Birdseye Read online

  ‘You mean because she never hugs us or laughs with us?’ I asked.

  ‘You mean because she’s as cold as stone, with a heart like a clenched fist?’ Anthea butted in.

  I looked at Anthea in admiration. She had a way with words. Usually rude ones like those she reserved for me – creep and freak, shitface and wuss – but when it came to descriptions of Ma Bess, she really excelled.

  ‘But Dad, Granny and Gramps are as old as Ma Bess. They like to hug us.’

  Orville laughed. ‘They do. But we don’t come from the same sort of background as your grandmother. No stately homes for the Littles, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But still, we’re luckier than she was, aren’t we, Dad?’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Anthea said. ‘Piles of money, a mansion? I could live with that.’

  ‘Yes, but Anth, we can laugh and share our news at suppertime, and Mom and Dad never punish us, not really—’

  I was silent. Angry, in an irritated, niggling sort of way.

  ‘What is it, Bird?’ Orville asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just, I always hated thinking of Ma Bess sending Annie to bed with no supper, and now—’

  ‘—you have to think of the same thing happening to your grandmother?’

  ‘Maybe she was hungry when she was a kid. Not just for supper, but – for love. She might have grown up with her mom and dad hardly even touching her!’

  ‘Fair enough, Bird,’ Alice said, ‘but remember, she wasn’t the only child in England who lived in a big house with nurses and nannies to look after her. And not all of them became like Ma.’

  Alice had a point.

  ‘You’re right,’ Orville said. ‘I’m not excusing your grandmother. Just trying to understand her.’

  ‘No point in trying to figure her out,’ Anthea said. ‘She’s not just set in her ways, she’s set in stone. And it’s not like understanding her, or even feeling sorry for her, is going to melt that bitch’s heart. Don’t waste your time, Bird.’

  ‘We do—’ Orville began.

  ‘Screw her,’ Anthea said.

  ‘Anthea,’ Annie tried, but Anthea was in full throttle.

  ‘I don’t care if the old witch grew up in a ditch.’ She jerked her thumb towards the ceiling. ‘That’s where she could live now, for all I care. Understand her, my foot! She’s never going to change, is she?’

  ‘But still …’ My voice trailed into silence as my sisters stood up and asked to be excused.

  Still, what about that little girl, my sad, imaginary grandmother, all alone in a crib at the top of the house?

  I’m thinking of another house, old and creaky, I wrote to the boys later that evening. The sun doesn’t shine much because it’s in England and Orville says the weather there can be miserable, even in summer. And right up at the top there’s a little girl and she’s crying. But her mom doesn’t come. Instead there’s a woman in a dark blue dress with a white apron. And the little girl stretches out her hand and cries and the nanny pats her on the back and says there’s a good girl and puts her back in her crib and the little girl lies there, all alone, staring at the ceiling.

  When I picture this, I feel sorry for her. But what Anthea said is probably true. Don’t feel sorry for her because that makes you weak. And Ma Bess gets you when you’re weak. She sneaks up and sticks the knife in and she doesn’t care how much you bleed.

  4

  1986

  A funny thing happened yesterday. Thelma acted really strange. Sometimes she does that, like she doesn’t want me to see what’s going on in her head. Annie says I must respect Thelma’s privacy and not pester her with questions, and I do try, but it’s quite hard sometimes. Besides, Annie also says that it’s polite to show an interest in other people and not talk about yourself the whole time. And Thelma is always so interested in my news, it’s only polite to ask her about hers.

  Sorry, Ma Bess says I’m infuriating the way I ramble. All she wants are the facts and she wants them now. But when I give them to her rat a tat tat! just like that! she also gets mad. She really doesn’t like me. I mean really. Orville told me not to worry. She doesn’t like him either.

  Anyway, about Thelma – here are the facts. Good thing I’m one of the best readers in my class.

  That afternoon, as I walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, I saw Thelma staring at a newspaper on the kitchen table. Something about the way she was looking at it made me stop in the doorway. She had that look – like when she was talking to her children on the phone – and I wondered if one of them had done something special and was in the paper.

  I stepped forward softly – just for a quick look. I didn’t want to steal her privacy, but Thelma’s other life made me burn with curiosity. She was looking at the Weekly Mail, the newspaper Orville had delivered every Friday afternoon.

