The Trouble with Polly Brown (26 page)
P
OLLY HEADED TOWARD
the front door, all the time experiencing the keenest sense of dread, because she had knowingly stayed out late without having official permis sion. She also knew that as she was on ROPE and therefore confined to the castle, this could only mean further trouble for her. Polly dropped her bag in the hallway and went into the kitchen to immediately set about her tasks.
“Where have you been?” a nosy Bertha Banoffee quizzed.
“Oh, nowhere. Nowhere in particular. It's just that I needed to see a teacher about some homework that I haven't done,” Polly replied, feeling very guilty that she was not being truthful.
“Yeah, right. Pull the other leg; it's got bells on it!” responded Bertha, as she remained totally unconvinced by Polly's weak explanation, but before Bertha had the chance to challenge her further, Gailey Gobbstopper entered the kitchen area.
On seeing Polly standing there, she sidled up and gave her a quick dig in the ribs to gain her full attention. “Here, Polyester Fester, try a spoonful of this very light, mouthwatering Victoria sponge cake that I made in school today,” she said as she waved a plate under Polly's nose before quickly whisking it away. “When will you ever learn you're up against the best?” she scornfully hissed as she turned and walked away, laughing out loud.
Before Polly had any time to react to Gailey's usual spiteful behavior, there was an unexpected disturbance in the eating area of the kitchen. Polly turned on her heels just in time to see Uncle Boritz enter the kitchen area single-handedly clutching a huge silver machine that was dangerously weighing him down. Massive beads of sweat began pouring down his craggy, lined face as he continued to stagger along, desperately seeking a clear surface on which to rest the machine before he irretrievably collapsed from the physical strain. Reacting to the impending crisis, four of the boys raced over to give their help, becoming instant coffin bearers, as unburdening their struggling guardian of the monstrous machine they rested the machine on their young shoulders and slowly continued to shuffle along toward the nearest available surface.
Uncle Boritz, who was now miraculously freed from this overwhelming burden, continued his involvement by monitoring the boys' every movement. He stopped only to pull a large handkerchief from his pocket and began to mop his dripping brow with one hand while his other was used to direct the boys as to where to head with his new and very precious cargo. Finally the boys were able to off-load the huge mystery appliance onto a table that just seconds earlier had been quickly cleared of all clutter.
Polly observed that Uncle Boritz was so overcome with excitement at his new find that her absence had rather miraculously gone unnoticed. The next thirty minutes were then spent with all the foster children racing backward and forward to get whatever ingredient or implement he bellowed out as he tried hard to read from the tatty, yellowing instruction manual that appeared to accompany the huge mysterious contraption.
Polly chose to stand to one side watching on in amazement, at the same time feeling deeply liberated by her snatched time with Will and grateful that due to her uncle's latest acquisition, this gothic monstrosity had undoubtedly saved her from further punishment.
Finally Uncle Boritz produced a large brown cardboard box, which, once opened, revealed hundreds of stacked-up ice cream cornets that were shaped like large sea shells.
“My precious little poppets, I have just had the good fortune of being given this wonderful, magical ice cream machine, and I might add that as it was so generously donated, it has come at absolutely no cost to my good self.”
“Ooh!” they all cried, their eyes out on stalks as they dreamed of what was about to happen.
“So for tonight, and tonight only, feel free to feast on as much ice cream as your young hearts desire and your bellies dictate.”
Great gulps of sheer disbelief as well as gasps of delight circled the room as the children repeated his offer over and over, for they could hardly believe their ears. They rarely got to taste ice cream, as it was considered so expensive. And on the last count there had been more foster children than ever, so with more mouths to feed, ice cream was indeed rarely on the menu.
There had been an occasion near Easter when, as a treat, they were surprised to be taken to the cinema to see the latest biblical epic that had just made it to the box office. The drive to the cinema had been long, with all the children packed into the back of the van like sardines, so by the time they arrived at the cinema, they were already feeling hot and frazzled, as well as hungry and thirsty.
They begged over and over to be allowed a small drink or ice cream, but Uncle Boritz was having none of it. The excuse behind his blatant refusal was simple. It was Lent, and that, according to the Catholic calendar, was not a time for indulging the flesh with any form of earthly creature comfort. Oh no, for according to Uncle, as well as the saints in heaven but on standby, this time in the calendar was a rather splendid opportunity for the now-listless children to consider and then commit themselves to a torturous afternoon of self-denial and suffering. And so they were given no choice but to sit through three and a half hours of cinematic excellence with throats as parched as sandpaper seemingly peppered with brick dust as they witnessed all other children in the crowded theater dip into tubs of tantalizing toffee-laced ice cream and thickly covered chocolate ice cream bars. Even more aggravating was to be forced to listen to the sound of endless children slurping and burping as they guzzled down even larger volumes of fizzy soda, stopping only to lazily stretch over to fill the empty vacuum of their mouths with fistfuls of butter popcorn from large boxes that were conveniently situated on the arm rests for their immediate disposal.
Any attempts to be Christlike were immediately vanquished, as murderous jealously consumed the heart of each and every desperate child that day in the cinema. Try as they might, they found it nigh impossible to concentrate on the movie, or anything else for that matter, as they endured three or more hours of distressingly annoying noise that came from children undoing one irritating sweet wrapper after another, while their tongues had long been forced to cleave to the roofs of their mouths, so dire was their need for liquid refreshment. Polly could not speak on behalf of the others, but by the time the credits rolled, she felt totally ready for martyrdom or otherwise inclined to commit a murder or two!
