Queenie (20 page)

I thought this an appalling idea. I was nearly always bottom of the class at mental arithmetic. I shook my head firmly.

Martin didn’t look as if he were enjoying the game either. His face went very red every time his dad barked ‘
Wrong!
’ or
‘Out of time!
’

Martin’s mother objected softly, saying: ‘Don’t you think that’s enough, dear? Martin’s getting a bit tired now.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Martin’s dad. ‘He needs to keep his brain active. Just because his body’s useless it doesn’t mean his mind can go to sleep too. And it’s
fun
, isn’t it, Martin, old boy?’

‘Yes,’ said Martin, through gritted teeth.

Martin’s mother was taking in that my male parent was missing. While there was an agonized wait for Martin to work out how much change he would get out of a pound note if he brought twelve Christmas cards at tuppence ha’penny and nine Christmas cards at a penny three farthing (extra time allowed), she leaned over towards
my
mother.

‘Is your husband working today, dear?’ she asked.

Mum flushed a little. I willed her to tell a quick lie – but she took a warped pride in telling the truth and disconcerting people. ‘I haven’t got a husband,’ she said evenly.

‘Oh!’ said Martin’s mother. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, dear!’ She obviously jumped to the wrong conclusion. She lowered her voice to a sympathetic hiss. ‘Did you lose him recently?’

Mum looked at me, then looked back at Martin’s mother, arching her eyebrows. It was clear she was indicating that she didn’t want to talk about it in front of me. Martin’s mother nodded understandingly, and offered me one of Martin’s Crunchie bars.

I was already feeling queasy from the fruit gums and chocolate, but I ate it all up even so.

When the bell rang for the end of visiting time, I waved to Mum until she disappeared. Then I lay very still, wondering how it was possible to feel so full and so empty at the same time.

IT WASN’T JUST
me. Everyone seemed upset and restless after visiting time. Even sunny little Michael, who only ever cried when he was given his injections, started wailing fitfully, and deliberately knocked his milk mug over, so that his whole bed had to be changed.

Nurse Patterson and Nurse Curtis weren’t really cross with him, but they did tut amongst themselves.

‘It’s always the way – and they’ll be even worse on Sunday night,’ said Nurse Patterson. ‘If I had my way,
parents
would be banned. They just unsettle the kiddies.’

‘And feed them too many sweeties and make them feel sick,’ said Nurse Curtis, holding a pot under Babette’s chin. She’d eaten three Mars bars in a row and was bitterly regretting it.

Nurse Patterson read us another magic tree story, but even that seemed to have the Saturday blues. The children climbed up the ladder into a scary new land where they were attacked by polar bears. Martin and Gillian and I weren’t scared at all, but Rita started gasping like a goldfish out of water and had to put her head in a paper bag and breathe slowly until she felt better – and the little ones were all round-eyed with worry.

Nurse Patterson closed the book mid-chapter, in spite of a chorus of protests. ‘What’s the matter with you, you silly babies! You’re frightened half to death,’ she said. ‘I can’t possibly read any more – you’ll get nightmares.’

‘Pooh, it’s not a bit scary. It’s
soppy
. Who could ever be scared of polar bears? I
love
polar bears, especially baby Brumas at London Zoo,’ said Martin.

‘Go on, Nurse Patterson –
read
, please,’ said Gillian.

‘But look what the story’s done to your poor little pal Rita,’ said Nurse Patterson.

‘Oh, Rita’s a
baby
,’ said Gillian unkindly.

‘I’m not, I’m not – it’s my asthma!’ Rita gasped, still with her head inside the paper bag. ‘Go on, Nurse Patterson, I want to hear the end of the story too.’

But Nurse Patterson was adamant. We had to make do with the half-chapter – and everyone blamed poor Rita.

I was mean enough to be secretly thrilled that she was now despised as one of the soppy little kids, even by her best friend Gillian – whereas I was now one of the big bold ones who had clamoured for more.

I waited until Nurse Patterson and Nurse Curtis were busy in the bathroom – and then I started.

‘I’ll tell a bit more of that polar bear story, shall I?’ I said.

‘No!’ cried Rita.

‘No, we’ve heard it all before, Gobface,’ said Martin. ‘It’s a stupid baby story. Those children always get away in the nick of time and go back down the tree. Yawn yawn yawn.’

