Queenie (23 page)

‘Is it a big gun? I don’t really like guns,’ Maureen said anxiously. ‘I don’t like it when they go bang.’

‘No, it’s not a gun – it’s far too big and bulky for a
gun
. It’s like a big solid rectangle, but there are lots of funny round things chinking inside the parcel too.’

‘What is it? What is it?’ Maureen squealed.

‘It’s a toy stove, with a little door that really opens and a dish you can put inside, and there’s a whole set of silver saucepans, and all sorts of other cooking things, even a little wooden rolling pin, so you can make lots of dinners for all your dollies.’

‘Oh, how
lovely
. I’ve wanted one of them for ages,’ said Maureen.

‘Now, let’s get the parcel rolling again. It’s a little bit lighter now – and hey, the music stops already. You’ve got the parcel now, Babette. Unwrap it quick before the music starts again,’ I said.

‘Do I have a present too? Is it a cooking stove like Maureen’s?’ Babette asked.

‘Well, take a look, silly. Off with the paper . . .Here, I’ll help – and what’s this tumbling out? I don’t think it can be a cooking stove, it’s too small and soft. Pull the paper away. What’s that? It’s an
ear
– a long blue ear, and there’s another one! It’s a bunny, Babette. A blue toy bunny with a pink nose, and he’s got a dark blue knitted jumper and bright red trousers with a little hole at the back for his fluffy tail to poke through. Do you like him?’

‘Yes, I absolutely love him. I’ll call him Bobs Bunny and give him carrots to eat.’

‘Maureen can cook the carrots for him on her stove,’ I said. ‘Oh, the music’s starting! Pass the parcel quick! It’s still pretty bulky, but roll it round carefully – we don’t want to break anything.’

‘Is it my turn now?’ asked Rita. ‘The music’s stopped and
I’ve
got the parcel—’

‘No, they’re still playing – can’t you hear them?’ I said firmly. ‘You mustn’t cheat, Rita. Pass the parcel to Gillian – OK, now it’s stopped!’

‘I’m a bit old for toys,’ said Gillian.

‘I don’t think this is a toy. It’s quite big, like a box, and you can feel a clasp through the paper. Can you guess?’

‘Is it a chest to keep my things in?’

‘Open it up and see!’

‘This is a
weird
game,’ said Gillian. ‘OK, I’ve got the paper off.’

‘Look – it’s a blue box with a gold clasp and a handle sticking out at the side. Better open it, Gillian. What’s inside? Oh goodness, it’s not an ordinary box. It’s got a round table thingy inside, and a little arm with a needle—’

‘It’s a gramophone!’ cried Gillian. ‘My own gramophone!’

‘So you can play your dance records as often as you like. You play your Bill Haley records so much we all yell at you, but you don’t care. You just dance to the
music
. Oh, the little people are starting up
their
music again.’

‘It’s my turn now,’ said Rita. ‘I want a gramophone too! Oh please, let me have my very own gramophone, Elsie.’

‘It’s not me that works the birthday magic, Rita. It’s the little people – they decide when to stop the music. They want to give everyone a turn, but they don’t like rude girls and boys begging for it to be their go. They might just decide to make you last now,
if
they’ve still got a present for you. I should shut up if I were you,’ I warned her.

Rita did as she was told. She even put her hands over her mouth. I felt a bit mean, then – but it was a good feeling too, having such power over Rita, power over
everyone
.

‘OK, there’s the music. It’s such a lovely tune, and we roll the parcel. Do you know, it’s still
ever
so big. What on earth can be inside? Pass it round. Don’t hang onto it, Rita! Round it goes. Oh Michael, the music’s stopped and you’ve got hold of it. Quick, scrabble at the wrapping paper. Rip it off – use both hands,
that’s
the way. Oops, watch out, here’s something very heavy, and I can see shiny red, and there are wheels and a handlebar. Can you see what it is, Michael?’

‘Is it a bike?’ he whispered.

‘Yes, it’s a brand-new bike for you, Michael.’

‘Is it a trike with three wheels like my one at home?’ asked Michael. ‘Or – or is it a big boy’s bike?’

‘It’s definitely a big boy’s bike, but it’s a specially small size, so you can reach the pedals easily. Get on, quick! Let’s see if you can ride it.’

