Cindy Jones (4 page)

 

“Good evening, Jacinda.” Mrs. Barry held Cindy's father's old jumper. “I thought we would return this.”

“Thanks,” Cindy stammered as she grabbed the jumper and started to close the door.

Her father's hearty chuckle and a peal of mirth from Jennifer rang out. Mrs. Barry's foot wedged into the gap of the closing door.

“Open the door, Jacinda.”

She pushed past Cindy in a wave of heavy perfume, her daughters behind her. The professor looked up and smiled as they came in and introduced Jennifer. Mrs. Barry took over the conversation completely. The pleasant atmosphere was gone.

Horace stared unblinkingly at the newcomers. His tail lashed, and his eyes got their baleful yellow light. He kept up a low bad-tempered growl.

Constance became aware of Horace glaring at her. She looked uneasy and nudged Prunella. They whispered and moved closer to their mother.

“Those cats are dangerous,” Constance burst out during a lull in the conversation.

“They should be put down.” Prunella rubbed the vivid red scratches across one of her legs.

“You don't like cats?” The professor seemed surprised.

“The girls love animals,” Mrs. Barry purred. “It's just that they were attacked by a deranged cat of that breed.”

“They shouldn't torment animals,” Cindy said loudly.

Prunella reddened. Constance looked into the distance.

Mrs. Barry arched her brows. “What a silly thing to say, Jacinda. My girls wouldn't be unkind to animals.”

“They're a beautiful pair, professor,” Jennifer said.

“Very well bred,” he said with a chuckle. “They cost a small fortune.”

“Those cats are actually worth money, Godfrey?” Mrs. Barry looked thoughtful, and a gleam came into her eyes.

“Quite a lot.”

Mrs. Barry talked, and Jennifer said less and less. Cindy was relieved when Jim knocked on the door, Hooper puffing at his heels. He followed Cindy back into the lounge room.

Constance and Prunella brightened up and started talking. Jim played tennis, and they belonged to the same club. Jim caddied at the golf course, and they were having lessons in golf.

The conversation went on and on about rock groups, bands, singers, and sometimes the names of songs. The subject of dancing came up. Yes, Jim did enjoy dancing, but he was either too busy or too tired to get to the school dances.

“What about the end of the year dinner dance?” Prunella asked.

Cindy listened, feeling more and more out of it. Everybody was talking about the end of year dinner-dance. Over the years she and her father never had attended. It was all right if you could make up a proper table with a full set of parents, family, and friends, but just one lone father and daughter couldn't fill a table.

“Wouldn't miss it,” Jim replied. “I hope you're both going to save me some dances?”

“Are you going this year, professor?” Jennifer asked.

“We've never attended before,” he confessed. “But I suppose that now Cindy is getting older…”

“Of course we're going, Godfrey,” Mrs. Barry said. “It's going to be a lovely way to celebrate our wedding eve.”

Cindy scowled. Mrs. Barry was marrying her father the day after the dinner-dance. That was only nine weeks ahead from this week!

“It should be a terrific evening,” Jennifer said. “I'm sitting at the Plumstead table.” She stood up. “Come on, Jim. It's getting late.”

There was a chorus of good-byes, and they left. Cindy closed the front door and came slowly back to the lounge room. The Barrys looked as if they were established for the night.

“Why don't you show the girls around, Jacinda,” Mrs. Barry suggested. “You will have to sort out which bedrooms you will have before the painters shift in.”

Cindy didn't want to leave her father alone with Mrs. Barry, but she also didn't want the two girls snooping through her house by themselves. She led them out of the room.

“Look, Cindy. We're really sorry we teased your stupid cat,” Constance said as soon as they had shut the door behind them.

“It was only a joke,” Prunella said.

“We really like animals,” Constance insisted.

“Jim and the other boys were furious,” Prunella added, which helped Cindy understand the reason for the apology.

“Stay away from Horace,” Cindy warned. “He's taken a set against you, and he might really attack.”

“We won't go anywhere near him, honest!” Prunella said.

“Which is your bedroom?” Constance demanded as they followed Cindy up the stairs.

Cindy then had to explain she and her father used two bedrooms each.

“How ridiculous,” Constance grumbled. “Prunella and I are squashed up in a cluttered little box at the flat, and you and your father are spread over four bedrooms!”

“What's the door at the end of the hall?” Prunella asked.

“It leads to the attic.”

“An attic. I'm going to have that,” Prunella squealed.

“I'm the oldest,” Constance retorted. “I bags it!”

“You'd have it like a pigsty,” Prunella retorted as she grabbed at the door.

Constance's heavier build gave her the advantage. She shoved through the door and up the steep stairs first. Cindy switched on the stair light and followed them.

The attic was a small room with a sloping ceiling and dormer windows. It was cluttered with empty packing cases and discarded furniture.

