Birdseye Page 11

  ‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you,’ Alice said and I could see she meant it and that she was worried about Jodie.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I mumbled. I looked at Jodie. It looked like she needed help. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking and her bare feet were tapping on the floor. ‘Do you want anything, Jodie?’ I asked. ‘A glass of water or something?’

  ‘She’ll be fine, Bird,’ Alice said. ‘She just needs some time, to think.’ Her voice was hard and angry.

  ‘Okay, then.’ I walked back downstairs, told Annie that Alice was coming and opened my book again. Soon enough I was following Harriet, worried for her and what she was writing in her diary. If Harriet didn’t watch out, she was going to get into big trouble. But even though the story was uncannily heart-stopping, not even Harriet the Spy could make me forget how Alice had shouted at me.

  13

  1989

  6 July 1989. I wrote the words slowly with my new glitter pen. It was smooth in my hand and it felt just right, like a new pen should. The only problem was, I didn’t feel just right; I felt awful.

  I can’t believe I’m ten. Everyone made such a fuss of me today. Double figures, Annie kept saying, who’d believe it? My little Bird, ten years old. I got really nice presents, all here on my bed. I’m propped up against my pillows, writing this. A new backpack and a pencil case filled with cool pens from Mom and Dad, which is just perfect because I do so much writing my pens are always running out. I wish you could see this one I’m writing with now. It’s bright purple and it’s got a sort of sparkle in it. If I was Rose-Marie I’d probably be drawing sparkly stars over all my i’s with it. Alice gave me a clipboard because she says sometimes it’s nice to write in bed and I can lean it against my knees. Anthea got me the latest Eric Clapton cd which she says is really good, only I wouldn’t know because I don’t have anything to play it on. Not a problem, she said, she’ll play it for me on her music centre and I can listen. Some knickers with all the days of the week on them, which I hope I remember to wear on the right days. Those were from Angela. She’s like Annie, she likes things to be neat and organised.

  I should be grateful that everyone was so kind. Thelma made me a lemon cake, which is my new favourite flavour, and they all sang Happy Birthday. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t feel happy. All I could think was, I don’t want to be ten. Because that means next year I’ll be eleven and then twelve, older and older than you. Thinking that makes my stomach crawl and I want to be sick.

  You have to keep being my big brothers, only I can’t see you older in my head. All I see are the photos Orville took of you, all the way from babies to when you were ten. Like I am today. Life was so much easier when I was only nine.

  The one present I hadn’t mentioned to Ollie and Oz was my brand-new watch, with its thin blue strap and square face.

  ‘Now you’re really ten,’ Annie said.

  ‘Let’s see it on you, Bird,’ Orville said.

  I felt awful putting it on my wrist and letting Annie do up the buckle. And I felt even more awful when I saw how good it looked. I didn’t want to take it off, I didn’t want to leave it on. And I didn’t want to cry, which is what I did, and then I felt sad and confused. And guilty for crying after all the trouble everyone had gone to.

  ‘I’m sorry Mom, sorry Dad.’

  Annie caught me as I was going up the stairs to my room.

  ‘It’s okay to feel sad, Bird,’ she said. ‘I know exactly why you’re upset. Oz and Ollie should be with you on such a special day. They should be with all of us, every day. But they’d love to see you wearing your watch, Bird. They’d be so proud of what a special girl their little sister has grown up to be.’

  I appreciated her saying that. Especially because she finds it so hard to say your names. She said today was bittersweet, which is a perfect word for the way I’m feeling. I’ll remember what she said too, that you would be proud of me. Bird. Your sister. We’ll always be part of each other, I promise.

  I learned a great word the other day – wingman. It comes from the war when a pilot flew close to the front of a group of planes to give them help and protection. That’s what you do for me. I can feel you, even though you aren’t here and nobody except me says your names that much. I’m Bird and you are my wingmen.

  14

  You are never, evereverever in a million years going to guess what happened today. I was so excited I couldn’t sit still to write the words. There’s so much to tell you and I don’t want to lose one word or forget even the smallest detail. You’re not going to believe it, but it’s true, I swear. Every last bit.

