Cora Ravenwing (2 page)

“They don’t want you to be friends with Cora, though, do they?” persisted Barbara. She was clever at beating one down in an argument.

“No, they don’t,” I admitted. “But that’s only because they like an easy life. They think there’s no point our coming here and flying straight in the face of local tradition and opinion.”

“There you are, then,” said Barbara, as if something had been proved. “Look, don’t take all that emotional business in the field so seriously. It didn’t mean a thing. We stuck some thorns into a lump of clay—so what?”

“Didn’t you see their expressions, though?” I said,
looking
into Barbara’s untroubled, cheery face. “They looked half-demented with it all.”

“Just a bit carried away. What does it matter? They’ll forget the whole thing by tomorrow. You’re the worried one. They’ve got all their hatred out of their systems now. You’re the one who’s haunted by it all.”

That was Barbara’s great strength, that balanced,
unflappable
clearsightedness. Sometimes it made her rather unexciting company; one longed for a bit of imaginative flair. But at times like this she could be so nice and
comforting
. Her matter-of-fact approach began to dull my vivid vision of the feverish, mad faces of the others, and I felt less horrified and repelled.

“You’re right, Barbara,” I said. “Thanks for coming after me and explaining. It
is
sometimes difficult for me—I haven’t been here long and, although I’ve tried to go along with it, I still haven’t really got the full-blown Cora Ravenwing complex that everyone else has grown up with. Perhaps it’ll develop.” I asked her to tell Hermione and Susan that I was sorry for being horrid and that I’d be all right tomorrow. She said she would and then she turned back to where she’d left them and I went home.

I told my mother about the truancy that evening and she was shocked at first, but seemed not to mind so much when she realized that I liked school really and wasn’t intending to repeat the incident. When my father came home she told him too but represented the escapade almost as evidence of my developing independence and imagination. So he was very jovial and just whacked me on the behind and said: “On no account do this again, understand? And toe the line for a few weeks till it’s all well and truly forgotten.”

I didn’t tell either of them about Susan’s clay figure and what we had done to it, but that night I had dreadful dreams and later woke and was very sick. Mother remarked that it was judgement from Heaven and kept me at home for a day. She was very careful to provide the statutory
sick-note
for Miss Dingwall on my return to school.

W
HEN WE FIRST ARRIVED IN OKEFIELD IT WAS THE BEGINNING
of the summer holidays. Father’s new job was in London, so we had to leave Birmingham, where I’d lived all my life, and find a new home near enough work for him to travel to and fro daily. Eventually my parents found the little house in Okefield which we all settled into very
happily
. The arrangement was that Father should go up to London by train every day. The only trouble was that, as he left early and returned late, we didn’t see much of him on weekdays.

I remember the day we all jumped out of the car and first saw the new house. The sun was shining, flowers were out and there was a big white lilac bush outside the front door perfuming the whole garden. Our furniture had arrived by van the day before but had just been dumped in any convenient space, so there was a tremendous amount of unpacking and sorting out to do. Mother and Father were rather appalled at the size of the task and ordered me into
the garden with Joseph and Dorian. They said there was just no chance of getting straightened out with the three of us underfoot. We were more than happy to stay outside, exploring our new territory. It was a big garden with a lot of shrubbery where we could hide or make dens. There was a rickety shed too, with not much inside except for old, chipped flower-pots and a length of perished garden hose. A privet hedge, thin in places, ran right round the garden, giving protection from neighbouring gardens and also from the street, which went straight past the house at the front.

The house itself was about a hundred years old, russet brick with sash windows. It had four small bedrooms and a tiny bathroom upstairs and enough space downstairs for us to feel we weren’t cramped. It was better than the
Birmingham
house, where Joseph and Dorian had had to share a
bedroom
, and Mother was very cheerful about her new kitchen and said that preparing meals might even become enjoyable now she had enough space to do it in comfort.

As we poked around the garden that first afternoon, with Mother and Father shouting and clattering indoors, I began to feel slightly uneasy. I didn’t tell Joseph because I thought it was just the fact that everything was strange, but I kept feeling rather as one feels when turning over a big stone—a bit jumpy, ready for something to dart out from
underneath
, something wriggly or wiry or spidery. In the shed I felt particularly apprehensive—as if the door might slam shut on me or some creature jump out from the shadows. In the open it wasn’t quite as bad; one couldn’t feel
frightened
in the sunshine with the flowers so bright and the birds singing so loudly. The boys found a ball in the bushes and started kicking it around on the grass. Dorian stumbled around chuckling, rolling over, and lying flat on his back to
point up at trees. He was a sweet, plump, roly-poly toddler and we all adored him. I lay down beside him and tickled him and rolled him over and over till he got hiccups. Then we sat up and looked about for Joseph, who’d kicked the ball right down to the far end of the garden and gone after it. I pulled Dorian to his feet and he bobbed along beside me down the garden path. “Joji, Joji,” he shouted and trotted ahead. “Ball pees, ball pees.” The path petered out in a jumble of thick bushes and undergrowth, so I picked Dorian up and was about to make my way through it when Joseph’s head popped out from behind a spiky evergreen shrub.

