by Adele Geras
She almost ran into the dining room, and when she saw that her mother’s place was empty, tears of sheer disappointment came to her eyes. She blinked them away before Daddy could look up from his newspaper and notice her. Daddy didn’t like people crying. He went cold and stiff if he ever caught her in tears, and she’d learned to stop herself. Lots and lots of girls in her class at school cried at the least little thing, but not Leonora. Now she waited for her father to look up and when he didn’t, she said, ‘Good morning, Daddy,’ and sat down at her place and pulled her napkin out of its silver ring.
‘Ah, Leonora! Good morning,’ Daddy said, but he only lowered his newspaper for a second and then it was up in front of his face again like a shield.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ Leonora asked, pouring milk over her cornflakes. ‘Is she still asleep?’
The silence that followed this question went on for so long that Leonora thought perhaps Daddy hadn’t heard her. She wondered whether she ought to repeat it, and decided to wait just a little while longer. Maybe he was reading something very important. She gazed at the black lines of type on the back page with the spoon halfway to her lips, and then with a rustle he lowered the newspaper again and stared straight at her.
‘Finish that spoonful, Leonora, please, before we continue our conversation.’
The crunching of the cornflakes sounded very loud in her ears. She put her spoon down when she’d finished and looked across the long table at her father. He was very pale this morning and there were purple shadows under his eyes. He said, ‘I’m afraid your mother is not very well today. She’ll be keeping to her bed for the next couple of days and you must try not to disturb her.’
‘But can I go and see her? Please? Just for a second. I won’t be noisy, I promise, only I want to see her, please.’
Leonora watched her father pushing his chair away from the table. He stood up, and when he spoke to her she heard that coldness and anger in his voice, that tone which frightened her whenever she heard it, the one that froze the air all round her head when he used it. He said, ‘You haven’t understood what I’ve told you, Leonora. Your mother is unwell. What that means is that she does not wish to be disturbed. Not by anyone. You will see her all the sooner if you allow her to return to health. You are not to visit her, is that clear, child?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ said Leonora. ‘I’m sorry.’
I’m not sorry, she thought, as she ate one spoonful of cornflakes after another. I’m only saying I am, because you have to say you’re sorry with Daddy and then his voice gets less icy and he’s cheerful again. Sometimes. Today, though, the magic word didn’t work and he walked out of the room so crossly that even Mr Nibs, who was asleep on the window-seat, looked up as he swept past. Leonora felt that her whole head was in a muddle and besides, her eyes felt sore and itchy, as though she’d been crying. Now she’d have to wait till Mummy was better before she could see if her cheek was all right and every time she thought about what she’d seen in the night, it was getting less and less clear in her mind.
She took a piece of toast from the toast rack and nibbled it without bothering about butter and marmalade. She was going to spend the afternoon at Bunny’s house today and soon it would be her birthday and she was going to have a party with a special birthday cake. She went over to sit next to Mr Nibs, who opened his green eyes briefly and then went back to sleep again with his head resting on his paws. Mummy wasn’t well. She was often ill, but she always got better. Maybe I did dream everything, Leonora thought. The memory of what she’d seen was fading and the image of her mother howling in anguish grew paler and paler every time she thought about it. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, Nanny Mouse said in the dream. What did that mean? And why were those words still there in her head? They hadn’t faded. They were as loud as could be. She didn’t seem to be able to stop hearing them.
*
Her birthday was a week and a half away now. Leonora had been longing for it for ages and ages. Time had slowed down so that each day seemed to last far longer than it should have done. The fine weather meant long walks with Nanny Mouse, and she’d been to visit all her friends and they’d come to Willow Court, but even so there was still a very long time to wait. Mummy had been in her room for three days, and surely, Leonora thought, today she’d have to get up. The doctor hadn’t come, and now Daddy was in London talking to some important gallery people. He’d gone off this morning in the car with a picture all wrapped up and leaning against the back seat. He wouldn’t be back till tomorrow, so she could go and see if Mummy felt better without worrying about what he would say if he caught her. It’ll be all right, I’m sure, Leonora thought, if I just creep in and say hello to her. Nanny Mouse was busy in the kitchen, chatting to Mrs Page, the cook, and Leonora very much hoped they were discussing her birthday cake and when it ought to be made and what it ought to look like.