  I was sitting on the stoep in a wicker chair, swinging my legs, bored, but too lethargic to get up and find something to do. Too hot to read. It was too hot even for the birds or the insects to move or make a noise. The sky was washed white, and the smell of cooking from the kitchen was enough to make me feel full. Another Sunday roast with all the trimmings. Angela was at church, with Andy, Alice in her bedroom, Anthea in hers too, grumpy and hung-over from a party the night before.

  A shimmer of movement at the end of the road, and then a car, like none I’d ever seen before. Long and black, paintwork and chrome gleaming, wheels glassy black under a light speckling of sand. The car pulled up in front of our house, and a tall man stepped out. I blinked. I’d seen cars like this in movies, and men dressed like this too. He stood and looked up at the house, then shook his head.

  Disappointment jabbed me. He’d made a mistake. But then he shrugged and moved closer. From where he stood, at the bottom of the path, he looked like a young man, his hat tilted over one eye. One of Anthea’s boyfriends, I decided. He must have discovered where she lived. And now he was coming calling, on a Sunday, and at lunchtime. As he approached, I realised that he was much older than his tight walk and trim figure suggested. He was wearing a creamy-white suit, cool and uncreased on a day when sweat gathered in the folds of my skin. But he was definitely old. Not even Anthea would have a boyfriend that old.

  He’s stopped for directions, I decided. He made a detour, to see the view, and he’s not sure where to go next. No one who looked that smart would stop here on purpose. But no, he was still looking at our house. I couldn’t see his eyes, hidden by the brim of his hat, but the smile on his face was crooked. He turned back and took his keys out of his pocket to lock the car.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘No one ever locks things around here.’

  He looked up, then stepped back, his face startled. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see you sitting up there in the shade. For a second there I thought you were—’ He shook his head.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I asked. Manners were important, even though I thought I’d burst with curiosity.

  He walked up the path. His shirt was a brilliant blue against the soft white of his suit. He climbed the steps, onto the stoep and I caught a faint smell. It reminded me of something and made him seem suddenly familiar.

  ‘I’m looking for Ann Marchbanks-Hall,’ he said.

  Six words spoken in a voice like warm treacle. A gentle voice that sent a shiver down my spine. What could a man like this want from my mother?

  ‘Please wait here,’ I said. ‘I’ll call her for you.’ I paused, struck by a flash of inspiration. ‘Who should I say is calling?’ I asked in the most grown-up voice I knew. But there was no answer. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking down the road and his eyes were far away.

  Annie was in the back garden, setting up shade cloth over the seedlings the sun was trying to kill. The soil around her was cool under my bare feet.

  ‘Hello, Bird,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a man here to see you, Mom,’ I said.

  My mother sighed. ‘Oh Bird, couldn’t you have said I was busy? I can’t cope with someone trying to convert me today.’

  Sundays were good days for the Jehovah’s Witnesses who had recently moved into the village. Crisp in their black trousers and shining white
shirts with skinny black ties, they patrolled the streets on their bicycles, eager to find sinners who weren’t in church.

  ‘He doesn’t look like one of them,’ I said. ‘He’s all dressed up in a suit. He knows your whole name and he wants to see you.’

  Annie frowned. She stood up and brushed her hands against the full skirt of her dress. Then she washed them under the garden tap. ‘I wonder who it is,’ she said. ‘What does he want, Bird?’

  Most days, I didn’t really notice what my mother was wearing, but today, with the handsome, sharply dressed stranger waiting for her on the stoep, I wished that her dress was newer, her hair sleeker, her legs slippery in nylon pantyhose.

  I wanted Annie to look like the women in magazines, with shiny lips, shimmering eyeshadow and lashes heavy with mascara. Maybe a straight shift dress, like the one I’d seen Princess Di wearing in a magazine, and white sandals, not the old leather ones she was wearing. I wanted her to look as if she’d just come back from church and was about to call out to Orville, ‘Sherry, darling?’