  I slipped behind Thelma and managed to read a bit of the writing before she slammed her hand down and covered the photograph of the man on the front page. Not so young, I saw, so he wasn’t one of her children.

  ‘What do you want, Bird?’ she asked.

  ‘Just some water,’ I said. I walked to the sink and took a glass from the draining rack. I reached up and opened the cold tap. Normally by now Thelma would have taken the glass from me and filled it, or at least told me to be careful and not spill.

  But she said nothing.

  If she wasn’t going to tell me, I had to ask.

  ‘Thelma?’

  ‘Yes, Bird?’

  ‘Who’s Nelson?’

  ‘Who?’ Thelma’s face was closed and quiet, and her hand still rested on top of the newspaper photograph.

  ‘Nelson. The man in the paper with the funny flat haircut and round face. He’s there, under your hand.’

  ‘Get your water, Birdie,’ Thelma said. ‘I have to start the vegetables for supper.’

  She still hadn’t moved.

  ‘Good girl, go along now. Unless you want to chop the onions.’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said hastily. It took me for ever to chop onions, and my nose always stung and dripped and I had to squeeze my eyes tight shut.

  ‘All right,’ said Thelma. ‘Why don’t you run outside and ask Koos for some mint for the lamb?’

  ‘Okay, Thelma.’ I took a long glug of water and went out to find Koos.

  When I came back, the kitchen scissors were lying on the table and there was no sign of the newspaper.

  I didn’t think about it again until later, when I was in bed.

  ‘The first legal photo of Nelson Mandela in 22 years,’ the newspaper had said, and then, under the photo of the round-faced man: ‘Everyone knows his name and what he stands for. But almost no one knows what Nelson Mandela looks like.’

  Why wouldn’t they know what he looked like? I wondered. I wasn’t even seven and Orville had taken stacks of photos of me.

  I burrowed deeper into my blankets. He looked like a nice man, with a kind face, and he was wearing a very nice tie. One of his eyebrows went up as if he was asking a question and he had a skinny little moustache, just curling around the edge of his lip. Maybe Thelma thought he was handsome. Anthea was always cutting out pictures of film stars from magazines and sticking them on her walls, even when Annie said no, the Prestik would leave marks.

  5

  Did you ever want to find a special hiding place? I asked Ollie and Oz. Somewhere that no one knows about except you? I suppose you’d tell each other about it, because you don’t keep secrets from each other, do you? And maybe, one day, when I’m old enough to go out with you, you’ll tell me about it too, show me even. And then we can be the three musketeers again and have secret assignations.

  I miss Mrs Booker so much. She would have loved a word like assignations. But now we’ve got Mrs Gassaway. I’m not joking, that is her name. She’s been a teacher at our school for ages. Angela remembers her even. Mrs Gassaway keeps telling me I’ll never be as good as Ange, or as clever as Alice. The other thing she said was at least I’m
not a tearaway like Anthea. I wish I was. I’d tear right out of her classroom and never come back. I have to stay in her class for a whole year. Just writing her name makes my head tired. I’ll finish this later, okay? After I ask Thelma for a biscuit and some juice.

  Mrs Gassaway was really cross when she discovered how much I could write. She made me wait outside while she spoke to Annie, but I could still hear everything. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘The child mustn’t be allowed to get ahead of herself.’ She wanted Annie to promise she’d stop me writing so much. She said I must develop with the rest of the class. When I heard that I wanted to run inside and tell Annie I could never ever ever stop writing. If I did who would tell you everything? But Annie’s voice got very calm, the way it does when she’s angry, and she told Mrs Gassaway that she was under no circumstances to do anything that would upset me. She’s a well-behaved, intelligent child, said Annie, and if she wants to write she will write. She’s had enough trauma in her life as it is. I don’t know what trauma is, but it’s probably good if it means I can keep writing for you.

  Good thing Annie’s on my side. Even if she wanted me to stop I wouldn’t, there’s too much to tell you. Even if my hand does get tired. But the best thing now is, I have a special place to put all my books, with a key and everything so no one will ever read them, and I can write whatever I like about Mrs Gassaway and Ma Bess and everyone.