‘I won’t fall, will I, like I fell off my brother’s bike?’

‘Of
course
you won’t fall – and it won’t matter if you do, because the grass in Birthday Land is so soft and thick it’s just like jumping on your bed. You bounce straight up again. But you’re not falling . . .you get your balance straight away, and off you go, round and round, so quickly we all get giddy – but
you
don’t, Michael, you keep going. We all cheer you, and – oh my goodness, you raise your hands above your head and pump them up and down in the air. You don’t even wobble then – you’re a brilliant bike rider! You’ll be riding the Wall of Death in a fairground quite soon. Speedy Mike, that’s what we’ll all call you.’

Michael laughed and laughed and went ‘
Wheeee
!’

‘Now, the parcel’s much smaller now, and lighter. We can just about throw it to each other. The music is quicker, and we pass the parcel in time to the beat. Sometimes it stops for a moment, and I tear at the paper—’

Rita gives a little moan.

‘But the music always starts again before I can get the layer off. It stops for Martin—’

‘It’s not fair, he’s had his go! He had his gun!’ Rita wailed.

‘And Martin scrabbles hard, but the paper is all stuck down with paste now and it won’t tear off easily – and
goodness
, there’s string around the next layer. Rita pulls at it when the music stops.’

‘Oh!’

‘She has to unpick the knots but she’s too impatient. The music starts again. Around we go—’

‘You’re doing this
deliberately
, Elsie. You’re being so mean,’ said Rita. ‘I’m not playing any more. I’m not listening. I’m sticking my fingers in my ears, see? La-la-la!’

‘Oh dear, that’s a shame, Rita, because I’m pressing the parcel right into your hands and the music’s stopped.’

‘La-la-la . . .You’re just teasing, I know.’

‘And you say you’re not playing, but your hands are tearing at the wrapping paper. You simply can’t resist, and then
suddenly
—’

‘The music starts up again – how did I guess?’ Rita snapped.

‘No, no, the band is silent. All the little birthday people are staring at you, eyes shining. We’re all waiting, and
there
, in your hands, is a shiny crimson
enamel
box – round, in the shape of an apple, with a dear little green stalk clasp. You shake the little box and it
rattles
. I wonder what’s inside . . .’

‘Old apple cores and apple pips?’ said Martin.

‘Go and play with your gun, you silly boy. Of course it’s not. Open the clasp quick, Rita. We’re all dying to see what’s inside. Oh! Oh my goodness!’

‘What?
What?
’ said Rita.

‘You’re opening it – very carefully so nothing will spill – and it’s full of jewellery . . .
real
jewels. There’s a gold necklace with a little heart and the letter R picked out in tiny red rubies.’

‘Rubies!’ Rita whispered.

‘And there are rings, one for every day of the week, set with different stones: a ruby to match your necklace, then an emerald, a sapphire, a yellow topaz, a pearl, and an amethyst – and a great big sparkly diamond to wear for best on Sunday,’ I said.

‘Here, why does Rita get all the jewels? They must cost heaps and heaps more than a toy gun,’ said Martin.

‘Because she wanted them more. And don’t tell me you want to swap your gun for a lot of necklaces and rings.’

‘No fear!’ he said. ‘I was only commenting.’

‘Thank you
so
much, Elsie,’ said Rita, her arm in the air, admiring her invisible jewellery.

‘Don’t thank me, thank the birthday people,’ I said. ‘We’re still playing. The music starts—’

‘What are you going to give yourself, Gobface? I bet it’ll be pink,’ said Martin.

‘It might not be my turn,’ I said. ‘We’re passing the parcel again, all of us. Come on, you lot. Stop playing with your presents. You’ve got to join in too, Angus, so put down your tomahawk for a moment.’

‘Oh, I always forget Angus,’ said Martin tactlessly.

‘The birthday people don’t forget him. In fact, they’ve got a special present in store for him. I wonder what it can be, because the parcel’s quite small now.’

‘It could be your turn, Elsie. Maybe you’ve got diamond jewellery too?’ said Rita.