  Sonja James had a mother like that. Back when we were friends, I’d spent the night at her house and even in the mornings her mother had make-up on and was properly dressed. No dressing gowns or slippers.

  ‘Bird? Bird!’ Back to the garden and Annie looking less than perfect. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’

  ‘No, but he drives a really fancy car,’ I said. ‘He must be from somewhere else.’

  Annie walked quickly to the kitchen door. I followed her through the house.

  On the stoep, the man leaped up from the chair I had been sitting in. His hat was in his hands and I saw that his eyes were blue, deep and clear as glass. His face was brown, the skin stretched tightly over his cheekbones. Where it wasn’t stretched, it was folded in fine wrinkles, small ripples of loose skin under his eyes, above his collar and under his chin. He wasn’t young at all, but he was very good looking. He looked like one of those film stars who never got old, just grew more leathery.

  He took a quick step towards my mother, then stopped. ‘Hello, Ann,’ he said.

  Annie’s hand was at her throat, her eyes wide. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  He looked uncertain. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t suppose you do.’ He took a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket and wiped his forehead.

  ‘You’d better come in, out of the heat,’ Annie said. ‘Would you like something to drink?’

  ‘A glass of water would be good,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long, dusty drive.’

  I edged closer, then cursed my curiosity as Annie realised I was there.

  ‘Bird, please go and get this gentleman a glass of water.’

  I raced to the kitchen and grabbed a glass.

  ‘Don’t you go spoiling your appetite now,’ said Thelma. She was bending over the open oven door, basting the roast pork. The fat sizzled and spat, and the kitchen filled with the smell of salt and crackling.

  ‘It’s just water. There’s a man here to see Annie and he’s thirsty.’

  ‘A man, to see Madam on a Sunday, at lunchtime?’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ I said, holding the glass under the tap as Thelma filled it.

  ‘Walk carefully, Birdie,’ she called out as I left the kitchen. ‘Don’t spill.’

  When I got back, my mother was sitting slumped on the sofa.

  ‘I only spilled a little,’ I said. ‘On my hand, Mom, not on the floor.’

  ‘Thank you, Bird,’ Annie said in the voice she used when she hadn’t actually heard anything I’d said. She was sitting with her legs spread a bit and her toes pointing in. She looked like a rag doll and I wanted to tell her to sit up straight. Look neater.

  The man stood up and took the glass from me. ‘Thank you, Bird, is it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But that’s just a nickname. My real name—’

  ‘Bird,’ Annie interrupted. ‘Please tell Thelma to hold lunch. Tell her to go and I’ll serve.’

  So annoying, all these errands.

  I ran back to the kitchen and gabbled Annie’s message. I didn’t wait to hear Thelma’s grumbles. Instead of going back to the sitting room, I stopped in the hall and stood back from the open door. I couldn’t see the man’s face, only his long legs and the shine of his shoes.

  ‘Why have you come back?’ Annie asked.

  I clenched my fists in frustration. Annie had found out who he was, and I’d missed it. I’d missed the moment of revelation.

  ‘I had to see you,’ he said. ‘I’ve driven to this turn-off a hundred times, and each time I’ve turned back.’

  ‘What stopped you?’ Annie’s voice was cold. I was shocked. I’d never heard her speak rudely like this before.

  ‘It was a case of weighing up the pros and cons,’ he said.

  ‘And I fell short in the balance?’

  ‘No, Ann, never short. I was the one who fell short. Whenever I thought of knocking on the door, I’d think about who would open it. I didn’t have the courage. But instead, today, I was greeted by a charming little pixie of a girl who—’

  Before I could hear what other flattering things he had to say about me, Annie interrupted him.

  ‘Courage. That’s a strange word to use. How much courage does it take to visit a six-year-old child, or a ten-year-old one? A fourteen-year-old one? Take your pick.’

  Things were slotting into place. That was my grandfather! He was standing a mere three feet from me, and by the sound of it, Annie was about to send him packing.

  Not if I had anything to do with it. I slipped away from the door as he started to answer. It was all so fascinating, but I’d have to forgo the smaller snippets for the greater good.