  I had come across the trunk in the basement, and once I saw it, I knew I wanted it for my own. ‘Please, Dad,’ I begged Orville. ‘Please may I have it in my room?’

  ‘What for, Bird?’ My father tousled my hair.

  ‘I’ve got nowhere private. The cupboards in my bedroom don’t have locks, and I’m the youngest, and no one thinks I should have secrets.’

  ‘Do you think it’s wise to have secrets?’ Orville asked me.

  ‘Well, not secrets, but private thoughts. I’m seven now, you know, Dad.’

  Orville looked at me and his eyes were sad. ‘You’re right, little Bird,’ he said. ‘In a house like this, you probably do need a place to keep private thoughts.’

  He took my hand and played with my grubby fingers. ‘Poor Bird,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not much of a place for a little girl, this, is it?’

  ‘It’s fine, Daddy.’ I hated to see Orville sad.

  ‘It’s true though, Bird,’ he said. ‘I always thought that one day I’d be able to give you girls the world, but now it seems that your world will always be here. I’m sorry.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I thought I’d be able to get us away from here, but I can’t. Your mother—’

  He stopped. He would never finish that thought, let alone say it aloud. But I knew what – or who – kept Orville and Annie in Marchbanks.

  Orville hauled the old travelling trunk up the stairs, and now it sat at the foot of my bed. Bound with brass corners and strapped with leather, it had an ornate padlock, and Orville had found me a key. I covered it with an old blanket and heaped cushions on top of it. Then I placed my ballerina box in the middle and imagined her lying there, dozing, ready to leap to the de-fence of my new treasure chest.

  6

  I couldn’t wait to tell Ollie and Oz about my brilliant plan. I was so sure it would work. I’ve been trying it out, I wrote. One part of me says I’m stupid. That’s my head talking. But the other part, the part that feels you in my heart, says I must never give up. I must stay awake to all possibility. That’s what Mrs Booker used to say we should do. So that’s what I was doing, exploring possibilities, because you never know. Although it can get dangerous, especially if you go where you’re not allowed.

  ‘Bird, where are you?’

  I stood inside the room. Not a peep, not a cheep. If I was found here, inside Ma Bess’s old room on our floor, I’d be in huge trouble. Her cupboard stood large and dark and gleaming, and I was afraid to open it. Not a cupboard, a wardrobe. Guardian of clothes. Guardian of secrets. A place to hide. A place that would lead to other places. In it I would find a secret door, and I would escape just like Lucy and Susan. Into another world, one like Narnia, that wasn’t silent and sad.

  Over the last two weeks, I had tried every other cupboard in the house, sneaking into my sisters’ rooms and my parents’. But I couldn’t find a hidden door. I had rapped panels, pushed as hard as I could against unvarnished wood. Nothing. Those rooms had been easy. I’d even cracked open the door into Oz and Ollie’s room but they’d never had a cupboard – how could I have forgotten that? Only two chests of drawers for all their shorts and shirts, and hooks on the back of their door where they used to hang their school trousers. Annie didn’t like us coming in there, just as she didn’t like it when we talked about Ollie and Oz and the funny or naughty or exciting things they used to do. She preferred to keep it all shut tight. The room, I mean, but our mouths and memories too, I suppose.

  Once I was in their room, I wanted to stay a while. But I couldn’t. I was on a mission and I had to brave the place I was most scared of.

  Two huge wardrobes. I had already tried the one that used to belong to Annie’s dad, deep and cavernous and smelling of camphor. Nothing there, no hidden door. So now I was on my last chance, the final test of my courage. If I could open the door, go against Ma Bess’s rules, then surely my bravery would be rewarded?

  ‘Bird? Dammit, Bird!’ A voice coming nearer now. Footsteps along the passage, the hard tap-tap-tap of Anthea’s heels, the mutter of her voice outside the door. I had no choice but to take the hardest step so far.

  Climb in. Pull the door behind me. Don’t shut it completely, because in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe Lucy says, ‘It is very silly to shut oneself into a wardrobe, even if it is not a magic one.’ Slip between the shiny folds of evening dresses to the small space at the back.