‘That would be lovely but— Oh, the music’s stopped, and we’ve both got our hands on the present. It’s a big box with a skull and crossbones on it. I pull it and Angus pulls it, and we hear a little rattling inside, and one of the birthday people goes “Careful, children – that parcel’s dangerous!” So I let go of it, a bit scared, but Angus hangs onto it and opens the lid, and it’s a chemistry set with lots of little test tubes and bottles and jars, and a tiny book telling you how to do all these experiments. Angus, you can make itching powder!’

‘I can sprinkle it all over Nurse Patterson!’ he said.

‘And you can create your own fireworks. You can even make a bomb!’

‘Yes, you can blow her up too!’ said Martin. ‘Can I have a go with your chemistry set? I’ll let you have a shot with my gun.’

‘Can you make powder with your chemistry set, Angus? Powder and lipstick? I’ll have some of them if you can,’ said Gillian.

‘OK. And maybe there’s a way to crystallize rocks. If so, I’ll make you some more jewellery, Rita,’ said Angus. ‘What can I make for you, Elsie?’

‘You can make me some rose perfume. That would be lovely,’ I said.

‘It’s your turn with the parcel now, Elsie,’ said Gillian. ‘Get them little people to start up the music.’

‘Yes, they’re playing, and we send the parcel round and round again. We can toss it one-handed, it’s so light – almost
too
light. Maybe we’ve had all the presents and there’s absolutely nothing left?’

‘Oh no!’ said Babette.

‘No, no,’ said Maureen. ‘That’s not fair. You
must
get a present, Elsie. Or you can share some of my saucepans. You can even have my little rolling pin.’

‘She’ll have her own present – won’t you, Elsie?’ said Gillian. ‘Go on, the music’s stopped. Open it!’

‘Yes, all right. The band plays a long final chord, and as the music fades I scrabble at the parcel. It’s
difficult
because I’ve got bitten nails – look – but I very carefully nip the last bit of paper with my teeth, and then the tiniest little ornament tumbles out.’

‘What’s a ornament?’ asked Maureen.

‘It’s a boring china thingy like a crinoline lady,’ said Martin. ‘My mum has some in a cabinet. What did you want one of them for, Elsie?’

‘This isn’t a china crinoline lady! This is a teeny weeny golden Coronation coach pulled by eight pearly grey horses stepping out grandly, each little leg the size of an eyelash.’

‘But you’ve already
got
one of them. What do you want another for?’ asked Martin.

‘I haven’t got one like
this
. I hold my palm out flat, and the little coach and horses glow and glow, so brightly it’s like I’ve got the whole sun in my hand. It’s burning me, so I set it down very gently on the ground. It’s started
humming
now, and as we watch, we see the horses’ legs start to
move
, making the tiniest clacking sound with their weeny hooves – and then the coach and horses start getting bigger and bigger. In a flash they’re life-size – and I peer into the coach, and there’s this smiley lady wearing a crown.’

‘The Queen!’ Rita gasped.

‘Yes, it’s the Queen, in a white dress with that blue ribbon sash, and she’s got a gold crown set with
diamonds
on top of her brown curls. She’s waving at me – she’s waving at all of us. We’d better curtsey – and you boys bow.’

There’s a lot of bashful giggling going on.

‘Ssh! You have to pay the Queen some respect!’ I said sternly. ‘She’s leaning out of the window. She’s beckoning to me. “Hello, little girl!” she says, in such a posh voice. “Would you like a lift in my carriage?”

‘So I bob another curtsey and say, “You bet, Your Majesty,” and I open the gold door and climb into the carriage beside her.

‘“We’ve room for one more,” says the Queen.’

‘Me! Oh, take me!’ said Rita.

‘I wish I could take you, but the Queen says it has to be a relative to look after me.’

‘Are you taking your mum?’ asked Martin.

‘No fear! I’m taking my nan. There she is, running in her best coat and hat. She tries to do a curtsey too, but it’s a bit wobbly. The Queen doesn’t mind a bit though. She says, “How do you do, Mrs Kettle. I’ve been longing to meet you. Kindly hop up into my carriage.”

‘So Nan gets in beside me, and the Queen says, “Right, let’s go to my Coronation!” and off we go!’

‘I HEAR YOU
tell very good stories, Elsie,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

I looked up at her anxiously. Now I was for it.