“There’s a girl here!” he said indignantly. “She’s hiding in our garden, spying on us.”

“Tell her to come out,” I said.

“She won’t come. She won’t speak. She’s just standing here.”

I craned forward as far as I could but I couldn’t see her. I put Dorian down but he started to scream and stretch his arms out for me to lift him again. “Oh, make her come out, Jo,” I said. “Dory’s being a pest and I don’t want to carry him through all these bushes.” Joseph disappeared again and I could hear him telling the girl she’d have to shift, but he didn’t have any success.

“I can’t make her move,” he shouted.

“For goodness’ sake come out here and play with Dory,” I said. “I’ll handle her.”

He came jumping out through the straggling mass of shrubs and creepers, his ball under his arm, and soon he’d tempted Dory off down the garden again towards the house. I pushed my way through the twigs and branches till I got round behind Jo’s bush and there, sure enough, was the girl. She was as thin as a rake, with a pointed little white
face, piercing black eyes and a lot of very straight shiny black hair. She was wearing navy shorts and tee-shirt, no socks, and a pair of sandals.

“What are you doing in our garden?” I asked. She said nothing, just blinked once or twice and dropped her head on one side, staring at me like a bird. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “This is private property. You’re trespassing. It’s against the law.” Still she didn’t speak. “I could get the police.”

“Don’t do that,” she said urgently. “
Please
don’t do that. I didn’t mean to be bad. I thought the house was empty. I was only looking …”

“Course I won’t,” I said, magnanimous now I’d got my way and coaxed speech out of her. “I was only teasing. But we live here now, so you can’t just come in when you want any more.”

“I shan’t,” said the girl, pushing her black fringe back from her eyes. “I shan’t come again unless I’m asked.”

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Cora Ravenwing. What’s yours?”

“Becky Stokes. How old are you? You look about the same age as me.” I was surprised when we established that she was, in fact, a little older—she was so small and
undernourished
-looking. But then I knew I was a bit fat. I hated that. It emerged that she’d had her birthday the previous week. “Did you have a party?”

“No.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. My birthday’s very soon but I probably won’t have a party this year either. I don’t know anyone here to ask—What school are you at?”

“Okington.”

“That’s where I’m going! I bet we’ll be in the same
class!” I was very pleased to have met a schoolmate
already
; I’d been dreading facing a class of strangers.

After that, Cora and I talked for a long time. We came out from the bushes and sat on the grass in the sun. I thought she was strange, the way she said so little and sat so still, just staring at me. Sometimes she’d dart a furtive glance across at Dory and Jo, or suddenly shake her hair out of her eyes—odd, jerky movements. But I was glad of her company and glad of an audience. I told her all about myself and my family, and she seemed pleased just to listen. She didn’t go away, at any rate.

In the end it was Mother who interrupted. She came to the back door and called me in for something to eat. It was the middle of the afternoon, but I hadn’t noticed my hunger because of the excitement of the new house and meeting Cora. “Come and see Mummy,” I said, but Cora hung back. I pulled her up and led her by the hand up the path.

“Mummy, this is Cora Ravenwing. She’s at Okington School and she’s my age, so we’ll probably be in the same class, won’t we?”

“Yes, I should think you will. Hello, Cora,” said Mother.

Cora hung her head a bit and squinted up at Mother. The sun was in her eyes. “Hello,” she said and shifted about jerkily from one foot to the other.

“I’m afraid Becky and the boys will have to come in for lunch now,” said Mother. “We’re all at sixes and sevens today, but I expect we’ll soon get organized.
Perhaps
you’ll come and see Becky again another day.”

“That would be nice,” I said as Cora turned to go. “I could meet some of your school friends, maybe, and then I wouldn’t feel so strange at the beginning of term.” Cora just waved and ran off.

Lunch was sausages and baked beans and I felt ravenous
as soon as I saw it. None of us spoke much during the meal but I did say how pleased I was to have met Cora and what a stroke of luck it was that she was my age. Mother said: “Funny little scrap. Doesn’t she have a home to go to? When’s she having
her
lunch?” Then I realized I hadn’t asked Cora where she lived, so I couldn’t get in touch with her. I’d just have to wait till she came back to me.

I didn’t have to wait long. The next day was drizzly and cold. Nothing seemed as good as it had the day before. The rooms suddenly smelled musty and there didn’t seem to be enough light. None of us had slept very well in the midst of makeshift arrangements. At breakfast, Mother and Father argued and wrangled over who was to have which
bedroom
, and Jo and Dory began to irritate each other too. In the end Mother asked me if I’d organize games for the boys in the front room downstairs while she and Father went upstairs to straighten out once and for all. A big,
middle-aged
woman called Mrs. Briggs, who’d been the daily help of the previous residents, turned up and said this was her usual day for coming and did Mother want to keep her on. Mother and Father both looked very relieved and said it was a marvellous piece of luck and she was just what was needed. Mrs. Briggs looked pleased and was soon capably clanking round with buckets and brooms. I could hear her voice upstairs advising Mother on where to store blankets and cases and which doctor to register with and which dairy to get milk from and which newsagent … Her local knowledge seemed endless. I thought she sounded bossy and domineering and I was surprised how grateful Mother seemed. Even Father appeared to find her presence reassuring and began whistling instead of cursing as he hauled
bedsteads
and mattresses around.

