Washy and the Crocodile (10 page)

“You've found him,” said Evie, and she went down and hugged the stranger over the gate, still with her rucksack on, whilst Otto put away his handkerchief and stopped pretending that he had something in his eye, and experienced the happiest moment of his life—although he didn't know it at the time.

“You must be Charlie,” said Evie.

“And you're not too early for tea,” said Jack. “Do come and join us!” And they all laughed, especially Uncle Otto, who seemed really quite nervous and didn't seem to know what to say to the new arrival at all. And Mummy smiled to herself and went into the kitchen and made the tea without saying a word.

Uncle Otto offered Charlie a plum fresh from the tree and she said yes, only it turned out that he'd eaten them all, and that made him feel very silly, and Charlie said it didn't matter at all, it really didn't, and she reached up and kissed him on the cheek where he stood by the tree still feeling very silly, and everyone could see that she was a really nice girl and just right for Uncle Otto who had been a widower for far too long. And Evie, who was a very imaginative little girl, wondered if she was finally going to be chief bridesmaid, and what her mother would say if she dressed all the other bridesmaids in liquid amber, and whether Washy would come over and give the bride away.

She thought Washy, who was very tall and really very handsome if he combed his hair, would look quite splendid in morning dress, even if the wedding were in the afternoon. He could bring his friend the wombat, and all the other wombats, of course, and then they would all need somewhere to stay, and the cottage was very nice but very small, and she supposed that perhaps she could share her bedroom with Mrs Wombat, although she wasn't quite sure what it was like to share a bedroom with a wombat, and really, this was going to take a very great deal of planning!

Meanwhile, Uncle Otto had stopped feeling silly and was gazing into Charlie's eyes as if he had never seen a girl before, or certainly not a girl as pretty as this one; and Charlie had taken off her enormous rucksack and placed it carefully on the ground and had opened it up and was taking out presents for everyone and Evie was so pleased with her present that she forgot all about the wedding for at least a minute.

“Are you going to teach dance over here?” She asked Charlie.

“I hope so,” said Charlie. “But I don't have any pupils yet.”

Jack looked up, and spoke before he could stop himself. This was the opportunity of a lifetime!

“You could teach me, if you like,” he spoke a little bashfully. He swallowed hard. “I've always been interested in ballet. Haven't I, Evie?” They all laughed, and they were all set to go on laughing when suddenly they stopped dead.

Sophie had arrived unannounced, and she was opening the gate and coming up the path to greet them.

Only she wasn't limping any more; and she didn't have any sticks.

She was gliding.

Like a ballerina.

It was a glorious morning in early summer, when they felt that nothing could go wrong and it was a joy to be alive. It was the sort of day, in fact, when Daddy would have insisted that they all set out on a good long walk.

Daddy had always been very energetic. Daddy was a soldier. Or rather, thought Jack, Daddy had been a soldier.

But Daddy wasn't there any more. He had died in Afghanistan, in an ambush, saving someone's life.

Jack didn't quite know what an ambush was, but he thought it sounded very unfair.

Evie didn't know what an ambush was either, and she didn't care. She missed her Daddy; and she wished, although she knew it was wrong of her to do so, that he hadn't saved the other person. Whom they didn't even know.

Uncle Otto did know what an ambush was; and he wished he didn't.

Daddy was Major Liam Armstrong, of the Royal Connaught Fusiliers. His picture was on the mantel-shelf, next to the urn that held his ashes, which Mummy didn't know what to do with; and everyone said how handsome he looked, and what a shame it was.

Next to the urn was a picture of the four of them on holiday in Cornwall. They were all laughing excitedly, for they had just seen a dolphin leap right out of the sea and almost into their boat.

Daddy had been sent to Helmand province in Afghanistan.

Sergeant Major Jankowski had called to collect him, and Daddy had looked very professional in his desert fatigues. He said that the Regiment had a very important job to do and that he would miss them very much. He hoped they would be good children and always help their mother and listen to what Uncle Otto had to say. And look after Tommy. Finally, he promised that he would be back very soon. Yes, Daddy, they had said; and they had all cried; and he had held all three of them in his arms before he left, and the Sergeant Major had looked the other way.

***

Daddy didn't keep his promise; but it wasn't his fault. He died as the result of an ambush, going back to save one of his men who had been injured. The Sergeant Major told them what had happened. Or at least, that was what he was supposed to do. He stamped rigidly up the little path in his smartest uniform, with his boots sparkling in the sunshine like diamonds. He came to attention at the front door as if unsure what to do next; and Mummy opened it. She had already sensed that it was bad news.

“Come in, Jan,” she said.

“Yes, Ma'am,” barked Sergeant Major Jankowski, and stumbled over the threshold. He saluted her, which he wasn't supposed to do, and came in and put his pay stick down by the empty fire-place, and put his side-hat on his knee, and pulled Tommy's ears, and looked at the two small children who had been left without a father; and he didn't say a word. Except that he was crying like a baby.

“Have a cup of tea,” said Mummy; and she made him one and made sure he drank it. Mummy was very brave, although she didn't want to be. She wanted to break down and sob her heart out, but she couldn't do that in front of the children. So she asked what had happened, and Jankowski told her about the ambush, and how the last man in the patrol had trodden on a small land-mine and how his legs had been injured, and how Daddy had made sure that the rest of the patrol was safe and had then gone back under fire to rescue the injured man, who was very large, apparently, so that Daddy had had great difficulty in hoisting him onto his back. He had managed to do so somehow, and he was staggering back towards the rest of the reconnaissance patrol when he was shot in the back and died almost immediately.

“That wasn't very fair,” said Jack, who had been very young when his father died and had never known any details.

