Ballet Shoes for Anna (6 page)

T
HE
C
RESCENT WAS
buzzing with the news. One paper had said Christopher Docksay had left three children. Another had said they had been in hospital but had left for England in the care of Sir William Hoogle. No paper had said the children had been brought to Fyton to live with their uncle, but it had taken no one in The Crescent long to put two and two together. Yesterday children with suitcases had been seen getting out of “that odd Mr Docksay’s” car. This morning three children had been seen going out shopping with Mrs Docksay. Many people in The Crescent had children of their own, others had grandchildren, but all, whether they had families or not, said:

“Poor children! We must see what we can do to help.”

Cecil Docksay had been working all the morning. Though he had retired from his bank he was still a busy man,
for, being good at figures – which is something bank managers have to be – he was in demand to be the treasurer of charities. It could not be said he was liked for he was unsociable, but it was admitted he was useful.

Now, his work over, he was in his garden looking proudly at his plastic flowers when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw what he described to himself as “some fool” in the next garden watering his real flowers. He paid no attention because he was not the sort of man neighbours talked to over garden fences, but that day he had a surprise. The neighbour spoke to him.

“I believe Christopher Docksay was your brother. I’m so sorry. Terrible tragedy. Don’t know much about pictures myself but the papers say he was a wonderful artist.” Cecil muttered something that just might have been “thank you”. “My wife,” the neighbour went on, “met three children out with Mrs Docksay this morning. Are they your brother’s kids? Saw in the paper there were three coming to England.”

Cecil was livid at what he considered inquisitiveness but he had to answer.

“That’s right. They’re living here.”

The neighbour swallowed back the “Heaven help them” which sprang to his lips. Instead he said:

“We were wondering if the children would like to come to tea one day. We’ve got twins, you know – a boy and a girl. They’re eleven.”

Cecil was speechless with rage. Ever since they had lived in Dunroamin he and Mabel had kept themselves to themselves.

Now, after one night in the house, the children were being asked out to tea. It was unbearable.

“Not going out at the moment,” he growled and strode back into his house and shut the door. At the same time he looked at his watch, three minutes to one, the children had better be punctual or he’d show them who was master here.

There can be few things more annoying when you are feeling cross than that those with whom you are cross should take the wind out of your sails by doing exactly what you had meant to scold them for not doing. Exactly at one o’clock the three children, washed and tidy, walked into the dining room.

The idea was Francesco’s. Walking home, he had been thinking about his uncle. Upstairs, he told his thoughts to the others.

“If we take care never to do anything in anger, and if we try not to speak at meals, it will be much better for The Uncle will leave us alone.”

“Why should we?” Gussie expostulated. “I like talking at meals like we always have, and if I’m angry I do things at once without thinking.”

Anna agreed with Francesco. She had come into the boys’ room to have her hair plaited.

“He’s quite right, Gussie. It is not nice here but we must try while S’William is in Alaska. When he comes back perhaps he will sell our picture, then something better could be managed.”

To add to the tidy washed look Francesco felt was expected of them he tried to do something with Gussie’s
hair. They all had thick dark hair but Gussie’s had a slight curl in his which made it stand up. Francesco, much to Gussie’s annoyance, took a wet comb to it.

“Why should I comb my hair to please The Uncle?” he grumbled. “I do not like him so I don’t care how it looks. Anyway, it was cut and washed in Istanbul.”

On their first day in Istanbul Sir William had sent all three children to a hairdresser.

“You boys look like a couple of savages,” he had said, “and Anna is not much better.”

“Our hair is usually much better than now,” Gussie had told him. “It is the earthquake, it makes a terrible dust.”

“Our mother was always washing and cutting our hair,” Francesco had added. “For Anna she tied it on top of her head with a ribbon so her neck was cool.”

This was so vivid a picture that none of the children could bear to think of it.

Sir William saw this.

“I didn’t suppose your hair was always a mess. You must remember I was never in an earthquake. But yours does need washing and perhaps a bit of cutting. What length you wear it is your business, but you might have it trimmed.”