She walked to Mummy’s bedroom, past the closed doors of all the other bedrooms on that stretch of the corridor. There were more doors on the other side of the house as well. She never used to think about what was in those rooms, but Bunny had asked her once, when she’d come to play, who slept in them.
‘No one,’ Leonora answered. ‘They’re empty. When visitors come, they sleep in there, but we don’t have visitors very often.’
‘May I look?’ Bunny had her hand on one of the handles and was turning it. Leonora wanted to stop her, but couldn’t think what to say. She followed her friend into a space echoey with silence, where all the furniture was draped in white sheets.
‘Why is everything covered up?’ Bunny wanted to know.
‘Well, Nanny Mouse calls the sheets dustsheets,’ Leonora said. ‘So I expect it’s to keep off the dust.’
The girls left the room and closed the door. Bunny never asked to peep into a closed room again, but Leonora thought about them quite a lot after that and promised herself that when she was quite grown-up she would invite lots and lots of people to Willow Court and take off all the dustsheets and put vases of flowers everywhere.
Mummy wasn’t in her room after all. Leonora knew she should have left at once, but instead she crossed the carpet and looked out of the window and then she saw her, down there in the gazebo, which was one of her special places. Leonora loved it too, because every bit of it was made of glass, even the roof, and when it rained you could sit in it and watch millions and millions of drops of water streaming around you and never get wet. Leonora ran out of the room and down the stairs. Nanny Mouse was just coming out of the kitchen.
‘Where are you off to, dear?’ she said.
‘To the gazebo, to see Mummy,’ Leonora said over her shoulder, and she could hear Nanny Mouse calling out to her, telling her not to disturb Mummy if she wanted to be all by herself. She took no notice, but ran down over the lawn till she reached the small glass and wrought-iron house with the pretty roof that ended in a sharp point. Maude looked up as she came in and smiled and held out her hands.
‘Hello, darling. Have you come to talk to me?’
‘Oh, yes, Mummy! I’ve been longing to see you. Are you feeling better?’
Maude didn’t answer the question but said, ‘Come and sit by me and tell me what you’ve been up to. It’s so hot, isn’t it?’
Leonora made sure to sit in the chair on her mother’s right. That was the side that had been bleeding. She began to talk, telling stories of seeing the new cygnets down on the lake and playing croquet with Bunny and her brothers, and all the time she kept glancing up at her mother’s face. She saw it at last, even though there was a lot of foundation cream and powder over it. Mummy must have tried to hide it, but it was there, underneath – a small bruise with a thin, long scab right in the middle of it. That meant that Nanny Mouse had been lying to her, and only pretending that she’d been dreaming. She would think about that later; what it meant, and why Nanny had done such a thing.
‘You’ve hurt your cheek, Mummy,’ Leonora said after a pause.
‘Oh, that wa
s silly of me,’ Maude answered. ‘I walked into your father’s easel, up in the Studio. Can you imagine how foolish I felt?’
‘Was it at night? In the middle of the night? I heard some noises. They woke me up.’
‘No, no.’ Maude shook her head. ‘In the morning. I remember distinctly. It happened on Wednesday. Quite early in the morning.’
Leonora looked up and saw the blue sky through the glass striped with white. She worked backwards in her head. Today was Friday. Monday night was when the storm was, and when she’d had her dream (but it wasn’t a dream. There was the scar, on her cheek). Mummy was still in her room on Wednesday. Could she have gone upstairs to see Daddy? And bumped into his easel? Maybe she could have. Or maybe she wasn’t telling the truth either. Leonora felt confused – baffled – and a little frightened, too. Should she ask? Tell Mummy about the dream? Should she say she’d seen her? She was just about to open her mouth to speak when Maude said, ‘I’m busy making a little surprise for you, in time for your birthday.’