“War isn't fair,” said Sergeant Major Jankowski.

“What happened to the man who was injured?” Asked Evie quietly. She had been listening to the story in total silence, and she was playing with Tommy's collar when she asked the question.

“He survived,” said the Sergeant Major. “He was taken by chopper to the nearest field hospital, and they managed to save his life.”

“What was his name?” Asked Mummy. “We were never told.”

“No, you weren't,” said the Sergeant Major, getting ready to leave. “It was all rather odd. He took it all very badly, apparently, and he wanted to remain anonymous, even though another man had saved his life.”

“And lost his own,” said Jack.

“I expect he had his reasons,” said Mummy, who always tried to be fair.

“If he had, we were never told them,” said Sergeant Major Jankowski, who was a very straightforward man. “The medics agreed that he should remain anonymous, and that was that. I gather that when he had recovered, he left the army. And that's all I know.”

“Good riddance,” said Jack; and no-one contradicted him. “What do you think, Uncle Otto?” He asked; but Uncle Otto was staring out of the window and appeared not to have heard him.

***

Daddy had always taken the family on holiday in the middle of summer, and they had usually gone abroad. Jack and Evie knew this, because Mummy had told them: and what Mummy told them about Daddy was sacred.

They were not going anywhere that year, although it would soon be the middle of summer: but that wasn't surprising. They didn't go on summer holiday any more. They couldn't afford it. Mummy didn't say so. Mummy never talked about money. But the children knew. Children always know. Daddy had left a pension; but it didn't cover summer holidays.

Jack wished he didn't know. And he really wished his mother wasn't so worried about money, and that she didn't have to work so hard. Mummy loved to paint flowers, and everyone knew she was a very good artist; but her paintings didn't sell, and so she had trained to be a book-keeper instead.

Mummy said it was very interesting work. Is it? Said the children, politely. But they didn't believe her. Children have an instinct for the truth.

Mummy said they didn't need to go abroad. Or anywhere else, for that matter. It was much nicer to stay at home and to enjoy each others' company and to do all the things they always put off doing.

“Like what?” Asked Jack.

“Oh, Jack,” said Mummy, who was tired of book-keeping, and missed her husband tremendously, and didn't know what to say; and Jack understood and didn't say anything more. Jack could be a very understanding little boy. Sometimes.

Otto had played no part in the conversation so far; but that didn't mean, thought Jack, that he wasn't listening. Did that mean Otto
was
listening? Jack didn't know. They hadn't done the double negative at school yet. But his uncle was looking very thoughtful.

“I know somewhere we could go on holiday,” he said. “If we wanted to. Someone I know has a little... property in North Devon, and he wrote and said we could borrow it if we liked. But you wouldn't like it.”

“Why not?” Queried Jack.

“Because here's nothing much there,” said Otto. “Not like here at all. No shops. No buses. No traffic. No anything.” He paused, and patted Tommy, who was looking very interested. This sounded good! “Just sea and sand and beaches,” went on Uncle Otto, “miles of unspoilt beaches, where you could imagine that the Vikings had just landed from their longboats, and were swinging their huge axes as they waded ashore through the surf, bent on rape and pillage.”

He paused involuntarily, whilst the children imagined the Vikings wading through the surf, bent on rape and pillage, whatever they were. Jack wondered what his uncle meant by bent. Did it mean that they were bent over with excitement? That didn't quite make sense.

Evie thought that wading through the surf would be jolly uncomfortable, but perhaps the Vikings were used to that sort of thing, and in any case, she thought suddenly and rather to her own surprise, she didn't really care. If the Vikings had wanted to keep their trousers dry, they should have stayed at home. In Denmark, she thought, or perhaps it was Sweden. And not practised rape and pillage at all. So there!

“There'd be walks along the coastal path, of course,” went on her uncle swiftly, as if he were trying to distract their attention from the behaviour of the Vikings, upon which he did not wish to elaborate. “That's quite a challenge, I must say! It goes right up and down, hundreds of feet at a time, and there are huge wooden sleepers, and fast-flowing streams to cross at the bottom, with stepping stones, and you have to jump from one to another and hope you don't fall in!”

“Why are the streams fast-flowing?” Asked Evie, who liked to know things, and thought that geography was her favourite subject. After English, of course, and possibly history, because the Vikings were quite interesting, really, despite some things about them which Uncle Otto hadn't quite explained.

“Because they take the water off Dartmoor,” explained her uncle, “and carry it out to the sea. Or into the Bristol Channel at least.” Uncle Otto paused, and scratched Tommy behind the ear. “And we could visit Pengelly, I suppose,” he went on, as if it were no very big deal. Which meant that it was.

“Pengelly,” said Jack. He didn't know about Pengelly. “What's that like?”

“It's a tiny village which starts on the cliff-top and leads down a one-in-three cobbled street to the ancient harbour at the bottom, where the fishing boats are laid up on the beach,” said his uncle, as if he had read his nephew's mind—which he probably had.

“Fishing boats!” Exclaimed Jack excitedly. “Wow! Can we go out in one?”

“I don't know,” said his uncle. “We'll have to see.”

“Please, Uncle Otto!” Pleaded Jack. “I'll be awfully good! I promise!”

“Where are we going to stay?” Asked Evie, thereby ruthlessly cutting across her brother and his sudden interest in fishing. She was taking the holiday for certain and had already begun to pack her bag in her mind.

“In a... property,” said Uncle Otto. “Near Pengelly.”

“A property,” repeated Evie. Uncle Otto wasn't being very forthcoming. “What's it like? Is it like here?”

“Smaller,” replied her uncle succinctly, and he must have had something in his eye, for Jack was sure that he winked at Annie when he said this: and why should he have done that?