May Contain Nuts (10 page)

‘That would be great fun, wouldn't it, Molly?' said Ffion, before I'd got the chance to talk to my daughter about it. ‘You'd like that, wouldn't you, to have all your friends round and discuss books, you'd love that, wouldn't you, hmmm, hmm dear, you'd like your own book club, that'd be fun wouldn't it, dear, because you love reading and you'd love to discuss it with all your friends, wouldn't you, dear, wouldn't you, wouldn't you?'

Molly's mental cursor must have briefly scanned the choices that Ffion's enthusiastic onslaught had left her and quickly realized that ‘yes' was the only available response.

‘I thought we might choose
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
as their first book,' Ffion announced.

‘Oh, that's a super idea. I loved that book when I was a little girl,' concurred Sarah.

‘All right, so that's agreed. Why don't I pop into the bookshop and buy five copies of
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
, and we can arrange a date in a month's time for them all to meet up and discuss it?'

Clearly this book must have been on some sort of ‘three for the price of two' offer and Ffion was planning to collect the money from each of us and get a free copy herself.

‘Shouldn't we maybe give them the chance to choose which book they do?' I ventured.

Her cheery smile twitched slightly as she processed this suggestion, but instead of being thrown off balance, she rolled with my mutinous proposal, incorporating its weight to help force through her prearranged plan. She was a black belt in the art of aikido conversation.

‘You're quite right, Alice, we ought to ask them, they're
the ones who are going to be reading it after all. Molly, you'd like to read
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
, wouldn't you, you'd like that, wouldn't you, it's all about a secret magical land and there're lions and there's a witch and there's a wardrobe and oh and children away from the grown-ups, that sounds fun, doesn't it, you'd like to read about that, wouldn't you, Molly, shall I buy you a copy of that, hmm? Because you love books like that, don't you, dear, you'd love to read
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
, wouldn't you?'

My poor Molly looked slightly terrified and I could just about hear her whisper, ‘Yes, please, thank you,' as she looked at me for approval. If she hadn't agreed I think Ffion might have turned her into a statue.

The thinking behind a kids' book club had been that it might increase awareness of children's classics and on one level this plan was certainly successful. With two nights to go before the first meeting, both David and I were sitting up in bed reading separate copies of
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
. It was gone midnight, and David made another pencil note in the margin.

‘What's that?'

‘Edmund eating the Turkish delight. I must explain “allegory” to Molly in the morning.'

‘But the whole book is an allegory, isn't it? Aslan is Christ, the children are disciples, Edmund is Judas … It says so in the notes I got off the internet.'

‘Yes, but if Molly says all that it'll look obvious that we briefed her … But she might plausibly say that she thought the Turkish delight maybe represented all sorts of temptation, like drugs and things like that …'

‘I think she should say that after the stuff on characterization …'

‘Well, it depends – how much have you got so far?'

‘I was concentrating on Lucy and Tumnus at the moment,' I said flicking through my notes, ‘and then I was going to do the Snow Queen and Edmund.'

‘Four characters is probably as much as we want to focus on if she's going to say anything about narrative style as well …'

‘Yes, but we can't just tell Molly exactly what she's going to say, it has to come from her. This is just to help prompt her into discovering all these things for herself, isn't it?'

‘Yes, of course it is. I'll sit down with her again tomorrow and ask her what the Turkish delight bit made her think about, you know, if she felt it had any wider meaning …'

‘And if she still doesn't get the right answer?'

‘Well,
then
I'll tell her what to say.'

My house had been volunteered for the first meeting of the junior book club, though not necessarily by anyone who lived there. I had realized earlier that day that I would have to provide appropriate refreshments and so there were bowls of organic kettle chips arranged around the room and a jug of iced elderflower cordial and five glasses placed on the table. The four other children arrived with their books under their arm, a parent or two excitedly ushering them in. My daughter, reader-in-residence of the South-west London Literary Society, welcomed her fellow academics with the usual enthusiasm.

‘Say hello to Bronwyn, Molly,' I prompted.