Downstairs in the front room I managed to locate the
box containing the boys’ train-set, and they became
engrossed
in laying out the track and building bridges, stations, signal boxes and all the rest of it. Then I was the only one with nothing much to do, so I sat down by the window with a book. But I felt too disorientated by our move and the chaos around me to concentrate, so I took to staring vacantly out of the window. I could see people walking along the pavement on the other side of our hedge. As they passed the thin bits I glimpsed them clearly for a second, then they were obscured again and only became visible for another second or two as they went past the wrought-iron gate. It was surprising how many pink, wet faces turned to glance in quickly as they scurried past. I supposed that they’d seen our removal-van two days earlier and knew that a new family had arrived. I quite liked being the object of such curiosity. Nobody in our
Birmingham
street had cared a hoot about us except those we’d become friends with over the years. Here it seemed that just about everybody was interested to see what we were like. If it had been a fine day I’d have hung around in the front garden all morning and maybe spoken to one or two passers-by, but, as it was, I just caught flashes of people and that’s the most they saw of me.

Suddenly I saw an unmistakable little stick-like figure
darting
jerkily along the pavement. I was sure it was Cora as it went past two bare patches of hedge and I focused sharply on the gate to be absolutely certain. When she reached it she seemed to hesitate, as if she thought she might open it and come up to the front door. But then, without seeing me, she changed her mind and carried on past the house. I struggled with the window but couldn’t open it or I’d have stuck my head out and called her back. I settled down again, and thought it was a pity I’d missed the chance of seeing
her again, when suddenly she reappeared and went through exactly the same performance as before, of hesitating then darting off. After that I pushed and shoved and banged at the window till I managed to get it up a few inches, and then I sat in a whistling draught, all ready to shout out at her if she passed a third time. But she didn’t.

Later in the morning Mother made coffee in the kitchen for herself and Mrs. Briggs and Father, and orange juice for the boys and me. We all sat round the table together and Mother was comparatively cheerful and said things were going ahead very speedily upstairs and we’d all be sleeping in our own bedrooms that night. Then I told her that Cora Ravenwing had walked past the house twice but I hadn’t been able to attract her attention.

“That’s a pity,” Mother said. “But you’ll have plenty of time to get to know her. You don’t have to rush things.”

Mrs. Briggs tapped her cigarette into her saucer and said: “If I might advise …”

“Oh, do,” said Mother affably. “You’ve already been such a help.”

“Well, it isn’t my way to interfere, but I know how difficult it is when you don’t know your way round a place, like,” said Mrs. Briggs, looking really pleased that Mother was so willing to listen. I didn’t like the way she seemed to be in charge, but Mother told me later that she wasn’t really taking us over and that she and Father would only do what they wanted to do in the end, whatever Mrs. Briggs “advised”. “Nonetheless, dear,” Mother said, “it is very helpful to have someone around like that to tell you what’s what if you’re new to a place.”

Mrs. Briggs carried on: “That Ravenwing girl …” she said. “Now, if I was you I’d keep any daughter of mine well away from her.”

“Oh?” said Father, who’d been reading the paper up until that point.

“A bad lot,” said Mrs. Briggs. “That’s the long and the short of it. A bad lot. You’ll find everyone feels the same about her. Now I wouldn’t speak bad of anyone and I won’t say more. But …” She leaned across to my mother. “Just a word to you, dear,” she said. “Keep your girl away from that one. Everybody else does. Far the best.”

I began to protest and ask why, but Mother frowned and glared and said: “That’ll do, Becky … Now, I think there’s just time for another hour before lunch. That should break the back of it.” There was a lot of scraping of chairs as
everyone
got up and that marked the close of the conversation.

The boys and I went back to the front room and I waited vigilantly for Cora, but she didn’t come back. Mrs. Briggs went at lunchtime and Mother and she discussed terms of employment in the hall as she left. I couldn’t hear quite what was said but, by the tones of voice, I concluded Mother had the last word that time. I was pleased.
Certainly
, after that first morning, Mrs. Briggs rarely again seemed quite as outspoken and opinionated on
every
topic under the sun. Mother and she became very happy and settled with each other, even friendly in a restricted sort of way, but I never again thought that she had the
advantage
over Mother in our own home. I hadn’t liked that; I had been alarmed to see a complete stranger walk in and seem to take us all over. Mother always laughed at me for this strange notion, but I never forgot that first impression I’d had of Mrs. Briggs.