The Alphabet Sisters (32 page)

A little sparkle was back in Ellen’s eyes. “Yes, Granny Wrinklehead.”

Lola squeezed her hand. “It’s Great-Granny Wrinklehead, you scalawag.”

T
he following morning Lola let Ellen sleep in. If she had been her child, the little girl would definitely have been back in school the next day. But Anna had insisted. So a day off it was.

They spent the morning together. She and Ellen had their breakfast in the motel kitchen, then Ellen helped the cleaners do a couple of the rooms, carrying in fresh linen and new packets of biscuits. Ellen seemed bright enough, Lola thought, watching her playing, but there was a tight quality about her. Tension, imminent tears.

Anna arrived home late that afternoon, driving at great speed into the carpark. Ellen had been listening for her. Lola watched with interest as she changed moods in an instant. One moment she had been playing very happily with her dolls—some complicated scenario involving one set of dolls trying to book into a motel the other set of dolls were running, but not liking the rooms. Lola had started to lose track. Then, at the sound of Anna’s car, she started crying and ran out to her mother, wailing at the top of her voice, “Mummy, Mummy.”

Anna pulled her tight and held her close, the two of them staying like that for some time. They ate dinner together, Ellen still teary, needing to be fed like a toddler. The evening before she had used a knife and fork without any problem, Lola recalled. She nearly needed to tape her mouth shut to keep the comments in. Ellen was Anna’s daughter. It was up to Anna to raise her as she saw fit, she told herself. But what if there is another, possibly better, way to approach this? she also asked herself.

Once Ellen was in bed, a tortuous enough exercise, with more tears and tantrums, Lola made a pot of tea and took it into the bar, where Anna was alone, curled up in one of the big chairs, looking at the TV, but in a dazed way. She was still a picture, Lola thought, but so slender these days, fragile even. “Anna, darling, some tea?”

Anna smiled gratefully. “You’ve come to lecture me, haven’t you? Tell me where I’m going wrong with Ellen. What a bad mother I am. That I’ve made the wrong decision taking her out of school.”

“I think you’re a wonderful mother. I think Ellen is a wonderful child. But there might be other ways to approach this situation.” She told Anna about her conversation with Ellen the previous day. As she expected, Anna wasn’t happy.

“Lola, I don’t want you to call her Princess Scar. It’s not funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny. It’s a new psychological treatment. The more you expose someone to something, the less frightened they are of it. I read about it in the paper. They do it with spiders, slowly expose someone to—”

“I don’t care if you have the backing of the Harvard Medical School. I don’t like you calling my daughter Princess Scar.”

“What about Scar?”

“Fine. You call her Scar and I’ll tell her to call you Great-Grandmother. Old Grandma. The Old Bag.”

Lola smiled. “All right. I’ll stop calling her Princess Scar. But I mean it, Anna. You can’t keep taking her out of situations each time they get tricky for her. So you take her out of this school, move her to a new one, and the same thing happens there. Then what? You take her out of there as well? Try another school? What will that do to the poor little girl, being moved in and out of schools like that?”

“You and Dad did it to the three of us all our lives.”

“Touché.” Lola smiled. “But every few years is not the same as every few weeks. And Ellen is facing different things than you three had to put up with. You need to make her stronger, braver, not more cowardly.”

“My daughter is not a coward.”

Lola held up her hand. “No, she is most definitely not. But she knows how to cry when it suits her, and she knows how to upset you.”

Anna was silent.

“She’ll get through this, Anna; she will. But you need to help her, make her brave. You can’t protect her all the time.”

Anna opened her mouth, wanting to tell Lola everything—about Glenn, about their marriage being over, about the hundreds of things she wanted to protect Ellen from. But it was too much and the words stuck in her throat.

Lola was watching, waiting, then moved over to her. “I am an interfering old woman, Anna, but I think I am right. I think Ellen has to go back to school, face them again. It’ll be for the best, you wait and see.”

“All right.” Anna’s voice was low.

“Are you sure you’re up to the rehearsals tonight? I can cancel them if you want.”

Anna smiled, a little shakily. “You know yourself. The show must go on.”