‘Hello.'

‘Say hello to Molly, Bronwyn.'

‘Hello.'

It was going very well so far. The children hovered in the hallway, a little unsure as to what they should do next, till they
were manoeuvred into position under the persuasive guidance of Ffion. ‘Well, this does all look lovely, doesn't it, hmmm, doesn't it? Why don't you all sit yourselves down, and look, Molly's mummy has even provided some crisps, that is kind, so get yourselves a drink and some crisps, not you, Bronwyn, you don't eat crisps, go on, that's it, everyone sit down, there you are, this is nice, and then when you're all sorted just sit yourselves down, that's it, you've all brought your books, haven't you, well, we won't interfere, and why don't you find your favourite bits or anything that you wanted to read out, hmmm? And we'll just be right here so you don't have to worry about anything.'

I had been just about to head through into the kitchen when I realized that every other parent was planning to stay in the room and watch. Well, everyone except Philip, who watched from outside the French doors where he stood puffing away in the light drizzle. William was there but wasn't there; he took a book of poetry from the shelves and attempted to escape from the book club with a book. The scholars sat on the chairs, their legs still not quite reaching the ground, while the remaining parents stood round the edge of the room in eager anticipation.

‘Off you go then!' said David.

Silence.

Molly looked at me and I smiled and tried to give her an encouraging nod to say something to the group. Every child was looking at its mother or father, unsure what they were supposed to do. They looked as if they'd done something wrong.

‘Well, somebody say something,' said Ffion.

‘These crisps taste old,' said Kirsty.

‘No, that's just posh crisps,' explained Molly. ‘They're organic.'

‘Somebody say something about the book. Bronwyn, why don't you start?' said her mother.

Bronwyn glared at her mother and furiously whispered, ‘Mum! Don't!'

‘Did you like the book? Why don't you start by saying whether you liked the book or not, darling?'

‘I liked the book,' mumbled Bronwyn.

‘Not to me, darling, don't look at me when you're saying it, say it to the rest of your book club.'

Bronwyn turned her head and, addressing the floor in front of her, announced, ‘I liked the book.'

This inspirational literary insight failed to break the ice and another period of silence ensued, while various adult observers remained frozen round the edge of the room exchanging expressions of upbeat bravery. Someone coughed quietly. The children waited for the purgatory to be over.

‘Maybe we should leave them to it,' I suggested.

‘You had a thought about what it was all about, didn't you, Bronwyn?' her mother cut in. ‘About why C.S. Lewis wrote it, didn't you, darling? What was it you thought about the book, an idea about what it all meant or something, why don't you say that now, Bronwyn, hmmm, darling, hmmm?' prompted Ffion, nodding expectantly at her daughter.

Bronwyn went a little red in the face and then said, ‘I think the whole story is an allegory for the Christian story with Aslan representing Christ, the children as the disciples and Edmund as Judas.'

David shot me a furious look.

‘Oh, Bronwyn is such a clever girl, Ffion,' whispered Sarah. ‘She really is extremely bright for her age,' and Ffion felt forced to agree.

David smiled and half nodded agreement but clearly his
thoughts were elsewhere. ‘What was it you wanted to say about the Turkish delight, Molly?' he interjected. Mortified at being put on the spot like this, our eldest mumbled ‘Nothing' and glared furiously at her father.

‘Come on, darling, didn't you think that it had some kind of wider meaning?'

Molly sighed and was forced resentfully to proclaim, ‘I think that the Turkish delight that Edmund eats represents all sorts of temptation.'

‘Oh I say, that's very sharp!' exclaimed Sarah. ‘Well done!' And there was a murmur of impressed agreement round the room while David and I tried not to beam with pride too obviously. The evidence was there for all to see: our daughter was a highly literate, perceptive and intelligent eleven-year-old, even if she didn't do very well in exams.

‘He told me to say that,' declared Molly, looking at her father. And all adult heads turned accusingly to the cheat in our midst.

‘Well, I guided her towards it …' mumbled David.