But that was a week ago and Gussie’s hair, though clean, was on end again. Francesco slicked it down with a wet comb which was unbecoming but effective.

“Now we all wash,” he said. “Then we watch over the stairs and the moment The Aunt comes out of the kitchen with the food we walk down the stairs.”

Cecil looked at the children to find something about them on which he could rub off his anger. But there was nothing. They were not a credit to him because, having lived so long in hot countries, they were pale compared with ordinary English children, and they had dark circles under their eyes as a result of all they had suffered. Then he noticed Gussie’s hair. The wet comb had not only made the hair lie down neatly but also had made it look longer. If there was one thing Cecil hated it was boys with long hair.

“You need your hair cut, Augustus,” he said. “You can have it done this afternoon.”

Gussie clean forgot what had been decided in the bedroom.

“Cut! Cut! Cut!” he said. “Everybody speaks about cutting. It was cut last week in Istanbul.”

Mabel was putting helpings of fish pie on the plates. This meant her back was to the table, but even from that position she could feel a diversion was necessary if Cecil was not to get angry.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said to Cecil. “I’ll see Gussie goes to the barber’s.” Then, to keep Gussie quiet, she added: “Would you two boys come and hand round the plates?”

Francesco could see Gussie was longing to go on arguing, so as he gave his uncle his plate of fish pie he asked:

“How much in England is it to have the hair cut?”

“Too much by a long chalk,” said Cecil. “Probably twenty-five pence. Everything costs too much these days.”

That silenced Gussie. Twenty-five pence would be more
than those ten pences. If only The Aunt did not come with them surely they could find a way to keep the money.

It was lucky the children had had a busy morning for it had made them hungry, so somehow they forced down the fish pie which they all – used to highly seasoned food – thought disgusting. The fish pie was followed by what Mabel called a summer pudding. It was made of bread and blackcurrants and though, as the children agreed later, not nice it was good for taking away the taste of the fish pie. At the end of the meal Cecil put his hand in his pocket and took out some change and passed it over to Francesco.

“There’s twenty-five but you may get it done for twenty. If you do, bring me the change. And see Augustus’s hair is cut really short, he looks like a girl as he is, and anyway I’m not made of money, this cut had got to last a long time.”

Fortunately Mabel had no intention of going with the children to the hairdresser. She told them where the barber’s shop was, then she turned her worried mouselike face to Francesco.

“I trust you, dear, to see it really is cut short. You don’t want unpleasantness, do you?”

Gussie only waited to get the other two alone before he burst out:

“I do want unpleasantness. I won’t have my hair cut. Christopher liked it, Olga liked it and so I think did Jardek and Babka – at least, they never said they didn’t. If anyone tries to cut my hair I’ll run away.”

Francesco and Anna knew that when Gussie got cross he
could talk louder and louder until he was almost screaming.

“You know we can’t have your hair cut,” said Francesco, “this twenty-five is for Anna’s shoes.”

“Then what will The Uncle say?” Gussie demanded.

“This I do not know,” Francesco admitted. “But we will tell all to Wally and he will find an answer.”

W
ALLY WAS ALREADY
sitting on the seat when the children arrived. This time he had not brought his bicycle. He was so pleased to see them he bounced off the seat and rushed to meet them.

“There you are! You gotta come to me mum’s stall. I told ’er how Anna had lost her dancing shoes in the earthquake and she’s ever so interested. She says she read about you in the paper, you know, your dad and mum and that being killed. She says you come and talk to ’er an’ she’s sure thin’s can be sorted out so’s you’ve enough for Anna’s shoes. What’s an earthquake like?”

Francesco did not want Gussie to be sick or Anna to cry so he said:

“I’ll tell you some day but just now we want a way to cut Gussie’s hair without spending money.”

“You see,” Anna explained, “The Uncle has given twenty-five pence for it to be cut, but we need the money for my dancing shoes.”

Gussie caught hold of Wally’s sleeve.

“I don’t want it cut. It’s all right the way it is. Anyway, I do not like The Uncle so I won’t do things to please him.”

