had showed me, and walked slowly across the lawn. Then, reaching the path and trees, we pelted down the hill as fast as the wind till we reached Goosey Farm.
When we burst into the kitchen Dad was there cooking a huge fry-up.
“Gosh, I’m starving!” he laughed as I ran to him.
Chapter Thirteen
MAGIC IS REAL
Everyone came: Dad on leave, Mum spotless now, Gran, Grandad, Aunt Dinah back with boyfriend Fred (again!), all the children and teachers from school, Mr Stone and people from the neighbouring farms.
And I was godmother. ME.
Godmother to James Thomas.
I was sorry at first he wasn’t a girl, but he’s OK. Quite neat. And I’ll be boss, anyway.
We had a scrumptious party with wicked grub. I looked for John and found him sitting outside on a wall. There was something I wanted to ask.
“Did you see that old tramp slipping away when we came out of church?”
“Yup.”
“You know everybody round here.”
“Yup.”
“Who is he?”
“’E won’t ’arm you, Widget.”
“I know that. But who is he?”
“Oh ’e’s old Arthur Merlyn.”
“Did you say Merlyn?”
“Yup. Old name roundabouts ’ere, y’know.”
“Widget…” my dad was calling me. “…come and have your photo taken. Holding the baby, I think.”
Merlyn. Merlin. My head whizzed.
“Widget. Come on.”
“OK. Coming!”
Merlin, I’d think about it later, later.
EPILOGUE
In Dog’s Journey I told you about Mum’s painting of Russet that hangs above the mantelpiece. On the wall opposite is another. It shows a little grey tower in the middle of a wood. In the corner is written “Widget’s Wishing Tower, by Madeleine Sutton”.
Widget Sutton
1998
Also by the Author
A Goosey Farm Story: Dog’s Journey Gene Kemp
Copyright
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 1998
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright © Gene Kemp 1998
Illustrations © Paul Howard 1998
Gene Kemp asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780006752974
Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2014 ISBN: 9780007571666
Version: 2014-01-02
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