by Lucy Strange
I heard the bells of the fire engine and ambulance on the street outside. I heard a hundred voices shouting. Nanny Jane had got Mama out of the house but I clung to the bottom banister. ‘ROBERT!’ I shouted. Father plunged up the attic stairs but came back choking, he tried again and again until the firemen came and forced us all outside.
Father’s tears cut rivers down his smoke-stained face. He had burnt his hand badly whilst trying to get into the attic and someone had wrapped it in a big wet bandage. Mama was beside him, big-bellied and helpless, sobbing through her hands. We watched the flames pressing at the attic window, then it cracked and shattered and more thick smoke poured out into the night sky. Flames licked through the tiles of the roof, something collapsed, the chimney shifted. We waited.
It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have been very long at all. By the time the firemen put it out, the fire had devoured the attic next door, our attic and a large part of the roof. Everyone from the house next door had been safely rescued. As I stood there on the street, surrounded by strangers, I became aware that my birthday present, my book of fairy tales, was tucked safely under my arm. I had saved it from the attic. That was what I had chosen to save.
We waited for him. There was something horribly carnival-like about the anticipation of the neighbours crowding the street; the way they parted when he was brought out on the stretcher . . . I half expected a drum to start drumming for him, but there was only silence.
I remember the stripes of Robert’s pyjamas, bright beneath the street lamp. I only saw his face for a second – his skin was alien-grey, like a sea creature scooped from its shell. In that moment, I knew he was dead. We all did.
Everyone saw him. The neighbours, the firemen, the eyeball moon . . . And everyone saw the moment in which my Mama broke. She was like a wild thing in Father’s arms. I saw him try to catch her face to turn her away from the stretcher and she fought him like an animal. She broke free and ran, her long hair loose down her back. She reached for her boy and kissed and kissed his white hands as the stretcher disappeared into the ambulance. Then the ambulance man closed the door, and spoke quietly to her and Father.
The ambulance drove away, taking my brother with them, and part of my Mama too. It did not ring its bell.
How quick it all was – how final. Like surgery – the top part of the house was removed and Robert was amputated from our family.
*
I thought of the gardener I had seen at Helldon, and other poor men who had returned from the Great War with stumps instead of arms or legs.
Father had told me once that these amputees sometimes experienced feelings in their missing limbs – pain or an itch – and I thought about all those times I had seen Robert or heard his voice since he died: the aching I had felt for something that no longer existed. Was it the same thing? A part of my brain that couldn’t accept that he was gone? Was it the last twitches of a sliced nerve – or was it just love?
‘Perhaps that’s what grief is, Henrietta,’ Moth said softly, when I had finished the story. ‘Grief is just amputated love.’
Moth tucked the soft blankets around me and blew out the candle in the lantern. ‘You can sleep now,’ she said.
I listened for the sound of rain on the caravan roof, but it had passed, and the distant thunder had faded into the night. The storm was over.
I was woken at dawn by the smell of bread toasting and eggs frying. Moth was cooking breakfast. We sat together by the fire. I ate and ate. The kettle boiled and Moth made sweet tea for us both. I had tried to think of Moth as Mrs Young, but I just couldn’t make the name and the person fit together in my mind. I was quite sure she wouldn’t want me to call her that, anyway. Mrs Young was a name for a normal grown-up and Moth was – different.
‘Thank you, Moth,’ I said as she passed me a tin mug of tea.
The cat emerged from the caravan, yawning and stretching his back legs, one at a time. Moth poured a little milk into a dish and he lapped at it greedily before settling down to wash himself.
I felt different today. Older. Lighter.
Then I thought about Mama waking up alone in the asylum, Piglet in the arms of Mrs Hardy, and a hollow space opened up inside me. I would sort it out. I had to sort it out. I would talk to Doctor Hardy and make him see reason . . .
‘Doctor Hardy thinks I’m mad,’ I said out loud. ‘He thinks you’re a hallucination.’
‘Ha,’ she said, and gulped down her scalding tea.
‘Will you come and meet him? Will you tell him I’m not mad? Will you talk to him about Mama?’