A
nna walked Ellen to school the following day. She was called back before eleven
A.M.
to collect Ellen once more. The other children had been teasing her again.

After she’d put Ellen to bed, Anna confronted Lola. “Oh, that really made her brave. Not just Scarface today, but Chicken as well, because she hadn’t been to school yesterday. And then they finished it with Crybaby, when she started crying. Shall we send her back again this afternoon so they can really finish her off, Lola? I’ll kill them. Little bastards.”

“Do they actually know what happened to her? Know why she has that scar?”

“Oh, yes. I went in and sat every single one of them down and explained that Ellen had been attacked by a dog and that things had been very rough for her and that they should be admiring her, not attacking her. Of course they don’t. Do you think I wanted to draw any more attention to her than she needed?”

“I think that’s exactly what you should do. I think you should go in and sit down and tell every one of those little bastards, as you call them, what happened to Ellen. Show them the photos. Let them ask Ellen questions. And then see what happens.”

“What good will that do?”

“I think it will help them understand.” Lola could see Anna’s hurt, and could also see her desperation. “Trust me, Anna.”

Lola rang her friend the principal that afternoon. They had a long discussion and set a time and date. She found a letter and some photos she had received from Anna several months after Ellen was attacked, showing what good progress she had made. Lola rang Frank in the electrical shop and asked him to make up several more slides as quickly as he could. Then she sat down with Anna and Ellen and put her suggestion to them.

Three mornings later, Anna stood in front of a classroom of seven-year-olds, more nervous than she had ever been onstage or in a recording studio. The teacher hushed the children, then introduced her.

“This is Anna, Ellen Green’s mother. She wants to talk to you about what happened to Ellen, and I’d like you all to listen and watch closely.”

Anna told the story simply. She showed a slide of Ellen before the attack, then explained what had happened with the dog on the day in the park. She showed slides of Ellen in the hospital, straight after the attack. Several of the children gasped. She showed another slide of a close-up of the wound. The dog’s tooth marks were obvious. She didn’t need to point them out. She showed slides from the next month or two, as Ellen went through surgery, stitches, plastic surgery, in and out of the hospital.

“That’s why Ellen has the scar on her face. It’s a sign that she survived a horrible attack from a very large dog, and I am so glad she did, because she is very precious to me, and to her father, and to her aunties, and grandparents and great-grandmother. I wanted to tell you this today so that you will understand, and I hope you will be kind to her. She is a very nice little girl.” Anna’s voice cracked slightly, and she coughed to cover it.

The teacher went outside and fetched Ellen, who had been waiting there with Lola. They had explained to her exactly what Anna would tell them, and that she would come in afterward and rejoin her class. She was very pale as she took a seat next to Anna in front of the students, nestling close, her hair in front of her face.

The teacher smiled at her, then turned to the class. “So then, children, any questions for Ellen or her mother?”

A little boy held up his hand. “What happened to the dog?”

Anna answered truthfully. “It had to be put down. That means the vet had to give it an injection to make it die, in case it did something to another child, something even worse.”

That satisfied the little boy. Another boy put up his hand. “Was there a lot of blood when it bit Ellen?”

Ellen nodded.

“There was,” Anna said. “Ellen lost so much blood that the hospital had to give her some more.”

“Did Ellen get to go in an ambulance?”

Ellen nodded again, still silent.

“Cool.”

All the questions were now being directed to Anna. “Will she always have that scar on her face?”

“We’re doing laser treatment on it at the moment.”

“Laser? Like in
Star Wars
?”

“Not quite, but they shine a special light, a laser beam, onto Ellen’s face to break down the scar tissue bit by bit. So when she’s older hopefully it won’t be so obvious.”

“Is Ellen scared of dogs now?”

To Anna’s surprise, Ellen answered. “Not all dogs. Just big dogs.”

“So you can’t have pets, then?”

“I’ve got a sheep called Bumper Baa. My Really-Great-Gran gave it to me. It’s got something called lanolin in its wool which makes your hands soft.”

The teacher was trying not to smile. “Bumper Baa? That’s a very good name for a sheep, Ellen.”

