Queenie (34 page)

Moira didn’t say much, and I was sure she thought Rita as boring as I did – but when her own mum and dad came visiting, she announced that Rita was her friend.

‘
See!
’ said Rita, nodding at me.

Moira still didn’t let her borrow her bracelet though.

Our beds were rearranged all over again. Rita was
put
next to Moira, Maureen was tucked up beside Michael, Gillian and Ann stayed side by side, and I got to be next to Angus.

‘You can tell me stories all you want, Elsie,’ said Angus in his quiet Scottish burr.

So that was when a whole new series of stories started, just for Angus and me. I made them up each night for our own private consumption. We climbed up on Queenie when it was dark and circled the moon.

‘We’ll land there, on Moon Mountain,’ I said.

‘We’ll need special spacesuits and heavy lead shoes, because the moon hasn’t got any gravity,’ said Angus.

‘What’s gravity?’

‘No gravity means there’s no Earth’s pull – that’s what it says in
The Boys’ Book of Space
. You can’t stay on the ground, you just bounce around in the air,’ he said. ‘
Boing boing boing
.’

‘Well, we go
boing boing boing
, all over the moon, the three of us. It’ll be like jumping on the biggest mattress in the world. And when we get hungry, we’ll break off a piece of moon rock and nibble on it. It’s cold, like an ice lolly, but when we’ve sucked it inside, it’s all freezing and tingly like lemonade powder. Then, when we’re tired of bouncing on the moon, we jump back on Queenie and she flies us to one of the other planets.’

I wasn’t sure what they
were
, but Angus had read his space book and filled me in on the details. I especially liked the sound of Saturn, with the rings running right round it.

‘They’ll be just like a gigantic slide at a fun fair,’ I said. ‘We’ll sit on one and push off, and go whizzing round at top speed –
wheeee wheeee!
’

‘
Wheeee wheeee
,’ said Angus.

‘For goodness’ sake, how old are you –
three
?’ said Gillian. ‘What’s all this boring
wee wee
rubbish?’

‘They’re just silly little twerps,’ said Ann.

‘Who cares what
they
think,’ I said to Angus. ‘Now, we’ve slid all the way back to Earth – and Queenie’s ready for another adventure. “Climb on my back, dear twerpy ones,” she purrs. We’re still a little chilly from the icy planets, but her fur is lovely and warm. She’s like a great big hot-water bottle, but we’re still a bit shivery all the same. “I think I’d better take you somewhere warm,” she says, and she leaps up in the air and we fly right over the sea. The sun starts to get very hot, almost burning, but we’re OK in our pyjamas. I’ve got new cat pyjamas,
much
better than Rita’s, and you can have tartan pyjamas seeing as you’re Scottish. We see all this dense green land underneath us, with immensely tall trees, and we hear the strangest animal noises – a lot of roaring and birds calling and monkeys chattering.
Come
on, Angus – be all the animals in the jungle.’

Angus joined in obligingly, extra loud to annoy Gillian and Ann.

‘That’s right, and now we hear another noise – it echoes right through the trees.’ I took a deep breath. ‘
Arh-arh-arh-arh-arh-aaarh!
’

‘Tarzan!’ Angus whooped delightedly. ‘Oh, let me be Tarzan!’

‘OK, you’re Tarzan, but I’m not that soppy Jane. I’m Elsie the lion tamer – all the lions and tigers and leopards just circle me lovingly, wanting to be stroked, and Queenie’s queen of all the big cats, and they all bow down to her. They hold a big feast for us.’

‘What sort of feast? Lions and tigers and leopards eat zebras and wildebeests,’ said Angus.

‘They make us a special vegetarian feast – lots of fruit from the trees, and nuts and birds’ eggs, with creamy milk for Queenie, and then, when the moon comes up, Queenie stands there glowing white, and all the big cats throw back their heads and
roar
 . . .’

Angus roared so loudly that Nurse Bryant came running, convinced he was urgently yelling for help.

Angus’s mum and dad started to bring
me
sweets and little toys on Saturdays.

‘You’ve been so kind to our wee boy. He thinks the world of you,’ said his mum.