‘If he thinks you’re mad, what will he make of me?’ She gestured at herself – her wild, matted hair, her layers of old blankets . . .
‘What about Nanny Jane or Mrs Berry?’ I said hopefully.
Her eyes gave me my answer.
‘But at least then they would know you are real. You are real, aren’t you?’ I said, biting into a piece of toast.
‘Yes, I’m real,’ she said sadly.
I took a deep breath. ‘Mr Pickersgill said you took your life. He said you left a note, saying you couldn’t go on . . .’
‘Ah.’ Moth did not want this. But I felt we were close to some kind of peace now, both of us, and I desperately wanted it all to make sense.
She fussed around, piling up the empty tin bowls on top of some other dishes and the cooking pot. They wouldn’t fit together. They teetered for a moment and then collapsed with a metallic clatter, shattering the stillness. We both jumped. The poor cat leapt up and sprinted into the trees, his eyes black with terror. A cloud of rooks took off from the surrounding treetops, creating a dark, squawking storm in the sky. Moth put her hands over her eyes and sat down. When she spoke again her voice was rough and strange.
‘I couldn’t go on without Alfred. I couldn’t stay at Hope House. I couldn’t remain in the real world. But it seems I wasn’t quite ready for death either. Or he wasn’t ready for me. One or the other.’ She took a long, slow breath. ‘I came here instead.’
‘What about the boat?’ I asked. ‘Mr Pickersgill said you took a boat out into a storm . . .’
Without turning her head, Moth gestured towards the battered old rowing boat that stood outside the caravan, overflowing with herbs and flowers. ‘Makes a lovely flower bed, doesn’t it?’
I smiled.
‘I believed my Freddie would come back,’ Moth said quietly. ‘Even after I received the telegram saying he was gone. I thought about him out there in the cold dark sea, all alone. Doctor Hardy gave me pills to make me sleep. He said I needed to rest, but he was wrong. Drugged and all alone in that big house, I felt I was going mad. I started spending the nights out here in the woods instead, sleeping in the old caravan Freddie used to play in as a little boy. I lit a fire at night to guide his spirit home to me. One stormy night I realized I just couldn’t bear to go back to Hope House. I wanted to disappear. You think I’m alone here, but I’m not. I have the trees and the foxes and the deer – I have the nightingale, and my cat, Bright Star. It has not been easy – it is never easy to give things up – but this is what I chose. This is my home now.’
‘Everyone thought – everyone thinks you are dead.’
Moth looked me in the eye. ‘Well, Mrs Young is dead. I’m Moth now. I’m free.’
‘Yes.’
I thought about Mama then – standing on the clifftop, free, like a spirit of the ocean . . . And I thought of her wearing a straitjacket, locked in a cell at Helldon.
‘Moth, I need to rescue Mama,’ I said, and the words sounded so hopeless. ‘It would all be so easy if I were a grown-up. People would have to listen to me then.’
‘Ha. People don’t always listen to you when you’re a grown-up,’ Moth replied, smiling her crooked smile. ‘But there are other ways, Henrietta. Sometimes, you can find a way of making people listen. And sometimes you can make things happen whether people are listening to you or not.’
As she spoke, a plan started coming together in
my mind. I was going to have to be very brave. I was going to have to lie. And I was going to start by doing something I was definitely not allowed to do . . .
It must have been eight or nine o’clock in the morning by now, but Hope House was still asleep. Nanny Jane was usually an early riser. Perhaps she was exhausted from the events of the previous day, or perhaps Doctor Hardy had given her something to help her sleep.
I brought Moth in quietly through the kitchen door. ‘This way,’ I said, forgetting that Hope House had once been her home. I smiled an apology. We crept into the hallway. It felt very odd being here with Moth in broad daylight – I had always thought of her as a sort of nocturnal creature.
I picked up the earpiece of the telephone as I had seen Father do many times. My heart thundered as I imagined how horrified he would be at my disobedience. Moth looked around nervously. She pulled her blankets close.
‘Hello? Could you put me through to Little Bird-ham Surgery, please,’ I asked. Quite miraculously, the operator did exactly as I asked. I swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘Hello, yes, this is Henrietta Abbott. Could I speak to Doctor Hardy?’
