Queenie (19 page)

Gillian’s mum was a disappointment too. She had very short hair, almost like a boy, and she wore slacks, very tight check ones. Michael’s mum wore a skirt, but it was a very long swirly one, and she wore thick lisle stockings. Everyone had a mum to visit them, and most people had dads too. Angus’s mum spoke with a Scottish accent, and seemed so old I wondered if she might be a granny instead. She looked very grey and lined, and I think she was crying, because she kept dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

I kept looking up every time I heard footsteps, but the person was never Nan, never Mum. Then I saw Queenie sidling along in the shadows, head down, irritated by the noise and bustle.

‘Here, Queenie. Come here, Queenie,
please
,’ I called, clicking with my tongue in what I hoped was cat language. I held out my hand, dangling it over the side of the bed, and she came bobbing up and pushed her beautiful white furry head against my palm, wriggling and purring.

‘Dear Queenie!’ I said. ‘Here, girl, jump up now. Come and see me.’

I patted my bed with my free hand and made
further
encouraging noises. Queenie hesitated, turning this way and that, thinking about it. She looked around, seeing if any small snack were scuttling through the grass or flying about the trees – and then decided that she wasn’t really hungry yet.

She looked up at me, tensed her haunches, and then leaped neatly onto my bed, landing softly on my pillow right next to my head.

‘Oh Queenie!’ I breathed.

She settled herself, leaned forward, and gave my face one lick with her raspy pink tongue.

‘Oh Elsie!’ she said. Well, she didn’t actually
say
it with her little mouth, but I knew that was what she was thinking. ‘I’ve come to visit you. How are you feeling today, dear? I’m sure your poor leg is very sore stuck inside that terrible splint. I would so hate to wear one and not be able to wriggle and stretch. You have my every sympathy.’

She flopped gently against me, and the moment I started stroking her she purred.

‘There now,’ she said. ‘Oh, that’s delightful, dear. I am becoming particularly fond of you. I shall visit you every day, not just at visiting times. I shall be your cat and you shall be my girl.’

‘Oh Queenie, I do love you,’ I whispered.

Martin’s dad was looking at us. He had very bushy eyebrows and a moustache. His general hairiness
made
him look rather fierce, but he smiled when he saw Queenie and me. ‘Look at that new little girl. She’s really got a way with cats,’ he said to his wife.

A way with cats!
Oh, I did, I did! Snow White and Sooty and Marmalade jumped off their box and came tumbling beside us too. Queenie put up a paw to show them that she was the boss, but then let them lie beside her, curled up against this beautiful mother figure. They started purring too, kneading their tiny paws against her.

I closed my eyes and started breathing in time with their great cat chorus, inhaling deeply, trying to purr myself.

‘Elsie! Are you asleep? Why are you making that weird noise? What’s the matter?’ It was Mum, here at last, bending over me so her hair tickled my face.

‘Oh Mum,’ I said. Then I craned my neck. ‘Is Nan here?’

‘No, of course not. What’s up with you? Don’t you remember Nanny’s in hospital too? Dear God, I’m going demented visiting the pair of you.’

‘She’s still not better?’ I asked.

‘Well, of course not. You saw her, Elsie. She can barely speak, it’s just cough cough cough. It’s very upsetting seeing her in that condition. It upsets her too, and just makes her cough worse. I don’t think it’s good for her, having visitors.’

‘But she’ll be feeling so lonely! Oh Mum, can’t
I
visit her, in a wheelchair or something?’

‘Don’t be soft, Elsie. How are you going to get a wheelchair on a blooming bus? And anyway, you’re on bed rest now, they told me. So let’s see this leg of yours.’ She batted at Queenie. ‘Come on – out of it, moggy.’

‘Don’t, Mum! That’s
Queenie
,’ I said.

Queenie stood up on her four paws, quivering with outrage at being called a moggy.

‘Don’t go, Queenie,’ I said, trying to keep hold of her, but she wriggled out of my grasp and leaped off the bed. Snow White and Sooty and Marmalade tumbled off after her, landing in a squirmy heap. ‘Oh Mum, she came and sat on my bed specially!’

‘I don’t know why they let cats lollop all over the place – it’s not hygienic. You’ll get fleas if you don’t watch out. Oh my God!’ Mum had uncovered my splint. ‘What have you got this contraption on for? Just look at it! It’s like you’re a cripple – but you only had a little limp and I’m sure you were putting it on half the time. Isn’t it
sore
?’