Wally was not sure how his mother would react to this hair business. She might think taking twenty-five pence, meant for hair cutting, to buy shoes was cheating. So all he said was:

“We’ll ask Mum, she’ll know what’s best.”

Wally’s mum was waiting for them behind her stall. Her name was Mrs Wall. The children took to her right away. She had red hair like Wally and, though she was not old, she had a fat cosy look. They had not seen anybody fat and cosy since Babka and, now they saw fat and cosiness again, they knew how badly they had missed her.

“This is them,” said Wally in a proud voice, rather as if he was introducing three TV stars.

Wally’s mum saw the pale faces and the shadows under the eyes and she felt so sorry for the children that it hurt. She pulled Anna to her and gave her a hug.

“So it’s you who wants to learn dancin’.”

That hug was too much for Anna. It was just the way Babka had hugged. Ever since Sir William had looked after them all three children had tried not to think of things which reminded them of the little house that went away. And most of the time they had succeeded, pushing other things on top
of what they were trying to forget. Now, with one hug, Wally’s mum had brought everything back. It was like a dam breaking. All the pushed-away hopeless misery came tumbling out. First Anna was crying, then Gussie and finally Francesco.

Wally’s mum was a great believer in having a good cry.

“That’s right,” she said in her warm cosy voice. “No good bottlin’ thin’s up.” Then, over the heads of the three children for by now she had them all in her arms, she called out to Wally:

“Get the stall packed, dear, then we’ll go ’ome and I’ll make a nice cuppa tea. Nothing like a cuppa when you’re feeling low.”

The children cried for quite a long time for they had a lot of held-in crying to get out of them. But when they had reached the occasional hiccupping-sob stage Wally’s mum said:

“Now, blow your noses and we’ll get movin’. Wally’s packed the pram.”

It had not struck the children to wonder how Wally’s mum transported her goods to her stall. They had often watched stalls put up, and knew that at the end of the day someone would come and help carry away the baskets and boxes. Or perhaps a boy would arrive with a donkey. But a perambulator was something new.

“How is it you have the perambulator?” Gussie asked in the sniffy voice of someone who has been crying.

Wally’s mum laughed.

“You’d never think it but it’s Wally’s old pram. His dad said he’d sell it when Wally got past it, but I had a feeling it would come in useful and it has.”

“You see, me dad was a lorry driver,” Wally explained, “and he was in a smash. Well, he can’t do much now so that’s why me mum has the stall, and the perambulator’s grand for getting the stuff along.”

“Wally comes to push the perambulator ’ome after school, he never misses,” Wally’s mum said proudly.

The boys helped Wally push the perambulator and as they walked the children told Wally’s mum about their troubles.

“The Uncle is a terrible man,” Gussie explained. “He says to dance is a sin.”

Wally’s mum, though sorry for the children, still held to her views on what was right.

“Well, the one who pays the piper calls the tune,” she said, “and you can’t go against that.”

“You do not see that I must dance?”Anna asked, appalled.

Wally’s mum put an arm around Anna and gave her a squeeze.

“I never said that. Of course you must dance if you ’ave the gift. But this uncle – well, he has taken you in and he’s feedin’ you and that, so it’s his right to say if he don’t hold with dancing.”

Then they told her about the ice cream ten pences and the twenty-five pence for the hair cutting.

“We do not know how much the shoes will cost,” Anna explained, “but forty-five pence must help.”

Wally’s mum thought about that.

“The tens you were given for the ice cream, that’s all right, but I don’t know about that twenty-five that was given for hair cuttin’ and nothin’ else.”

“But I won’t have it cut,” said Gussie. “I like it the way it is, everybody liked it, there is only The Uncle who wants it short.”

Wally’s mum looked at Gussie with a twinkle in her eye.

“I see I’ll ’ave to say to you what I says to Wally – ‘want will ’ave to be your master’.”

“But, Mum,” said Wally, “couldn’t Dad …”

His mum silenced him with a gesture.

“We’ll see what we’ll see. Now come in, dears, and I’ll put on the kettle.”

They had stopped outside a small house sitting by itself in a field. In the field there were a lot of hens and one cock and a sty from which came the grunting of a pig.

