Washy and the Crocodile (8 page)

“We came back by the harbour-side,” said Jack, and paused importantly. Did he have everyone's attention? He did! “Where your friend Samantha lives. Or, rather, where she used to live.”

“Jack!” said his mother indignantly; and

“What do you mean, used to live?” Asked his sister, at the same time. “What's happened to Samantha? Would someone please tell me what's going on?”

“There's been a fire,” said her mother. “By the harbour. And yes, Samantha's house was... damaged. But don't worry. Everyone is safe and sound and no-one was injured. They had an amazing escape. I'll tell you all about it - while we all have a lovely cup of tea.”

Jack made the tea - he did feel slightly guilty about how he had blurted out the news, after all - and Mummy told them all about the fire, or at least as much as she knew. Which wasn't very much.

“So the whole house was burned down?” Asked Evie thoughtfully, sipping her tea and seeming very calm about the whole thing. “Samantha was the only one at home, and somehow managed to escape without a scratch? Isn't that
amazing
. I wonder how she managed it.”

They all agreed it was quite amazing, and that Samantha was a really lucky girl, and just think what might have happened, and it really didn't bear thinking about. Mummy checked the fire-guard once again, and said that now they must all go to bed after such an exciting day, so that they were up bright and early for school in the morning.

Jack said that that was fine, just fine, but he needed a bowl of cereal right now, if he were to avoid starving to death overnight.

Mummy took him into the kitchen to feed him, and Tommy followed them to make sure that he didn't miss out on anything as far as food was concerned.

Evie and Uncle Otto were left on their own, staring thoughtfully into the dying embers of the fire.

“Uncle Otto,” she said slowly; and stopped.

Her uncle looked at her.

“Yes, Evie?” He asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said.

“Good,” said Otto, and began to stand up. “Time for bed.”

“Uncle Otto,” said his niece; and stopped again.

“Yes, Evie?” Repeated her uncle. And sat down again. The cottage was very quiet, and the only sound was the dying hiss of the fire.

“When you worked in Australia... with the camels... Were they always bad-tempered? Did you not like working with them at all?”

“Always,” said Otto. “And always looking for something to eat. In any case, I thought you weren't interested in my stories about camels.”

“Oh, but I am,” said Evie. “Very interested.”

“They can be very stubborn beasts,” said Otto. “Once they get an idea in their heads, you can't shift it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Although I do remember one camel who was ... different.” He stood up again, and stretched to his full height beside the fire. “Very different. Although it sounds ridiculous to say it, you might almost have called him a gentleman.”

The light from the fire was dying, and Evie could not be quite sure what she saw.

She could have sworn that he winked.

Jack and Evie were puzzled. They were behaving very badly, and Uncle Otto hadn't stopped them. He didn't seem to be aware of what they were up to at all. And as every sensible child knows, there's no point in behaving badly if no-one cares—or even notices!

Mummy had gone out. She was helping a little girl called Sophie who couldn't walk properly, and soon wouldn't be able to walk at all. Mummy was trying to raise the money so that Sophie could be flown to America and operated on and then she would be able to walk properly. Just like everyone else. And achieve her secret ambition, which only the two children knew about, because they just couldn't tell anyone else.

Jack was very sorry for Sophie, who was such a nice little girl and so brave and really didn't deserve what had happened to her: but there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it. The surgeons needed pots of money, apparently, and he didn't have pots of money, and nor did his mother; and that meant that Sophie wouldn't be operated on; and
that
meant that she could never achieve her secret ambition. He really didn't like to think about it.

It was a warm afternoon, they were sitting in the sunny little garden in the shade of the old plum tree and there was plenty of chilled lemonade in the fridge. Everything should have been lovely, but it wasn't. What had gone wrong? In truth, it was a little difficult to say, but Jack was sure he knew the reason.

It was Evie.

So did Evie. It was Jack.

They were quarrelling, for no good reason at all; and the quarrel had yet to reach its climax. Mummy had taken them to watch the ballet the night before, and Evie had liked it so much she had cried. Jack had almost cried too, as it happened; but not for the same reasons.

“Ballet,” said Jack, who was hot and bored and tired, all at same time, “is a complete waste of time.”

“No, it isn't!” Exclaimed Evie, instantly on the verge of tears. “Ballet is absolutely wonderful, and I'm going to be a ballerina when I grow up!”

“I doubt it,” said Jack, who knew how to be really cruel to his sister. He scrutinised her with an exaggerated care. “A, you're never going to grow up. And B, if you can count that far, no-one's ever going to pay to watch you dance. Do you want to know why? Because you're too fat and slow and stupid, and I hate you.” Said Jack comprehensively, and smiled the mendacious smile of someone who has said something truly horrible and has yet to regret it. Evie was so shocked by his broadside that she even forgot to cry. Uncle Otto seized the moment to intervene before she did, and things got
really
out of hand.

“Did I ever tell you,” said Uncle Otto, lazily stretching out a long, dark, sinewy arm to pluck another plum from the tree, and insinuating its juicy resonance into his welcoming mouth, “about how I came to meet my friend Charlie?”

“No, you didn't, Uncle Otto,” said Jack. “And however it happened it won't change my mind about ballet!” Jack could be a very single-minded little boy.

Evie, however, was prepared to be distracted.

“We didn't even know that you had a friend called Charlie, Uncle Otto,” she said, the tears already dry upon her cheek. This was far more exciting than a quarrel with Jack! “You've never mentioned him before. Who is he?”

“She,” said her uncle.