‘It is – it’s horrible. I can’t move it at all – look,’ I said, hoping for sympathy. ‘And it rubs at the top of my leg.’

The nurses inspected it every four hours to make sure it wasn’t rubbing too much, but I wanted Mum to feel sorry for me.

She shuddered and covered my leg up again. ‘Sorry, dear, I’ve always been a bit squeamish. Poor little pet. Look, Mummy’s brought you a present.’ She fumbled in her bag and brought out a box of Rowntree’s Fruit Gums and a large bar of Cadbury’s Whole Nut.

‘Oh Mum!’ I was momentarily diverted. I’d only ever had a small tube of gums and a tuppenny bar of chocolate before.

‘Go on, open the box and we’ll scoff a few. And I’ll snap you off a couple of squares of chocolate. Come on, you need to eat up. You’re looking really peaky.’

‘I don’t think I’m allowed. We have to put all our stuff in the sweetie box and it gets shared out after lunch,’ I said. ‘I’d better not open them, Mum.’

‘Don’t be soft!’ she said, ripping off both wrappers. ‘They’re just for you! I’m not spending a fortune on sweets to feed all them other kids. You eat up now. No one’s going to stop you, not when I’m here.’

I peered around anxiously. ‘Can I offer them to my friends, Mum?’ I asked. I emphasized the word
friends
proudly. Martin was still sometimes an enemy too, but we seemed to have struck a truce at the moment. Gillian was always nice to me, and little Michael was everyone’s friend.

‘No you can’t,’ Mum snapped, glaring at the beds on either side of me. ‘They’ve got their own. And
they
’ve all got fathers in work. I’m just on my own, providing for three. Well, two just now, I suppose.’

‘
Three
. You, me and Nan,’ I said.

‘Oh Elsie. You saw the state she’s in. I don’t think poor Nanny’s ever going to make it out of hospital,’ said Mum, sniffing. She opened her handbag and dabbed her nose delicately with her powder puff. She dabbed my nose too to try to make me laugh, but I was too devastated to respond.

‘She
must
get better, Mum. I can’t live without my nan,’ I declared.

‘What? Come on now, you’ve still got me,’ said Mum.

‘She can’t stay in hospital
for ever
,’ I said.

‘Well, if she recovers a bit, she might be able to go into a home,’ said Mum. ‘But I can’t look after her, not with my job. I’ve started working with Mr Perkins already, Elsie. He was desperate. And we’re getting along like a house on fire. I’ve taken to secretarial like a duck to water. I’m a bit slow on the typewriter and I can’t always get the hang of the carbon copies – they get all crumpled – but he doesn’t seem to mind. Of course, it’s not the theatre, but beggars can’t be choosers, and maybe I was flagging a bit when it came to chorus work. Most of the girls were still in their teens. I was like a mummy to half of them.’ She paused. ‘For goodness’ sake, Elsie, buck up a bit. I’ve
come
all this way to see you. You might stop grizzling and sit up properly and give me a smile.’

‘I
can’t
sit up. I have to be propped,’ I mumbled, knuckling my eyes. ‘And I’m so worried about
Nan
.’

‘Never mind Nan, you’ve got me now. I’m your mother. And I’ve changed my whole life round on your account so you might act a bit grateful, missy,’ said Mum.

I sniffed and said nothing.

‘Oh, sulking, are we? Look, I’ve got something else for you – lots of letters.’

‘From Nan!’ I said, wriggling upwards as best I could.

‘
No
, silly – your nan can’t write now. She’s not well enough, is she? These are from all the kiddies in your class at school. I went in to tell that teacher of yours—’

‘Miss Roberts! Oh, was she wearing her fluffy cardie, the blue one?’

‘
I
don’t know. I wasn’t there to give her a clothes inspection. I just said you were very poorly and likely to be in hospital a while. I didn’t say you actually had TB in case they thought it was catching. She seemed ever so upset. She must have told the kids because this came in the post next day.’

Mum fished out a whole sheaf of letters with illustrated margins and quite a few portraits of
me
wearing a nightie or pyjamas, my head lolling.

I leafed through them. Laura had sent me a special letter:

Dear Elsie
,

I’m so sorry you’re ill. I’m missing you. I do hope you get better soon
.