‘Tell me about it, Mummy! Do tell me.’
‘I can’t, Leonora,’ Maude smiled. ‘If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?’
She sounded almost happy; almost like other people. Leonora didn’t really know what it was in her mother’s voice, but there was always an edge of sadness and sighing in whatever she said. She looked up and saw tears in Maude’s eyes.
‘You’re sad, Mummy!’ she burst out, and put her arms around Maude’s body, which felt thin and trembly. She buried her face in her mother’s lap. ‘Don’t be sad. Please don’t be sad,’ she said into the fabric of Maude’s dress. ‘Please be happy.’ She wasn’t sure if her words could be heard, but she kept clinging to her mother, till Maude gently disentangled herself from Leonora’s arms and lifted her face up and kissed it.
‘Oh, my darling child,’ she said. ‘You must forgive me. I’m so sorry. Please say you forgive me, Leonora. Please say it.’
Leonora felt a cold terror creeping over her. She didn’t know what the words meant. What should she forgive? Had Mummy done something bad? She must have done, or why would she want to be forgiven? Was this something to do with the crying in the night? Should she talk about that night again? Or did forgiving Mummy mean she mustn’t speak about it any more? She saw the tear-streaked face looking down at her and wanted more than anything to be gone, to be safe with Nanny Mouse and away from Mummy, whom she didn’t understand, and whose crying made her feel embarrassed and awkward and nervous. She said, ‘I forgive you, Mummy. Please stop crying. Please be happy.’
‘I will, I will, darling.’ Maude had let go of Leonora and was dabbing at her eyes with a white lace handkerchief that smelled of lily of the valley. ‘I’m all right now, darling, truly. You can go and play if you like. I’ll be perfectly all right, I promise.’
‘Will you? Will you really?’
‘Yes, I’m going to the Quiet Garden for a little walk now. I want to have a look at all my plants and flowers. There isn’t much to do in the garden but I do love it so. Can you feel autumn in the air? I always feel it in August. Even when the sun’s burning down, I know that autumn’s coming. You run along now, Leonora.’
Leonora made her way towards the house, feeling guilty. Should she be so happy to leave her mother’s company? So relieved? There must be something wrong with me, she thought. I’m a bad daughter, and maybe that’s why Mummy’s sad. Maybe if I loved her better, she’d be happy. This was such a dreadful thought that she nearly ran all the way back to where Maude was sitting, ready to fling herself at her mother and swear she loved her best of anyone in the whole, whole world, but she stopped herself, and glanced behind her first, just to see if Maude really had stopped crying. She was sitting exactly where Leonora had left her, turning her lace hankie round and round in her hands and looking down, clearly visible through the panes of shining glass that made up the walls of the gazebo.
Nanny Mouse came across the lawn towards Leonora just as she was turning to run back to her mother.
‘Come along, dear,’ Nanny Mouse said. ‘It’s nearly time for lunch.’
‘Yes, Nanny,’ Leonora said. I’ll make sure to tell Mummy how much I love her later, she thought. There’ll be time later on. She went into the house, feeling a weight fall away from her, feeling happy.
*
‘I had such a funny dream last night, Nanny,’ Leonora said as she was getting dressed the following morning. ‘I was lying in my bed and I wasn’t properly asleep. My eyes were half-open, I think, because I could see things, only not very clearly. Anyway, what I saw was a person in a long white dress with long hair hanging down at the back going into the nursery. She stood by the dolls’ house, just over there and I could smell wallpaper paste and she was sticking something on the dolls’ house roof. Then she went away again and I can’t remember anything after that.’
Nanny Mouse went on plaiting Leonora’s hair. She came to the end of one braid and tied a blue ribbon round it, making a pretty bow. She was very good at making bows look pretty – not too droopy and with both loops exactly the same size. She said, ‘That wasn’t a dream, dear. Your mummy came in last night and did some work on the dolls’ house. That’s part of your birthday present. She did tell me she was going to make it a surprise for you, but I suppose something must have happened to change her mind.’