So what they had all believed would be a wonderful impromptu visit to the cinema had quickly turned in to a most harrowing affair that did little to help Polly or any of the other children fully appreciate the deeper meaning of Easter.
As a result of that specific bygone occasion, as well as many other equally distressing events, she could easily be forgiven for seriously questioning whether she or any of the others had heard right. For was Uncle Boritz really handing out such an invitation, which actually encouraged them all to eat as much ice cream as they cared to? Polly stood amongst the small minority that chose to cautiously hold back. What was the hidden snag? There surely had to be a hidden price tag, for never, as a rule, did he willingly and freely give anything away for the pure joy of giving. So like many of the other children, she felt very unnerved and therefore cautious by this unexpected act of overwhelming generosity.
The younger children gave no serious thought to the matter, as they instantly responded by hurriedly placing themselves in a most orderly line; after all, they had little time for questioning anything when free ice cream was on the menu. Finally, the remaining children, against their better judgment, decided to throw all caution to the wind and so went forward to help themselves to a shell from the large box before returning to join the lineup of very exhilarated children as they too waited with bated breath for their turn to finally arrive.
Some of the more impatient children were unable to endure the lengthy wait, as the tap on the silver contraption filled up each cone with freezing ice far too slowly for their liking. So by the time they reached the machine of constantly flowing milky ice cream, their edible shells had long disappeared into their hungry bellies, forcing them to either lose their rightful place in the line or cup their hands in a desperate bid to still get their fair claim of a pile of thick, freezing liquid. Then with the ice cream swirled into mountainous peaks in the shellâor melting fast in the cupped but hot, sticky palms of grubby handsâthey made their way to the back of the line to merrily demolish the ice cream. With the ice cream gone and white mustache lips, they once more impatiently waited for their turn to come around again.
Polly had never seen anything like it, but as she secretly admitted to feeling very hungry, she hoped it would be all right to help herself to a cone shell and join the end of the queue. She also prayed that, as Uncle Boritz appeared to be in a temporary state of euphoria, he would forget that she was on ROPE and that punishment meant she was exempt from all family treats. Luckily for Polly, he was so caught up with the moment that he failed to notice her standing alongside the other children as she waited for her turn to come 'round. The same applied where Gailey was concerned, for Polly knew that if Gailey even caught sight of Polly with a cornet in her hand, it was almost certain she would immediately alert Uncle Boritz and get her removed from the kitchen. Happily, Gailey was so overtaken with elation that she too failed to compute that Polly was surreptitiously joining in on the treat.
The large box of cones took an age to empty, as child after child, time after time, joyfully dipped their hand in the box, pulled out a cornet, and after a refill then made his or her way to the back to join the long line once more as they gobbled down this unexpected, luscious treat.
At approximately 9:00 p.m. Greenwich meantime, the overworked and thoroughly exhausted ice cream machine found itself struggling to continue on with any further demands as it forced out the last dollop of frozen milky ice before a flashing light signaled complete shutdown. Amazingly, there were no cries of despair to be heard, for if the truth be known, every child, who much earlier in the evening had been wildly elated, was now on the kitchen floor clutching his or her extended belly, facing the ordeal of coping with hideously agonizing stomach cramps. Many of the children were belching loudly before becoming physically sick as they rolled around on the floor curled up in pitifully tight balls as they sought desperately to minimize the intensely excruciating pain that comes from eating too much.
Uncle Boritz stood to one side, his arms folded soberly, a look of great consternation belying his true feelings as he stood watch over the poor, pathetic-looking creatures who now rather haphazardly littered the floor.
Sad as it may seem, young Polly was amongst those wretches lying facedown on the floor curled up in a tight ball as she writhed around in pure gut-wrenching agony. At one point she unexpectedly found herself looking up at the smug face of Uncle Boritz, only to find herself having disturbing flashes of Soogara, the wicked Candy Cotton Queen. “Oh my goodness,” she cried, feeling completely overwhelmed by remorse. “How could I allow this to happen to me again? Wasn't the first time enough?' she cried as she curled into an even tighter ball, anguished tears squeezing through her tightly closed eyelids before escaping down her hot, burning cheeks. As the pain continued to intensify, she thought back to her horrendous ordeal in the dungeon and how, when she had given up all hope, darling and very brave Napoli Bonaparti had come to her rescue.
“Will I ever truly learn?” she whispered, all the while privately rebuking herself for being such a stupid fool while clutching herself tighter still as the griping pains grew steadily worse.
Uncle Boritz carefully stepped over the bodies of the children as they continued to roll around the floor racked by agonizing pain that was steadily becoming more unbearable by the minute. He then chose to hover in the midst of them as he fumbled about in his trouser pocket, jangling around some loose change. He then began to shake his head.
“Tut tut tut. Disgraceful! Oh, how beastly for all you little sugar lumps, for you really must learn to take control of your insatiable lust for food once and for all,” he said as an amused look came to settle on his face. “For you would think that by now I would have successfully drummed it into your thick numbskulls that gluttony is considered one of the seven most deadly and wicked sins, one that inevitably has dire consequences, such as you all are now rather sadly experiencing,” he admonished as he coldheartedly moved forward to crush the cardboard cone box underfoot. “Let's hope that the long night ahead will give you all adequate time to reflect on your gross and greedy behavior,” he spat.
Two fierce stomps of his shoe were all that was needed to completely flatten the large, empty cornet box. He then gave it a contemptuously hearty kick across the floor. Pitstop followed at his master's heels, his tongue hanging down as he festooned both the floor as well as the severely pain-racked children with his usual trail of slithery, slimy drool.