“It’s my Really-Great-Gran’s idea. She’s outside, but she told me she’d have her ear pressed against the door so she could hear everything we’re saying. She’s very old, but I heard my grandfather say she still has hearing like a bat. And my grandmother said, ‘Yes, an old bat.’ ”

They all clearly heard Lola’s laughter through the door.

A
nna was waiting at the school gates at the end of the day. She stood back a little from the other school mums, though she knew they were watching her and probably knew who she was. The principal had sent out a note to all the parents, explaining that Anna would be giving the talk, and why, asking for their help in stopping the children calling Ellen names.

The bell went and the children came streaming out. Anna recognized a couple from the class, but there was no sign of Ellen. She finally appeared, on her own. Around her there were little groups of girls and boys, in pairs and trios. Anna searched her face for tears. Nothing. “Hi, Ellie. How was the rest of the day?” She kept her tone breezy and light.

“Good, thanks.”

“Lunch was good? And recess?”

Ellen nodded. “But I’m still hungry. Can I please have an ice cream when we get home?”

“I think you can today.” No mention of the talk that morning. Anna decided not to push it either, not to ask if any of the other children had talked to her afterward, or if they had picked on her during the breaks, even though the words were burning a hole on her tongue.

They were nearly at the car when a little girl ran over, her mother a few meters behind. “Ellen, can you ask your mum now?”

Anna stopped. “Ask me what?”

The little girl spoke before Ellen. “Ellen and I were wondering if I could come and play at the motel and see the sheep one night?”

Ellen looked up at her. “I can show Hannah round, Mum, can’t I? Patrick and Samuel wanted to come, too, but I said I thought they would have to wait their turn. That was the right thing to say, wasn’t it?”

Anna leaned down and tucked Ellen’s hair behind her ears, smiling at her. “That was the perfect thing to say.”

Hand in hand, they walked over to talk to Hannah’s mother.

Chapter Eighteen

S
o how are rehearsals going?” Daniel asked.

Bett and Daniel were in the car on their way back from Martindale Hall, a nineteenth-century Georgian-style house near the small town of Mintaro. Bett had spent the morning roaming through the lavish rooms, imagining herself living in such glory and grandeur.

“Good,” she lied. No, they weren’t. The way things were going there was more chance of Lola appearing on the cover of
Vogue
than her musical being ready for its gala premiere in mid-March. “Actually, no they’re not. You might have had a lucky escape.”

“I don’t know. I’d like to have got up on stage again, as it happens.”

“Again?”

“You’re not the only child performer in this car, you know.”

“You were a child performer?”

He nodded. “Briefly. As a twelve-year-old. In my Danger Hilder days. But I wasn’t a common or garden variety street punk rocker. I had my own band.”

She saw that glint in his eye again. “Really? What were you called?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“No.”

“We were called Dangerous.”

She smiled. “Talk about scary. Did you get many gigs?”

“One.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose kindergartens don’t have big budgets for live bands at their end-of-year shows.”

“It was on a TV show, actually. A talent quest.”

She turned fully in her seat. This was getting better and better. “Did you do a cover or an original?”

“Bett, I was an alternative artist. An original, of course.”

“Would you sing it for me now?”

“No.”

“It’s a shame videos weren’t invented back then.”

“They were, actually.”

“You’ve got a tape of it?”

He nodded.

“Can I see it?”

He laughed. “Of course not.”

“Daniel, please.”

“No.”

“I beg you to let me see it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You beg me?”

“You’re going to tell me you’ve lost it, aren’t you?”

“No, it’s at home.”

“In Melbourne?”

“No, home here. In my mother’s house. I’m staying there at the moment.”

“I really would like to see it.”

He hesitated, then grinned. “All right. Have we got time now?”

“Now?”

They were a few kilometers south of the Valley town of Sevenhill. “My mother’s house is over there.”

It was a big old stone house, with a veranda running around all four sides, the roof clad in corrugated iron, painted red. They walked up a path of flagstones, well-cut grass to the left, a well-tended vegetable patch on the right. Bett noticed corn, tomatoes, watermelon, the leaves lush and green, the fruit hanging heavy. “Your mother’s a good gardener.”