“You have a farm,” said Francesco. “We had many friends who had farms.”

Wally’s mum laughed.

“It’s ’ardly a farm but Wally’s dad always fancied pigkeepin’ and when ’e got compensation for his accident we spent it on this place. ’E can’t do much from ’is wheelchair but Wally ’elps and the pig is company for ’is dad when we’re out.”

“Come on,” Wally told the children. “We keeps the pram back of the pigsty. We’ll tell Dad we’re ’ome.”

Wally’s dad was in his wheelchair. He seemed to have lost
both legs in his motor accident but he was a very cheerful man.

“Meet our Bess,” he said, pointing to the very fat pig in the sty. “Makes a lovely pet Bessie does.”

Wally did the honours.

“This is Francesco and this is Gussie and this is Anna, they were in an earthquake.”

Wally’s dad had also read his newspaper. He gave the children a quick look, then he changed the subject.

“Is your mum making a cuppa then? Looks like we could all do with it.”

Over tea and a splendid cake Wally’s dad was told about Anna’s dancing and the twenty-five pence for Gussie to have his hair cut. That made him look at Gussie.

“Well, you could do with a cut.”

“But I don’t want it done,” Gussie protested, “and we need the money for Anna’s shoes. She can’t practise properly in socks.”

Mr Wall looked at his wife.

“You get out the basin and me scissors.”

Wally’s mum got up.

“Lovely hair cutter he is. Just amateur like. But there’s quite a few come to him.”

Wally’s dad beamed at Gussie.

“Then you gives me the twenty-five for the ’aircut and I gives it back to you and everybody’s ’appy.”

“Except me,” Gussie growled.

“Even you, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Wally’s dad. “It’s a
marvel the way I can keep cuttin’ and still leave the ’air looking OK.”

Wally’s mum put a stool for Gussie beside the wheelchair and wrapped a towel round him, then Mr Wall put a pudding basin on Gussie’s head and clipped at the hair that was outside it.

“It’s not just the shoes, is it?” Wally’s mum asked Anna and Francesco. “Wally was telling me you wanted to sell some clothes.”

“They are ours – given us by S’William, so absolutely nothing to do with The Uncle,” Gussie shouted.

“You sit still and don’t talk,” said Mr Wall, “or I’ll ’ave a ear off of you.”

“We have a suitcase each and Anna has another frock and we have shorts and shirts,” Francesco explained. “But we do not know of a teacher so we cannot tell how much it will cost.”

Wally’s mum looked at Wally.

“Isn’t there someone the girls go to of a Saturday?”

Wally nodded.

“Miss Audrey de Veane. Lovely teacher they say she is.”

“Puts on shows for charity and that, doesn’t she?” his mother asked.

“Them as is old enough gets work in pantomimes,” said Wally. “Wouldn’t fancy it meself, but she’s well spoke of.”

“You know any girl what learns off of ’er?”

Wally sighed.

“Well, that Doreen does, you know – her down by the
church. Silly sort she is but she does learn the dancing.”

“You’ll go on your bike first thing tomorrow. Just ask her what this Miss de Veane charges. No need to tell her why – just ask.”

The children had to go home soon after that. Gussie’s hair was finished, it looked rather peculiar for it was much shorter at the back than at the front, though there was still a lot on the top of his head.

“Aren’t they lovely people?” Francesco said.

Gussie skipped on ahead.

“Wouldn’t it be good if we could live there instead of with The Uncle?”

Francesco felt the twenty-five pence in his pocket.

“And what a day! We have more money for the shoes. We have found someone who teaches dancing and Wally’s mum will sell what we need to pay her. Are you pleased, Anna?”

Anna hesitated.

“Yes. Of course I am glad if the lady can teach as Jardek did. But until I know that I cannot say if I will learn with her.” She looked anxiously at Francesco. “Will you explain this to Wally’s mum? I would rather die than she should think I am not grateful.”

Francesco sighed. There was so much he had to do now he was head of the family.

“Do not worry,” he told Anna. “If you cannot learn from this lady it is I who will explain.”