  I charged up the stairs and burst into Alice’s room. She looked up from the books open on her desk. ‘Come down quick,’ I blurted. ‘He’s here. He’s come back.’

  ‘Who?’ Alice said.

  ‘Our grandfather. Annie’s dad.’

  There was no time for explanation.

  I ran into Anthea’s room. She was painting her toenails, a strong vivid pink, and my sudden entrance caused her to decorate her big toe with a garish streak.

  ‘Man, Bird, now look what you’ve done.’

  ‘He’s here, come quick.’ I ran to the bed and tugged at her hand.

  ‘What’s your case? Piss off, squirt,’ she said and reached for a ball of cotton wool to repair the damage.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. Annie’s father is here, in the sitting room, and we’ve got to make him stay. She’s being rude to him and he’ll go away.’

  Anthea sat bolt upright. ‘No shit?’

  ‘I mean it, come on, Anth, now.’

  I had to get back down there, create some diversion, find a way of making him stay. I was on a mission and no one was going to stop me. I heard Anthea’s voice on the stairs above me. ‘Bird! Come back here, you little—’ she yelled, but I was already out the back and knocking at Orville’s darkroom door.

  Orville stuck his head out, blinking in the sun. ‘Ah, Bird,’ he said, ‘just who I needed to see.’ He handed me a jug. ‘Go and fill this with water, would you?’

  ‘That can wait, Dad,’ I said. ‘You’ve got to come out to the front. Annie’s dad is here and she’s going to send him away.

  Orville frowned. He stood for a second, his hand on the darkroom door.

  ‘Come on, Dad. You’ve got to stop her.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Bird. If your mom doesn’t want her father here, we can’t force her.’

  ‘Well at least come and see what he looks like,’ I shouted over my shoulder.

  On my way back, I stopped in the kitchen. Thelma was hanging her apron on the back of the door. ‘Annie’s changed her mind,’ I said. ‘Please serve lunch in ten minutes and set another place at the table.’ Thelma reached out to stop me, but I was already whirling away. I was going to get into big trouble, but he had to stay.

  When I got back, the sitting room was empty, and the glass of w
ater I had carried through so carefully was sitting untouched on a small side table.

  I stamped my foot, and then, because there was no one there to tell me to grow up and stop being a baby, I stamped it again.

  A long-lost grandfather and Annie had made him go away. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t as if we had hundreds of relatives to spare. No aunts, no uncles, no cousins. Only Granny and Gramps, and they were miles and miles away, and Ma Bess upstairs and she didn’t count as a grandmother – not the cuddly kind you read about in books. And now, just as we found a grandfather, Annie chased him away. She might not want him, but I did. I had so much I wanted to ask him.

  Then I heard voices out on the veranda. Of course – she’d shown him out. I ran out and there they all were, clustered together on the stoep.

  I was dying to rush upstairs and scribble everything down. This was so important, I wanted to tell Oz and Ollie right away, but there was no time to spare. None at all. I felt like a general going in to battle, assembling her troops, closing off the enemy on all sides so that he couldn’t escape. Not that I was sure that he was the enemy – I still hadn’t decided – but Annie was certainly behaving like he was.

  Out on the stoep, things were looking interesting. Annie was sitting in a garden chair, limp. Anthea and Alice were on the bench. Alice was looking at our grandfather as if he were an interesting specimen, something she would like to squash onto a slide and examine more closely. Anthea was eyeing him up and down, examining the cut of his clothes, and mentally calculating his bank balance (or so she told us later). Orville came around the corner of the house, wiping his hands on the seat of his pants. He walked slowly, and he too sized up the stranger who sat with his elegant legs crossed.

  I smiled. I would have whooped with delight, but then I caught Annie’s eye and decided I had better not look too pleased because my mother was frowning at me with the sort of look that meant there’d be trouble later.

  ‘I’ve asked Thelma to set an extra place for lunch,’ I said.

  Annie’s eyes narrowed.

  My grandfather smiled at me. My grandfather, how nicely those words rolled around in my mind. ‘I’d like to stay, and get to know you all better,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure whether—’