Love from Laura

xxx

Kisses! And she’d drawn a picture of the two of us together, wearing pink ballet dresses. We were standing on our tippy toes, arms raised above our heads, doing a beautiful duet. She’d coloured it in very carefully too, pressing a little too hard, so that the dresses felt very smooth and shiny. I stroked them with one finger.

‘This is from my
Friend
Laura,’ I said. This time it was clear that she was a capital letter Friend.

They
all
seemed to be my friend. They must like me after all. There were letters from everyone, even Marilyn and Susan. They all said they were very sorry I was ill and they were missing me and they hoped I got better soon. They
all
said . . .The letters were practically identical. I suddenly realized that Miss Roberts must have chalked the letter up on the blackboard and told them all to copy it. They’d been
free
to draw their own pictures. I looked more closely at Marilyn’s. She’d drawn herself with scribbles all round her head to represent hair and had given me two rat-tail plaits. We were standing together in a seemingly friendly way, but when I looked more closely I saw the Marilyn pin-girl was holding her smudge of a nose. She had written her own name in very tiny letters under the pin-girl. My name looked unfamiliar. I peered closely. She’d written two minute little words:
Frilly Bum
.

I stuffed the letters back in the big envelope – all but Laura’s.

‘Mum, can I write back to her? To my friend Laura?’ I asked.

‘If you really want to,’ said Mum.

‘Will you buy me the stuff – paper and envelopes and a pen and a stamp?’ I asked.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Shall I buy you a postman too, with his special sack?’ said Mum. ‘All right, all right!’ She caught the eye of Martin’s dad next door and raised her eyebrows and shook her head. He nodded back at her, looking mesmerized. I wondered if he’d wink at her too.

‘Could you buy them for tomorrow, Mum? It’s visiting again on Sunday, two till four,’ I said.

‘Oh dear goodness, I’ll do my best – but I’ve got so much to catch up on at home. Nan’s really let things
slide
the last few months. The flat is in a shocking state. What if I want to invite a visitor? I’m going to have to give it a good scrub from top to bottom.’

‘Nan always kept it lovely,’ I said indignantly.

‘I’m not
blaming
Nan. I’m just saying it was clearly getting too much for her,’ said Mum.

‘I’m going to send a letter to Nan too,’ I said, itching to start one right that moment.

‘There’s not much point, Elsie. She’s not up to sitting up and reading stuff,’ said Mum.

‘Well, I could do lots of pictures for her. You could bring my crayons in for me,’ I suggested.

‘Hey, hey, stop giving me orders, young lady. Sit up just a bit. Let me look at you. Why have you got your hair dragged back like that?’

‘I’ve got a ponytail. My friend Gillian showed me how to do it.’

‘I see. Well, I know they’re all the rage with teenagers, but you’re just a little girl. Come here, I’ll put it in plaits for you,’ said Mum.

I wanted to keep my ponytail but I knew it was lopsided, and I liked Mum brushing my hair and twisting it neatly into plaits. She was good at it, even better than Nan, who couldn’t always get her partings straight, so I ended up with one fat plait and one very thin one.

Mum kept pressing chocolate and fruit gums on
me
so it was hard to talk with a sticky mouthful.
She
talked instead, telling me all about this Mr Perkins. She sounded so keen I wondered if he might become another uncle. But she also chatted to Martin’s parents, particularly his father.

‘It’s such a strain, seeing your kiddy trussed up like this,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘And it’s so far for me to come. I live right over Burlington way. I have to get the train and then that awful local bus that goes all round the moon, and you still have to walk miles. My feet are killing me.’ She slipped a high-heeled shoe off and rubbed her slim white foot. Martin’s mother frowned and looked at her own sensible fringed flatties, though she didn’t comment.

Martin’s father stared at Mum’s foot. ‘Perhaps we could give you a lift part of the way home in our car?’ he suggested.

‘To Burlington! We can’t possibly go that far – and I thought you said we were low on petrol,’ Martin’s mother murmured.

Martin’s father looked determined to give Mum a lift, even if he had to personally push his car every inch of the way.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Mum.

He said it was no trouble at all, and could he at least drive her to the railway station? When this was
agreed
, he turned his attention back to Martin, making up mental arithmetic problems and getting him to shout out the answer. He even timed him with a stop watch, only giving him a minute.

‘Why don’t you join in too, Elsie – make a little game of it?’ said Mum.