I’d almost given up on
my
mum – but she suddenly
appeared
one Saturday, her hair longer and lovelier than ever. She was wearing a powder-blue costume, the jacket very low cut at the front so that you could see the pink lace of her petticoat. The skirt had a big split at the back. I thought she’d had an accident and said straight away, ‘Mum, you’ve torn your skirt! Look – it’s showing all your
leg
.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Elsie, don’t be so thick. It’s supposed to be like that. It’s French tailoring, absolutely tip top – see the fit?’ She smoothed the material that stretched tautly over her round hips. ‘Anyway, what a way to say hello! Aren’t you pleased to see your mummy after all this time?’

‘Yes, Mum,’ I said. She was acting as if it were
my
fault she hadn’t visited for ages.

‘I’ve been very, very busy. I’ve had a promotion! I’ve even done a little travelling abroad!’ Mum said proudly. ‘One trip to Paris and another to Amsterdam, seeing if their stationery shops wanted to stock Perkins Pens. I
flew
there, Elsie!’

I stared at her, for one mad moment imagining that she’d grown powder-blue wings to match her costume and flapped her way across the Channel. Then common sense took over. ‘You went on a
plane
, Mum? Weren’t you frightened?’

‘You bet I was. Absolutely terrified. I clutched Perky’s arm so hard he had bruises all over it the next day.’

‘Perky?’

‘Oh, it’s just my little nickname for Mr Perkins,’ said Mum, giggling.

He was definitely an uncle now.

‘In fact, I’ll be going on another trip with Perky soon – a really, really big one. Guess where, Elsie!’ said Mum.

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,
guess
, I said. I’ll give you a clue . . .Think maple leaves! Think Mounties!’

I stared at her blankly.

‘Oh Elsie! Your brain’s addled because you’ve been in hospital so long,’ she said impatiently. She lowered her voice and hissed, ‘I’m going to Canada!’

‘Canada!’ I declared, astonished.

‘Yes, only keep your voice down. You mustn’t tell anyone. It’s all very hush-hush. I’m going with Perky, see. He wants to open up a new factory there – start a new line. He’s going global!’ Mum giggled. ‘And so am I!’

‘Is Mrs Perkins going too?’

‘No, that’s the whole point.
I’ll
be Mrs Perkins in all but name once we’re out there,’ said Mum.

‘What does Nan say?’ I asked. Nan usually said a great deal when Mum went off with anyone.

‘What sort of fool do you think I am? I’ve not told her. I haven’t seen her. I told you, she’s too poorly for
visitors
. Poor Nanny,’ said Mum, but she didn’t look too sad. ‘Don’t pull that silly face, Elsie. Nanny’s an old, old lady and I don’t think she can get better now, not with her lungs all over TB.’

‘She will get better, she will!’ I said, tears dribbling down my cheeks.

‘All right, if you know best, miss, of course,’ said Mum. ‘Now stop that silly fuss and see what I’ve got you.’ She snapped open her handbag and brought out a little thin box, the sort you kept jewellery in. I stared at it through blurry eyes. I was still sobbing my heart out for Nan, but I couldn’t help wondering what it was. Could it possibly be a silver charm bracelet like Moira’s?

It wasn’t a charm bracelet. It wasn’t any kind of jewellery. It was a silver Perkins pen.

‘It’s our deluxe edition, the very best,’ said Mum. ‘See, I’ve even had your name engraved on the barrel. They’ve done it all fancy with flourishes, Elsie. Well, what do you say? Isn’t it lovely?’

‘Yes,’ I said, in a very small voice.

‘What was that?’ said Mum, cupping her ear.

‘Yes, thank you, Mum.’

‘That’s better. You’re a very lucky girl. Those pens aren’t made for children, you know. You’ve got a notebook, haven’t you? You can write down all your stories now. And write to me if you like, though I
haven
’t got an address sorted out just yet. We’ll stay in a hotel first, and then Perky will probably rent a place. Hey, come on now. Are you crying because I’m going away?’

I nodded.

‘Well, don’t worry, it’s not going to be
permanent
– just for a few months, till Perky gets the new business up and running.’

‘A few
months?
’ I said, suddenly frightened.