‘May I go and see? Please, Nanny! Let me go and see.’
‘Sit still and let me finish your hair, Leonora, and then you can.’
Leonora looked over to where the dolls’ house was standing against the wall. There was nothing different about it that she could see. She thought of her dream. The figure she’d seen was putting paste on the roof. As soon as her hair was plaited to Nanny Mouse’s satisfaction, she raced to see what her mother had done.
‘Oh, it’s the roof, Nanny! Look!’
Where before there was nothing but plain paper in a reddish colour, now the whole roof was covered in pale grey and yellowish tiles, not real tiles, but painted ones. Mummy must have taken ages to paint them. She’d covered two large sheets of paper with watercolour images of proper tiles. Leonora looked at them carefully. Every single one seemed different from the one next to it, and from the ones above and below it.
‘It looks just like a real roof, doesn’t it, Nanny? It must have taken her hours and hours, mustn’t it?’
‘It’s most beautiful,’ Nanny Mouse said. ‘You make sure to thank her now.’
‘Yes, I will,’ Leonora said. She could never say anything, of course, and she knew Mummy must have taken enormous trouble over painting pictures of roof tiles, and they were exactly like real tiles and very beautiful if you thought about it, but she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. It wasn’t what she would have called a birthday surprise, not really. A new doll for the house, or perhaps some new clothes for the dolls she already had would have been more exciting. You couldn’t really play with a roof. All you could do was look at it, and she’d scarcely paid any attention at all to the old one, so why did Mummy think she’d like a new one?
She could feel her mood darkening as she went down to breakfast, and tried to cheer herself up by thinking that maybe this wasn’t the whole surprise, but only part of it. Yes, perhaps that was the answer. There was something else to come, something much, much better. That must be it. After all, it wasn’t even her birthday yet and she was being allowed to see it. By the time she reached the dining room, she’d almost persuaded herself that the new roof paper wasn’t her present at all. But, she said to herself, if Mummy is there I shall thank her very much and give her a kiss as well.
Mummy and Daddy were both sitting at their places when Leonora came into the dining room, but she could see from the way they were sitting, from how they weren’t smiling or talking to one another, that something was wrong. They didn’t even look at her and Nanny Mouse as they came into the room and took their places at the other end of the table. Silence fell over everything, so that the noise of spoons
on cereal bowls and cups being put down on saucers sounded really loud. That was what it felt like to Leonora.
She glanced from her mother to her father. Daddy was frowning. His lips were pressed together, as if he wanted to shout but was holding himself back. Mummy’s gaze was on her plate, but she hadn’t touched her toast. There was a lump of butter right next to it, and some marmalade as well, but she made no attempt to pick up her knife.
‘Nanny,’ Daddy said, not quite looking at Nanny Mouse. ‘I’d be most grateful to you if you kept Leonora occupied outside today, if you don’t mind. It’s a fine morning. We have matters to discuss, Mrs Walsh and I, and wouldn’t want to be interrupted.’
‘Of course, sir,’ said Nanny Mouse. ‘We’ll go to the village, and for a walk in the fields behind the church. Perhaps we’ll take a picnic, Leonora. Would you like that?’
Leonora nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. How could Daddy be so beastly? She never interrupted them when they were busy. She never went up to the Studio because she knew she wasn’t allowed to. She wasn’t a baby to be taken off on a picnic so that the grown-ups could talk in peace. She was nearly, very nearly, eight years old. She bit into her piece of toast and glared at her father but he was looking out of the window and didn’t see how cross she was. I’ll say something to Mummy, Leonora thought. I’ll thank her for repapering the dolls’ house roof. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Mummy, I love the new roof for the dolls’ house. Thank you for making it for me.’
To her astonishment, Mummy’s eyes filled with tears and she turned so pale that Leonora thought she might be going to faint. She bit her lip and looked across the table at her daughter with something like terror in her face. She was trembling too. Leonora wished fervently that she’d never mentioned the roof paper, never opened her mouth. Before she could think of what to say next, Daddy spoke.