‘I know a
different
story,’ I said. ‘Who’s coming up
my
tree with me? It’s quite a struggle to climb it. The branches are ever so far apart. The little ones can’t climb it by themselves. I suppose we could give them a piggyback but it would be very, very dangerous.’

‘You’re daft – you can’t climb. None of us can. We’re all on bed rest,’ said Rita sulkily.

‘We can climb all we want in my story,’ I said. ‘Leastways,
I
can climb, and Gillian and Martin. I’m not sure about you.’

‘I can climb if
you
can,’ said Rita.

‘But do you really
want
to? Remember the polar bears lurking at the very top of the tree, in the land beyond the clouds.’

‘There aren’t any
real
polar bears – Nurse Patterson promised. And there’ll be another land at the top of the tree next time,’ said Rita, but she sounded uncertain.

‘Oh well, you and Nurse Patterson can stick in your silly storybook version. But Martin and Gillian and me are climbing up the tree, up and up. Whoops – a huge great bird like an eagle just flew out of its nest and very nearly got caught up in Gillian’s ponytail!’

‘No, it didn’t!’ said Gillian.

‘That’s right – it just missed and you were very brave and swatted it away,’ I said.

‘An actual eagle, with a hooked beak?’ said Martin.

‘This one had a
very
hooked beak, and it had a squirmy mouse hanging out of it.’

‘Shut up, Gobface,’ said Rita, and Babette and Maureen squealed.

‘Ssh! We don’t want a nurse to come. Just stop your ears up if you don’t want to listen.
Now
, we’re climbing the tree, right?’

‘La-la-la, this is boring,’ said Rita rudely.

‘What other birds can we see? What about a buzzard? Or a kite?’ said Martin, who obviously knew far more about birds than I did.

‘I think one day there will be a whole
land
of birds up at the top of the tree – and we’ll grow wings too and see what it’s like to fly,’ I said.

‘Really? But that’s not in the book. I told you, I’ve heard it before,’ said Martin.

‘Yes, and
I
told
you
, my story’s different,’ I said. ‘Next time we’ll maybe go to the Land of Birds, but
this
time it’s polar bears – enormous white furry beasts with little mean red eyes and quick paws and very strong teeth. They’re all up there, snapping and snarling in the snow because they haven’t eaten for weeks and they’re very, very
hungry
.’ I wondered about snapping my own teeth or attempting a roar or two, but realized I might just sound silly and set them laughing, whereas now they were all listening, heads straining up off their pillows – except for Rita, who had her hands over her ears and was la-la-la-ing for all she was worth.

‘Yes, the polar bears are
so
scary – even the little baby one with snowy-white fur,’ I continued.

‘That’s Brumas,’ said Martin.

‘Can I pat him?’ asked Michael unexpectedly.

I didn’t have the heart to frighten him. ‘Yes, you
can
pat him. I was wrong – baby Brumas isn’t dangerous yet, he’s just sweet and playful and friendly. He’s just big enough to give you a little ride in the snow, Michael. Would you like that?’

‘Oh, yes please! And I won’t fall off, will I?’

‘No, but even if you do it won’t matter, because it’s so soft and snowy in Polar Bear Land – you’ll just tumble around laughing. Brumas is such fun to play with. He likes to run right up to the top of this big hill, and then he slides all the way down on his bottom – and you do it too – we all do.’

‘
Listen
, Rita, it’s not scary now. This is a fun story,’ said Gillian.

I blushed at the praise.

‘No, it’s not, it’s a stupid story. Gobface is just making it all up. I can’t be bothered to listen because it’s all rubbish,’ said Rita. ‘I’m not a bit
scared
.’

Right. I decided to show her.

‘Michael and Babette and Maureen stay playing with baby Brumas. They don’t notice the pack of adult polar bears trekking silently through the snow towards us.
We
see them – and in a moment they’re surrounding us, growling viciously. Oh, they’re so hungry, showing their yellow teeth. The tallest one stands up on his hind legs, grunting with the effort. I can see all his muscles tensing, ready to spring. He’s looking straight at me with crazed bloodshot eyes . . .
But
guess what, I stand firm – well, as firm as I can manage because I’m shaking all over. I call out, “You don’t want to eat me, Mr Polar Bear. You want to eat Marilyn Hide!”’

‘Who’s Marilyn Hide?’ asked Martin, laughing.