‘Yes, but there’s no need to fuss. You’re safely looked after here in hospital, aren’t you? It’s the ideal time for me to take this opportunity.’

‘But – but what will happen to me when I get better?’ I said.

‘I’ll be back by then,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, you’re in a right mood today. Cheer up! I thought you’d be happy for me. You mustn’t be selfish, Elsie.’

‘You
will
come back, won’t you, Mum?’ I said.

‘Of course I will. I promise.’ She said it looking straight into my eyes – but she’d broken heaps of promises before.

RITA STARTED TO
get better next. She was surprisingly quick to be up and walking, and it wasn’t long before they told her she could leave the hospital. She looked so different in her going-home clothes. Her mum had bought her a new blue Vyella dress with smocking, a beige tweed coat and a beige velour hat to go with it. She even had new matching footwear: pale blue socks and big beige shoes like boats to keep her upright. I couldn’t help being glad that her beautiful outfit was a little spoiled by her orthopaedic shoes – and then I
felt
deeply ashamed because Rita clumped over to my bed in her new shoes and handed me a soft little parcel folded round and round like a Swiss roll.

‘It’s my cat pyjamas. I don’t want them any more,’ she said.

I gave her a hug and wished I’d been a better friend to her. I wondered if I should try to be a good friend to Moira, who was missing Rita terribly – but the moment little Michael went home she palled up with Maureen. I was relieved, because I didn’t really
like
Moira much. I was very happy to stay best friends with Angus.

He was a truly good friend, my third favourite person ever. Nan was still my number one, and Nurse Gabriel second. I loved Queenie too, very much indeed. Sometimes I rearranged Nurse Gabriel and Angus, and had Queenie second after Nan. Mum didn’t get a look in now.

I wasn’t prepared for
Angus
to get better. Somehow I’d assumed he’d have to stay immobile on his back even when they cut him out of his plaster cast. He’d always seemed so much worse than any of us. He had regular X-rays, and Sir David told him that the bones in his spine were starting to heal. He was allowed out of his plaster bed at long last, though he had a splint instead. Miss Westlake got to work on his legs, and he actually started to walk. He could only manage little
jerky
robot steps, inches at a time – but he was definitely mobile.

‘Well
done
, Angus! Hey, you’ll be running soon. Playing football. Doing your daft Scottish dancing. All sorts,’ I said, and I clapped him until he blushed scarlet.

‘Good girl, Elsie,’ Nurse Gabriel murmured on Sunday. ‘I know you must envy Angus terribly. You’ll really miss him when he goes home.’

‘I will,’ I said, my voice wobbly.

‘Still, never mind, dear. It’ll be your turn soon,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘I’ve had a look at your latest X-rays. That naughty old knee looks much healthier. Not too long now.’

This news set my stomach churning.

‘Cheer up, sweetheart! You’re doing really well. You’ll be home before Christmas, just as I promised,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

‘But maybe Mum won’t be back then,’ I whispered.

‘What’s that?’

‘She said not to tell,’ I said.

‘You can tell me,’ said Nurse Gabriel, taking hold of my hand.

‘Mum’s gone to Canada.’

‘
What?
Canada! Are you
sure?
’

‘It’s all hush-hush. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Nurse Gabriel?’

‘When’s your mum coming back from this holiday then, Elsie?’

‘It’s not a holiday, it’s work. I don’t know when she’ll be back. I don’t really mind – it’s Nan who always looks after me, but now Mum says Nan’s too poorly. Mum acts like Nan’s never going to get better.’

‘Don’t you worry about it, Elsie,’ said Nurse Gabriel, putting her arm round me. ‘I’m sure your mum will be back long before you’re ready to go home. But perhaps you should write to her, so she knows you’re making really good progress.’

‘I would write, but she’s never sent me her address,’ I said.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘Well, never mind. I’m sure she must have left a forwarding address with someone. Maybe she’s written to Sister Baker and told her. Don’t dwell on it, Elsie.’

She gave me a purple chocolate nut caramel from the sweet tin, my favourite, and when the bell went for the end of visiting hours, she scooped Queenie up and popped her onto my bed. ‘There – you give Queenie a little cuddle,’ she said.