“It will look so quaint when it's been painted,” Constance gloated. “Why are the windows wide open?”

“For the possums.”

“What would you have possums in the house for?” Prunella asked.

“Because all the trees have been cut down and there's nowhere for them to sleep.”

“No wonder it stinks!” Constance flung the wardrobe door open more widely to look inside.

There were hissing grunts and coughs of fright. A wave of possums cascaded out of the wardrobe. First, the big old possum landed on the floor with a thud and streaked for the window. After him came the other big one, which jumped from one packing case to the other to vanish through the window.

Several smaller possums scrabbled past the shocked Constance. The last out was the baby, who misjudged its leap, landed on Constance's head, slipped down to the back of her neck, and clung tightly.

“Get if off! Get it off!” Constance shrieked.

“Stop jumping up and down. You're scaring him.”

Constance ignored Cindy's warning. She tried to brush the clinging animal from the back of her neck but couldn't reach. She fled out of the attic.

“There's a dreadful thing on my neck,” she screamed.

“Just stand still a minute,” Cindy yelled after her.

Constance scrambled down the steep stairs still shrieking. Halfway down, the small possum unhooked himself from Constance's hair and shot back up the stairs to flash through the open door of the attic.

“It's gone,” Cindy said as she grabbed Constance's arm.

Constance didn't hear or even notice. She pulled herself free and ran along the passageway, down the stairs, and into the lounge room, with Cindy and Prunella behind her.

“Get it off,” she screamed.

“What is it, Constance?” Mrs. Barry said crossly.

“Get it off. Get it off,” Constance sobbed.

“There nothing on you, silly,” Mrs. Barry snapped as she turned Constance around.

“Get it off,” Constance sobbed again.

Her wails became louder and more uncontrolled until she was screaming. She kept brushing her hands down the back of her head. Mrs. Barry reached for the glass jug in the center of the table and tipped it over Constance.

Constance stopped screaming and gasped.

“Now look what you've done,” Cindy said indignantly. “You've tipped my tadpoles all over the carpet!”

Constance blinked the water from her eyes. One last tadpole, vestigial legs trying to catch in the wool, slithered down the front of her jumper to join the others on the carpet.

“Oh!” she gasped.

Her eyes turned up in her head, and she crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

 

Over chocolate crackles and toast the next morning, the professor was reproachful.

“I'm very disappointed you were so rude last night, Cindy.”

Cindy met his eyes across the water jug of tadpoles. This morning, there was a lot more room for them. In the confusion Pearl and Horace had eaten several before Cindy managed to rescue them.

“Sorry, Dad.”

She wasn't really sorry. Nobody had invited Mrs. Barry and her daughters around to spoil their nice evening. Constance was plain stupid to cause such a fuss.

“I'm going to dig out the fish pond,” she announced, changing the subject. “Will you be able to get the fountain going? I think some of the pipes are broken.”

“There used to be a pump to recycle the water, and we had water lilies in that pond,” her father remembered. “I'll order some more pipes.”

Cindy felt more cheerful. She always looked forward to Saturday. It was her father's free day. She was going to have him to herself all day.

A car horn sounded out the front. The professor stood up and looked at his watch. “Guinevere wants me to look at wallpaper patterns.” He reached for his jacket without meeting Cindy's eyes.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“We're having dinner at Mrs. Barry's. Be there about six,” he said as he hurried out.

There was the slam of a car door. Cindy thought of all the swear words she knew and took a deep breath. Horace glared at her.

“I'm only thinking them, stupid,” she exploded. “What do you care? All you want is your breakfast.”

“Yeeoow,” agreed Horace and Pearl in chorus.

Cindy gave them their milk, cleaned up the kitchen, and took a shovel out to the fishpond, thinking hard as she worked.

She had nine short weeks to get rid of that woman. But how? Hooper snored peacefully in the shade of the lemon tree. Cindy dug and dug. The pile of rubbish by the fishpond grew steadily higher.

She wiped the sweat and dirt off her face and stared at the fishpond. The only thing left was to throw her father and Jennifer together until her father changed his mind about Mrs. Barry.

What she needed was some sort of anti-love potion so Mrs. Barry couldn't stand the sight of her father and her father couldn't stand the sight of Mrs. Barry. Perhaps she could dye her father's hair gray while he was sleeping or paint all his teeth black.

It was a pity they didn't live in the old days when you could poison off people you didn't like. Life must have been much simpler then. What was the name of the family of Italian poisoners she had read about? Barneo? Borley? Borgia?

“What are you muttering about?” asked Gretta, amused.

Gretta stood watching her. She had a white baby goat under one arm and carried a large hessian bag. Hooper came snuffling over.

“I was thinking if I was a Borgia, I could poison people I didn't like,” Cindy explained.