“She,” repeated his niece thoughtfully. “Did you hear, that, Jack? Uncle Otto has a friend called Charlie, and this is the first we've heard of her! Isn't this
wonderful
?” She tucked the quarrel away for possible future use, and dismissed his more personal adjudication as purely intended to provoke. Evie was a very resilient little girl. She needed to be.

Otto smiled to himself, and continued.

“My friend Charlie Earlie went out to Australia”—

“Why?” Asked Jack, who was just as interested as his sister, but was determined not to show it. Uncle Otto, with a girl-friend! What was the world coming to?

“To teach ballet there,” said his uncle, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

“To whom?” Asked Jack, who was proud of his grammar.

“To the little children in the outback,” replied Uncle Otto.

“Why did they want to learn ballet?” For the second time that afternoon, Jack was genuinely puzzled. This was too much!

“They didn't. They didn't know anything about ballet. But they liked Charlie Earlie. Everyone did. Charlie Earlie was... stunning.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Her hair was the colour of liquid amber, and she could dance... like an angel.” Uncle Otto reached out and took another plum. “Charlie Earlie—her real name was Charlotte Fanshawe, but every one called her Charlie Earlie, and no, I don't know why, Jack, so there's no point asking—had won a scholarship to the Royal National School of Ballet when she was about four and a half, and a very precocious child—”

“What does precocious mean?” Asked Evie, who could sometimes be a very serious little girl.

“Precocious means ahead of your time,” said Otto thoughtfully, chewing the last of his plum and squinting carefully at the sun as if it were a giant dictionary in the sky.

“You mean, like early,” said Jack and grinned at his own joke.

“Very good,” said his uncle. “But I shall have to tell you the whole story because that's the only way you'll understand what really happened. So, if everyone would like to sit comfortably, and concentrate on what I'm saying, and not snore if they fall asleep, then I'll begin.”

So they sat comfortably, and Uncle Otto told them the whole story, which went something like this.

***

“Once upon a time, and far away and long ago, and all that sort of thing,” (said Uncle Otto, who liked to do things properly) “there was a little girl called Charlotte Fanshawe who wasn't very happy at school.”

“Why wasn't she happy at school?” Interrupted Evie, who was already beginning to empathise with the subject of her uncle's story—although she herself was actually
very
happy at school. Strange are the effects of a story! “Was she bullied?”

“Not exactly,” replied her uncle. “She just wasn't very happy. She didn't quite know why.”

“I know why!” Said Evie confidently. “It's because she—”

“No you don't!” Her brother interrupted her rudely. “You couldn't possibly know why! You only heard of this girl Charlie three seconds ago, and now you know all about her! Including what she's thinking, apparently!” He snorted with contempt—it's not very easy for a little boy to snort, but Jack managed it just fine on this occasion—and threw a stick for Tommy to fetch. Tommy, being a very sensible dog, ignored it. It was far too hot to go chasing sticks, and he was very happy panting noisily in the shade. Really! What did Jack think he was up to?

“Please go on with your story, Uncle Otto,” said his nephew politely, ignoring the crass treachery of the dog with a supreme effort of will. “Tell us more about Charlie.”

“I will,” said his uncle equably, and continued from where he had stopped. He was used to the children's interruptions. At least it showed that they were listening.

“Charlie was unhappy at school, Evie,” he continued, “because she wasn't at all sure what she wanted to do”—

“But that's just how I feel!” Exclaimed his niece.

“Shut
up
, Evie,” said her brother, but much more nicely than he had spoken to her before, “and listen to the story. You might learn something.” So she did.

“Charlie was unhappy at school because nothing really inspired her,” went on her uncle in his soft, melodious voice, which should have put you to sleep, but somehow didn't. “And then she discovered ballet, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. For ever.”

“She wanted to be a ballerina.” Evie whispered this to herself as if in a trance. Her eyes were shining, and Tom suppressed the expression of sympathy for Charlie's misfortune that had almost passed his lips. Poor Evie! She was really keen on all this!

“That's right,” agreed Uncle Otto. “She wanted to be a ballerina. And she studied and studied and studied, and she practised and practised and practised, until finally she won a place at the Royal National School of Ballet. In London.”

“In London,” breathed Evie. “That was a long way from home. Was she homesick? I would be!”

“Of course she was,” said her uncle. “But her mummy came and collected her every weekend and took her back home to see the cat, and so she didn't feel quite so lonely, and even when she was at home she practised her ballet all the time. So Charlie was happy, really. As far as she could be.”

“And then what happened?” Asked Jack, who despite himself was intensely interested in the story of the unknown adolescent girl and her obsession. “Did she go on and become a famous dancer?”

Uncle Otto paused and took another plum and chewed it slowly, and the children waited.

“No, she didn't,” he said slowly. “She never became famous.” He squinted at the sun as it shone through the branches of the little plum tree as if he could see the past - which he could. Otto could see everything. “She injured her knee, and she couldn't dance any more, not properly, not to performance standards, and then she didn't know what to do and she was very unhappy for a long time, and then she decided...”

Uncle Otto paused for a moment, as if unsure of how the story unfolded. It was most unlike Uncle Otto, thought Evie, because he was always absolutely sure about everything, and how did he know this girl who wanted to be a ballerina anyway, and what was really going on here? This was very intriguing, and she couldn't wait to tell her friend Samantha all about it!

“Charlie,” continued Uncle Otto, “decided to retrain as a dance teacher. And then she found work through a... contact at the Australian Embassy.” Uncle Otto paused. “They were looking for someone to teach dance.”