good as gold so he wouldn’t get ratty.
Charlotte Next Door
Linda came round some days to borrow my baby sister. It was usually for swimming, but after their new boy came, sometimes it was for her to go next door and sit with him in their sandpit. (Dad dug ours over after I stoppedplaying in it. Marie came years after me. She was a big surprise.)
Linda and Alan keep their old sandpit covered so the cats can’t mess in it. Marie really likes it. I thought at first their new boy would be only two years old, like her. But then I saw him. He was nearly as old as me! And he was wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas. I didn’t want to play with him when I saw that, and nobody suggested it. I don’t know why.
I don’t know either why the boy – his name was Eddie – would want to sit next to Marie, mucking about with sand. He did, though. She would crawl about, grabbing the spades and shovels, and bashing the top of buckets. He just sat jammed against the edge, scooping up handfuls of sand and watching it trickle away between his fingers. Over and over. Whenever Marie got upset because she couldn’t see her favourite yellow scraper, he’d push it back in view. And sometimes, when she was chattering her nonsense, he’d nod as if he might be listening.
He didn’t talk, though – except to say to Marie things like, ‘There it is,’ and, ‘Over there .’
I watched quite often. Usually Alan was gardening somewhere near, pretending not to keep an eye on things.
I asked Linda once, when I’d been sent round there to tell them that it was our tea time, ‘Why do you put him in there with a baby ?’
She looked at me. I could tell that she was going to make up some excuse. But then she didn’t.
‘I think he finds it soothing,’ she told me. ‘And some days, when he’s had his visitors, it calms him down.’
I knew who she meant by ‘his visitors’. She meant the dumpy man and the smart lady they called Sue.
Eddie
You cannot say I wasn’t used to questions. But Eleanor . She had braids wrapped around her head, grey hair and dangly necklaces. Her spectacles hung round her neck when they weren’t on her nose. I couldn’t stand her – well, not her exactly, more the way she made me feel, because that awful waiting that we always did reminded me of being near to Harris. It made my heart thump, knowing that she’d be saying something any moment, but not knowing what or when. I’d try so hard to keep still, then I’d look in my lap to see my hands squirm. Or I would notice red and realize I’d gnawed a fingernail so far down that it was bleeding again.
She wasn’t horrid. It was simply horrid being there, feeling like something she was studying. She’d sit me in the chair, give me a good long look, and then she’d say, ‘Today, I thought that we might talk about—’ And it would be this or that, and all those horrible long pauses after I’d done my best. And it was such a cheat because Linda and Alan had told me so often when I’d woken at night, ‘Those days are gone . They are all over now.’
And here was Eleanor, just going on about it all, over and over and over. ‘How did that make you feel?’ ‘Did you feel scared, Eddie?’ ‘Perhaps you felt very sad.’ ‘You probably felt—’
Linda would bring me home. I’d beg her, ‘Read me a story!’ and she would pull out Frog and Toad , or Up the Faraway Tree , or The Smugglers’ Secret . Anything that wasn’t to do with me and how I felt. I loved the way even the words on the page began to make sense. More and more often, Linda would drop her finger to the page and say, ‘You read this line,’ and I would find that I could do it. ‘No!’ ‘Stop!’ or ‘Frog said, “Yes, Toad.” ’
I read it properly, as well. She said I put expression into it right from the start. I knew how to do that because Mr Perkins often read to us. Never a story, though. We’d come back from the day’s visit and he’d say, ‘Now that reminds me
Charlotte Next Door
Linda came round some days to borrow my baby sister. It was usually for swimming, but after their new boy came, sometimes it was for her to go next door and sit with him in their sandpit. (Dad dug ours over after I stoppedplaying in it. Marie came years after me. She was a big surprise.)
Linda and Alan keep their old sandpit covered so the cats can’t mess in it. Marie really likes it. I thought at first their new boy would be only two years old, like her. But then I saw him. He was nearly as old as me! And he was wearing Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas. I didn’t want to play with him when I saw that, and nobody suggested it. I don’t know why.
I don’t know either why the boy – his name was Eddie – would want to sit next to Marie, mucking about with sand. He did, though. She would crawl about, grabbing the spades and shovels, and bashing the top of buckets. He just sat jammed against the edge, scooping up handfuls of sand and watching it trickle away between his fingers. Over and over. Whenever Marie got upset because she couldn’t see her favourite yellow scraper, he’d push it back in view. And sometimes, when she was chattering her nonsense, he’d nod as if he might be listening.
He didn’t talk, though – except to say to Marie things like, ‘There it is,’ and, ‘Over there .’
I watched quite often. Usually Alan was gardening somewhere near, pretending not to keep an eye on things.
I asked Linda once, when I’d been sent round there to tell them that it was our tea time, ‘Why do you put him in there with a baby ?’
She looked at me. I could tell that she was going to make up some excuse. But then she didn’t.
‘I think he finds it soothing,’ she told me. ‘And some days, when he’s had his visitors, it calms him down.’
I knew who she meant by ‘his visitors’. She meant the dumpy man and the smart lady they called Sue.
Eddie
You cannot say I wasn’t used to questions. But Eleanor . She had braids wrapped around her head, grey hair and dangly necklaces. Her spectacles hung round her neck when they weren’t on her nose. I couldn’t stand her – well, not her exactly, more the way she made me feel, because that awful waiting that we always did reminded me of being near to Harris. It made my heart thump, knowing that she’d be saying something any moment, but not knowing what or when. I’d try so hard to keep still, then I’d look in my lap to see my hands squirm. Or I would notice red and realize I’d gnawed a fingernail so far down that it was bleeding again.
She wasn’t horrid. It was simply horrid being there, feeling like something she was studying. She’d sit me in the chair, give me a good long look, and then she’d say, ‘Today, I thought that we might talk about—’ And it would be this or that, and all those horrible long pauses after I’d done my best. And it was such a cheat because Linda and Alan had told me so often when I’d woken at night, ‘Those days are gone . They are all over now.’
And here was Eleanor, just going on about it all, over and over and over. ‘How did that make you feel?’ ‘Did you feel scared, Eddie?’ ‘Perhaps you felt very sad.’ ‘You probably felt—’
Linda would bring me home. I’d beg her, ‘Read me a story!’ and she would pull out Frog and Toad , or Up the Faraway Tree , or The Smugglers’ Secret . Anything that wasn’t to do with me and how I felt. I loved the way even the words on the page began to make sense. More and more often, Linda would drop her finger to the page and say, ‘You read this line,’ and I would find that I could do it. ‘No!’ ‘Stop!’ or ‘Frog said, “Yes, Toad.” ’
I read it properly, as well. She said I put expression into it right from the start. I knew how to do that because Mr Perkins often read to us. Never a story, though. We’d come back from the day’s visit and he’d say, ‘Now that reminds me
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