‘She’s my worst enemy at school. I really, really can’t stand her, she’s the meanest girl ever – but I’m going to show her. As soon as I say her name, she appears, standing knee-deep in the snow, screaming her silly head off – which, as any fool knows, is the worst thing you can do when confronted by a pack of vicious polar bears. So the big polar bear springs – and Marilyn is knocked right over, splat in the snow, and then the bears’ teeth snap, and within minutes there’s not much left of her. We’re all left standing clutching each other, hoping they’re completely full up now. But they’re still very lean and hungry. One gristly little girl like Marilyn isn’t going to go far. Oh, look – another bear’s standing up, sniffing the air. I think he wants a boy snack this time. Quick, Martin – he’s about to pounce. Name someone – someone you don’t like—’

‘My dad!’ said Martin.

We all gasped.

‘You can’t choose your
dad
. You don’t want him to get eaten up, do you?’ I said.

‘Yes, I do,’ Martin insisted. ‘Oh, look, there he is!
He’s
running across the snow, going “
Help help help!
” but the bears are chasing after him—’

‘It’s
my
story – you can’t do it too,’ I said. ‘OK, your dad is running like the clappers, but
whoops
, he trips, and the bears pounce. He
could
dig a hole in the snow and hide from them—’

‘No, he’s not quick enough, so the bears attack. They’re eating him – gollop, gollop, gollop, he’s all gone,’ said Martin. ‘I
like
this game.’

‘My turn now, isn’t it, Elsie?’ said Gillian. ‘I choose Miss Morgan – she’s a teacher at my old school. She’s the meanest old cow ever. When I didn’t pass my eleven plus, she said, “Serves you right, Gillian Robinson. You’ll never amount to anything.” Well, I’ll show her. Come and see the polar bears, Miss Morgan. Have they spotted her, Elsie? She’s the fat lady wearing a grey suit, and when she walks, her podgy legs rub together and her nylon stockings make this awful raspy sound.’

‘Yes, she’s there. She’s up and running,
squish squish, swish swish
– she’s easy game.
Whoops
– she’s tripped. She’s sprawling in the snow with her skirts up round her waist showing her knickers. She’s kicking those fat legs. Here go the polar bears: big fat pudding time – munch, crunch, slobber.’

‘This is brilliant!’ said Gillian. ‘Listen, Rita! Take your stupid fingers out of your ears. Who do you want the polar bears to eat?’

‘I’m not playing. I don’t like it,’ said Rita.

‘Can I play?’ said someone else.

I hauled myself up and craned my neck along the beds to see who was speaking. I didn’t think it was any of the little ones. No one else seemed to be looking at me, just Martin and Gillian. We all wrinkled our noses in puzzlement.

‘Who said that?’ asked Martin.

‘I did.’ The voice was very quiet, but distinct. It came from right at the end of our row.

Our heads swivelled. I stared at the boy, immobile in his plaster bed. ‘Did
you
speak, Angus?’ I said, astonished.

I hadn’t heard him say a single syllable before. I hadn’t thought he
could
speak. He just lay there in his plaster coffin, staring up at the ceiling. He opened his mouth when the nurses fed him, and he grunted a bit when he was being washed or wiped, but he never spoke. He didn’t join in any lessons with Miss Isles. She tried propping a board over his chest and balancing his books on top, but he didn’t read or write in them. I’d forgotten he might be a real person. He just seemed like a big boy doll stuck in the end bed.

‘Of course you can play, Angus,’ I said quickly. ‘Do you want the polar bears to eat anyone?’

‘Yes,’ said Angus. ‘Nurse Patterson.’

We all gasped and then giggled.

‘OK, Nurse Patterson it is!’ I said. ‘There she is, stamping in the snow, her ears going bright red with the cold. She doesn’t like the polar bears, she thinks they’re very naughty. She’s waving a big thermometer at them and she’s going to poke it right under their tongues like she does us – but the first polar bear bites the thermometer in two –
crunch
– and then he spits out all the little pieces of glass and raises his paw, and thwack – down goes Nurse Patterson, rolling over and over. Another bear lumbers up, and he thwacks her, and Nurse Patterson shrieks and rolls up into a little ball. The two bears are playing
tennis
with her,
thwack thwack thwack
. Oh dear, Nurse Patterson has lost her silly cap! She’s telling the bears they’re naughty, naughty boys, but
they’re
telling her she’s a naughty, naughty nursey. “Bad Nurse Patterson,” they grunt, in bear language. “We’re going to teach you a lesson, Nurse Patterson.”’