‘No, you wrote it down on a piece of paper for me to learn,' said Molly, grinning mischievously, though her smile fell away when she saw the thunderous expression on her father's red face.

‘I think it's best if children can learn to discover the books for themselves,' commented Ffion sadly as her daughter discreetly turned her notepad face down. ‘Shall we go through into the kitchen and leave them to it?' she said, leading the way.

‘I liked the little drawings,' offered Kirsty as we headed out of the room, and her mother smiled at her but didn't comment on this insight, hoping that we hadn't heard.

I took orders for drinks – three teas, two coffees – and an ashtray for Philip.

‘I guided her towards it and then we made notes,' David muttered to Sarah. He turned to William. ‘I guided her towards it …'

Ffion glanced at Jamie's music sheet propped open on the piano. ‘Ah, that brings back memories. Look, Philip, do you remember Gwilym doing this one?'

‘Ah yes,' he said, craning his neck through the kitchen window, where his face had popped up so as not to be antisocial.

‘Careful, darling, you're letting smoke in again …'

Inside I was still seething that Bronwyn had won the battle of the book club. I knew that I was perhaps a bit too competitive sometimes. But I was beginning to despair at the level of unrelenting competitiveness Ffion possessed. The level that always won, damn her. When Bronwyn had had to do a little song and dance presentation for the Spencer House talent night, Ffion asked a professional theatre director who lived in their road if he could just watch her practise it and give her any advice. She had him round there four times in the end, which is ridiculous. I mean, Molly could have won first prize if we'd got a professional theatre director. But he said no, he was already helping Bronwyn.

I went to fill the kettle but found that the water filter was empty, so we would have to wait for that first. ‘I guided her towards it,' said David to William. As if my husband's humiliation was not already sufficient, his youngest son chose this moment to wander down from his playroom modelling a Disney fairy dress, his high heels clacking noisily and attracting attention. ‘Oh, that's a pretty dress, Alfie – who are you?' asked Ffion.

‘Tinkerbell!'

‘Oh yes, the fairy …'

I told myself it was sweet that Alfie enjoyed dressing up so much, it was just David who struggled with the fact that his four-year-old son was a transvestite.

‘Ooh, why don't you go and see what else you have got in your dressing-up box, Alfie?' said his father. ‘There's that Bob the Builder outfit, isn't there? And your cowboy costume? Why don't you put one of those on?'

‘My Esmerelda dress!' he announced excitedly.

‘Er, I think
Molly' s
old Esmerelda costume is getting a bit worn out now, isn't it? What about that soldier's helmet I bought you?'

‘Sleeping Beauty!' he announced, and ran off to get changed.

‘Sweet. So have you thought about what you are going to do if Molly doesn't get into Chelsea?' probed Ffion.

‘Oh, I'm pretty confident that she'll pass the exam,' I said casually.

Ffion's silent smile seemed to suggest otherwise. ‘Might be worth having one or two options up your sleeve though,' she continued. ‘I mean, Chelsea College is a
very academic
school, it may not be the right place for a girl like Molly. That's not a criticism – she's a very cheerful, funny girl, and when it comes to music lessons I'm sure she'll really excel.'

David's glare implored me not to be provoked into saying too much.

‘Actually, Ffion, Chelsea College is the only school we're going for. I've been doing quite a bit of work, I mean with Molly, obviously, and I'm pretty confident she'll get in …'

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed David placing a cookery book on a pile of Letts' secondary selection practice papers, which were filled with my handwriting.

‘Goodness, well, that's very, umm … brave. I'm sure you're right, it was probably just a one-off that she came bottom in the league table.'

I went quiet for a moment and then steeled myself to say something. ‘Yes, well, you can't make a league table from just one result. I mean, what about all the other things that should be taken into account? I mean, I could do a league table based on how good the children were at violin and Molly would come top, or what about playing Top Trumps or PlayStation Dancemat scores, or who was the first to finish
Harry Potter and the whatever the big fat fourth book was
– you can't do a league table on just one thing, it's not fair.'