  I heard the door open, briefly, then close. I listened to Anthea’s footsteps fading. Then silence. I was safe. But I didn’t have long before they came looking for me again. I had to explore quickly, and I had to think up a good lie about where I had been. In my cupboard-hopping of the last days, I had perfected my skills. First, I tapped all the sides of the wardrobe. Then, palms flat and fingers splayed, I pushed, gently at first, then harder against the smooth panels at the sides and the back of the wardrobe. Nothing moved. I slumped down in the dark corner and blinked away tears. If this house held a secret passage into a new world, the entrance wasn’t easy to find. I would have to explore more carefully, listen closely and look for special signs.

  I jumped as a feathered touch brushed my cheek. In the faint light I was able to make out the shapes of the dresses and skirts and jackets Ma had worn so many years ago. How beautiful she must have looked. I stroked the fabrics hanging in front of me. Satin and silk and heavy velvet and, further down, hairy tweed and corded cotton. And then, having explored the last and most forbidden place, I stepped out of the wardrobe – and into the arms of my father.

  Orville, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to see his small daughter emerge from a tall wardrobe, swung me up into the air.

  ‘You’ve got the whole house looking for you, Bird,’ he said.

  I bit my lip. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ he said easily. He touched my cheek and smiled. ‘I’ve always thought cupboards were excellent places to hide.’

  ‘Oh! I wasn’t hiding,’ I said quickly. ‘I was—’ I stopped.

  Orville set me down on the floor. ‘Want to tell me about it?’ he asked.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Let’s go downstairs and let them all know you’re safe and sound.’

  As we went down the steep stairs, Orville’s long stride slowing to match my short legs, he said, ‘I know it’s been a tough time for you, little Bird.’ Then he bent, scooped me into his arms so that his face was level with mine. ‘It’s been a hard time for all of us.’

  I stared into his grey eyes and noticed how tired he looked. I lifted a hand and stroked the sandp
aper of his cheek. ‘Are you all right, Daddy?’ I asked.

  His arm tightened on my back, and then relaxed. ‘As right as any of us can be, Bird,’ he said. ‘I know adults always say things like this, but this one is very true: some things take time. Slowly, day by day, life gets a little more bearable, and we start living a little more.’

  ‘And smiling?’ I asked.

  Orville smiled then. Tired and sad, but it was a smile. ‘Smiling, and even laughing, Bird,’ he said.

  I hoped so, because often weeks went by without anyone laughing in our house.

  ‘Right,’ Orville said. ‘Let’s go down and try some of Thelma’s famous cauliflower cheese, shall we?’

  ‘Okay, Daddy,’ I said, ‘but I just need to do something first.’

  I had to put my memento into my box. I didn’t want to open my hand by mistake and let it drift away. A bit of feather, from the tickly scarf in Ma Bess’s cupboard.

  7

  1987

  Annie and I had such a brilliant day today. And it happened just like that! Out of the blue. Nothing planned. The word for that is spontaneous. Orville said so when we told him all about what we had done and why. Spontaneous is my new favourite word.

  Annie’s always around the house, she’s a housewife, so I suppose that’s where she has to be. But even when she’s here, it’s not like she spends much time with me. She’s always busy. Even busier than she was before you went away. Thelma tries to make her sit down and relax, ‘Madam, let Thelma do it,’ but Annie won’t stop. ‘I need to keep busy, Thelma.’ So when she stops and pays attention to me, it’s like she’s given me a special present. Just for me. One I don’t have to share with Angela, or Alice. And definitely not with Anthea.

  ‘Why does she have to control us like this?’

  I looked up from my book. Anthea was angry. She looked at Annie with scorn. ‘Look at you, Mom. You haven’t had a decent haircut in years or bought yourself anything new. You could be quite pretty if you tried.’

  As she spoke, Anthea looked at herself in the mirror above the mantel-piece, teetering on spiky stilettos. She did have something to look at. Her legs were long and shapely, lots of them to be seen in the black Lycra skirt that clung to her bottom, accentuating the defiant jut of her hip. A strip of bare midriff and then the uneven line of a cropped T-shirt that fell far enough off her shoulder to show that she definitely wasn’t wearing a bra. Her dark hair was a bulky mass of wild curls, big and high, thanks to the Wella Mousse she’d left in the bathroom that morning.