There was a click and a pause before I heard the doctor’s sticky voice at the other end. He sounded angry at being disturbed. ‘Yes, Miss Abbott?’ he spat. ‘And how are you feeling this morning?’
I spoke quickly, not giving him a chance to say anything at all: ‘Doctor Hardy, thank you for all your help yesterday. I’m feeling much better, thank you. I just wanted to say that my Aunt Susan – the aunt I told you about when I visited the other day – has just arrived from – from overseas, and she would very much like to speak to you. She’s here.’
I handed the candlestick part of the telephone to Moth and then the earpiece.
‘Good morning, Doctor Hardy,’ she said uneasily. ‘It’s – Susan Abbott here.’ But then something started to happen. As Doctor Hardy spoke, the expression on Moth’s face changed. She began to speak much more slowly, with a confidence I had not known she was capable of. Her eyes sparkled with something that looked like revenge. ‘Yes, just arrived this morning from America . . . Well, to be honest I’m rather concerned about a thing or two. I’ve sent for my own nerve specialist from London to come and take a look at my sister-in-law as a matter of urgency.’ She looked down at the script I had prepared. ‘He’s a highly respected chap – recently treated a member of the royal family, you know. He’s very much looking forward to meeting you, Doctor Hardy . . .’ I had told Moth how vain Doctor Hardy was, how ambitious. I knew he would be lapping up this sort of snobbish nonsense. I pictured his red face flushing even redder with self-importance. ‘Yes, and your colleague too. Would you mind awfully telling Doctor Chilvers to hold fire on his treatments until my man arrives? You’ll do that straight away? He’ll be there no later than this evening, we hope. Many thanks . . . Yes . . . Oh, one more thing – please tell your wife I’ll be popping over shortly to collect my niece. Thank you so much, Doctor Hardy. Goodbye.’
And she hung up.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ I said – it had been a magnificent performance. I flung my arms around her. Moth was rigid for a moment, and then her arms relaxed and she hugged me back warmly.
‘Will you come with me?’ I said. ‘Please?’
But I already knew her answer.
‘I . . . can’t,’ she said. She looked towards the front door and the world beyond Hope House with wide, wild eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Henrietta – I just can’t.’
*
I put on my smart, going-to-church dress – not the blue scratchy one with the lace collar – a dark green dress with long sleeves that made me look older than twelve years old. Thirteen, my mind whispered. You’re thirteen now. Then I walked to the village.
When I went into the Post Office to send the telegram, I tried to look as grown-up as possible. In my hand I clutched the coin Nanny Jane had given me to buy sweets the first time we had gone to the village together. I had done my sums: it would buy me just four words. They would have to be exactly the right words . . .
When the telegram had been sent, I walked through Little Birdham, past the village green, until I reached the cul-de-sac lined with elm trees.
I had thought to bring some flowers from the garden and had tied them into a bunch with a yellow hair ribbon. ‘Gratitude can be disarming,’ Moth had said. I thrust the flowers straight at Mrs Hardy as soon as she opened the door, dazzling her with what I hoped was a beaming smile.
‘Good morning, Mrs Hardy,’ I said. ‘My aunt and I have come to collect Pig— Baby Roberta. Thank you so much for your kind offer to look after her – it really has been a tremendous help at this difficult time.’
‘Your aunt is here, is she?’ Mrs Hardy asked, snaking her head from side to side to see past me.
‘Yes, Mrs Hardy, she’s just waiting in her motor car around the corner.’
Mrs Hardy didn’t budge. ‘Well, I would have thought she might have come to introduce herself,’ she said, her lizard mouth cold and tight.
‘She sends her most sincere apologies, but we’re late for an urgent appointment . . .’ I had to clasp my hands together so she couldn’t see how much they were shaking. This wasn’t working . . . What was I going to do? I felt a cold, panicky sweat spread across my back. It was all very well trying to act like a grownup, but this was a feeble performance. Mrs Hardy was not convinced for a moment. I considered giving up on the whole thing and running back home, but then a ray of sunlight caught the dimpled glass of the Hardys’ front door. It shimmered like gold and I knew Robert was there beside me. His hand gripped mine. Look the darkness right in the eye, Hen, he whispered, and RUN at it.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Hardy, but I really must insist on retrieving my sister,’ I said confidently. ‘My Aunt Susan is waiting.’