“Well, don't invite me around for a meal” Gretta chuckled. “How did your Irish stew turn out?”

“Very successfully. What are you doing with that gorgeous kid?”

“I need her hand fed until I can find a foster mother,” Gretta explained. “I've brought the milk powder with me.”

“No problems.”

Cindy found a bowl, and Gretta showed her how to mix the milk. The baby goat, that Cindy named Mayberry, slurped greedily. Gretta left. Cindy put Mayberry into the pen with Amanda, and continued cleaning out the fishpond, stopping to feed Mayberry every few hours.

It took nearly all day to finish cleaning the pond properly and rake away the rubbish. She filled it with water and tipped the tadpoles into their new home.

Cindy showered and changed into clean clothes. She mixed up more milk for Mayberry and went outside to feed her.

“What's that?” Prunella asked as she appeared from around the side of the garage.

“What do you want?”

“We're going the same way, so we may as well walk home together.” Prunella patted at Mayberry. “It's rather cute.”

“Do you want to feed her while I fix the other animals?” Cindy asked.

“Oh yes!” Prunella's brown eyes opened very wide.

She tilted the bowl and held it carefully until Mayberry had finished every drop.

“My father liked pets. I had a goldfish and a canary, but after he died, Mother said they were dirty and unhygienic,” Prunella confided as they walked along the street.

Cindy ignored her. Prunella veered off the subject of pets.

“Isn't Jim Plumstead just dreamy? He was really upset about Frazzle trying to tie a can to your cat's tail. Everybody will be go ape over us dancing with him at the dinner dance. What are you wearing? I've never seen you in a dress. Are you getting a new one for the dance?”

Cindy didn't bother to reply. She had outgrown all her dresses years ago. Her wardrobe consisted of jeans, tee shirts, and jumpers with a few long sleeved shirts for in-between days.

Over the dinner of roast lamb and potatoes, baby carrots, and green peas, Prunella brought the subject up again.

“Mother, Cindy hasn't got a dress to wear to the dance. Are you going to buy her a new one when we chose ours?”

Cindy glowered at Prunella. She hadn't actually admitted to Prunella that she had nothing to wear.

“Why not?” Mrs. Barry said.

“Don't put yourself out,” Cindy snapped. “I wouldn't wear anything you picked.”

"Mrs. Barry is trying to be helpful, Cindy.” The professor sounded cross.

“It's all right, Godfrey.” Mrs. Barry was all smiles. “Young girls don't like adults' taste in clothes. Prunella has plenty of clothes Jacinda can borrow.”

Cindy was silent. Mrs. Barry had scored again. She didn't want Prunella's cast-off dresses either, but it was safer not to say so. After dinner, Mrs. Barry and the professor took their coffee into the lounge room, while the girls washed the dishes.

“I really don't know why your father is taking you to the dance anyway,” Constance said with a sneer as soon as the kitchen door was shut.

“But everyone is going,” Prunella protested. “Can you dance?”

Cindy flushed, which was answer enough.

“Who cares.” Constance shrugged, inspecting a saucer she was taking a long time to dry. “No one is going to dance with a scruffy kid like her.”

The dishes were nearly finished. Cindy concentrated on washing a cup very carefully. Soon she would be able to make the excuse she had to go home to feed Mayberry.

“And I don't know why Mother offered to lend you Prunella's clothes,” Constance taunted. “They won't improve the way you look.”

“Who wants to look as silly as you?” Cindy asked.

“I didn't notice anybody asking you to save them any dances, little Miss Grubby,” Constance sniggered.

Cindy felt the heat rush up into her cheeks. Her head throbbed, and her eyes became hot and prickly.

“Grubby yourself,” she retorted as she flung the cupful of dirty sink water over Constance.

“Little pig,” Constance snarled and slapped Cindy hard across the face.

No one had ever slapped Cindy across the face or anywhere else. Her father didn't believe in corporal punishment.

“Pig yourself,” Cindy yelled and hurtled the cup towards Constance's head.

Constance ducked. The cup shattered loudly on the tiled floor. The door opened.

“Really, girls! What's this nonsense?”

Mrs. Barry's eyes were narrowed, and her mouth thinned to a straight red line. For the first time, Cindy realized that not only did she dislike Mrs. Barry, but she was also scared of her.

Her father was behind her. His eyes were fixed on the shattered white fine bone china cup on the floor. He had a stunned expression on his face.

“It's not my fault.” Constance lowered her voice and put a goody goody expression on her face. “She threw the cup at me for no reason at all.”

Everyone, even the professor, looked at Cindy as though she was the pig, and not Constance.

“I've got to feed Mayberry.” Cindy tried to keep the quaver out of her voice.

She dropped the tea towel and rushed out the front door, banging it shut behind her before she burst into tears.