I gave her a diamond-bright smile, and pushed past her into the house.
Piglet was sitting in the middle of the living-room carpet wearing a silly frothy dress – all lace and frills. She looked like a miserable little meringue, but as soon as she saw me, she beamed and held out her arms.
I scooped her up and kissed her. ‘Come on, Piglet,’ I said. ‘You’re coming with me.’
‘Well! I never—’ Mrs Hardy blustered as I pushed past her again. ‘What on earth do you—?’ But she was too late.
‘Don’t worry about my sister’s clothes and things,’ I called over my shoulder. ‘You can drop them off another day – whenever is most convenient. Thank you again – we’re all so grateful!’ And I gave her a cheerful wave as I walked swiftly down the path.
Did all heroes feel like this when rescuing fair maidens? Perhaps they did. I felt as if I was made of jelly. I held Piglet tightly and buried my face in her fat little neck as I walked, smelling her sweet Piglet smell and trying to forget all about the cold hatred that had burned in Mrs Hardy’s eyes as she stood there, thwarted, on her own doorstep. Would she telephone Doctor Hardy to tell him what had just happened? Did she know that there was no Aunt Susan waiting in a motor car around the corner? Would she call the police? Was it still kidnapping if you were stealing back your own sister? There was no time to think about any of this now.
When we got home, Nanny Jane was sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. She leapt up and her jaw dropped with surprise when she saw Piglet in my arms.
‘Henry!’ she cried, dashing over and holding my shoulders. ‘I’ve been so worried – where have you been? Your room was empty – I’ve been looking everywhere!’
‘I’ve been to get Piglet back,’ I said simply.
‘But . . . But your door – I locked it . . .’
‘I can’t explain right now, I’m afraid,’ I said. If I told Nanny Jane I had been rescued by Mrs Young, she would not have believed me anyway.
‘There’s someone here who has missed you very much, Nanny Jane,’ I said.
She was so overwhelmed to see Piglet, and Piglet was so delighted to see her, that Nanny Jane was quite incapab
le of saying anything else. She took her from me immediately. She helped her out of the ridiculous frilly dress and dropped it straight on to the kitchen floor. Underneath, Piglet was wearing a white vest and a cloth napkin. She looked like our Piglet again. The baby’s eyes were locked on Nanny Jane’s and she babbled intently, as if she were telling her a very important story.
I desperately wanted to talk to Nanny Jane too, to sit down with her at the table and tell her the truth about everything. ‘There’s something else I need to do,’ I said instead. ‘Keep Piglet here with you, Nanny Jane – no matter what Doctor Hardy or anyone else says.’
‘No – Henry, wait—’ Nanny Jane cried after me as I headed for the front door. ‘Henry, you can’t just—’
But I didn’t stop. If I stopped now, it would all be too late. I didn’t know if I had the strength to keep on being brave for much longer, so it was far better not to give myself a choice.
The walk to Helldon was a long blur of empty country roads and my own cold grey fear sweeping through me in long, nauseous waves. The sky had clouded over again and the whole world looked drained of colour.
I needed to get Mama out of Helldon, and I needed to do it today. It would not be long before Doctor Chilvers realized that neither my Aunt Susan nor her nerve specialist existed, and he would start his experiments upon Mama. He would probably be very angry that I had tried to interfere. Perhaps the doctors already knew about my lies. If Mrs Hardy had seen through me, Doctor Hardy would now know the truth too . . .
The problem was that I had reached the end of my plan. I had no idea what I was actually going to do or say when I got to Helldon. I had started building a bridge without enough wood to complete it: I was about to walk right off the unfinished end and plummet into the icy water below.
I stood for a moment at the gates, looking down the long winding driveway of Helldon. I was half aware of a pony trotting along the road behind me, and I thought I heard someone call my name, but by the time I dragged my eyes from the hypnotic coils of the drive and looked around, there was nobody there. The road was empty. You have to keep walking, Hen, I said to myself. You have to go on . . .
