She was not sure how the flies got into the amber, but my father knew the answer. When I told Marigold his explanation, that slow-witted flies were trapped in the resin, she chuckled. For years I had gone around with my eyes fixed on the ground, trying to break open likely-looking rocks to see if they contained amber.
I told Jenny all this, and she giggled as I used to do. “They do hurt a bit,” she said. When she unclipped the earrings, her ears were pinched to redness. “Who gave you the beads?” she asked, pointing to a coral necklace.
“My godmother, Rose, gave them to me for my christening. She was a close friend of my mother's, but I never met her. She sent me handkerchiefs every Christmas and birthday, and I would write her a thank-you letter claiming that they were just what I'd always wanted.”
Jenny nodded her head vigorously. “It seems silly to write thank-you letters for awful presents. Then people never learn to do better.”
“I suppose we're thanking them for the thought.”
“Why should we thank people for having stupid thoughts? What's this?”
“It's a Saint Christopher. It was given to me by a boy named Richard Lamb. His father kept a jewellery shop, so he probably got it half price.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“Not really. He was away at boarding school, so I only saw him half a dozen times. He wrote to me.”
When every piece had been examined and discussed, I put them all back in the basket and carried it to the bedroom. Jenny followed. She sat on the edge of the bed, swinging her legs, while I hung up my suit.
“Do you think Dad would let me join the Brownies?” she asked.
“If you want to, I'm sure he would. Aren't you a bit old, though? I should have thought you were ready for the Guides.”
“Anna's a Brownie. She's my age.”
“Why haven't you joined before?”
“Mummy thought it was stupid.”
I looked at her and saw that expression I had seen before at difficult moments, when her face became blank and smooth as a tightly wrapped parcel. I caught sight of my cat socks, lying on top of the chest of drawers. “Did you see these? They were a present from Tobias,” I said. I passed them to her.
She took the nest of socks and unrolled them. Each sock showed a black and white cat sitting on a wall. “They don't look like him,” she said.
“Well, it's hard to find socks with cats on.”
“Where did you get them?”
“In London.”
“Where you used to live,” she said. “Do you think you'll ever go back there?” She spoke absent-mindedly, as if all her attention were on the socks; she had pulled one on over her hand to examine it better.
“I don't know. Not for a while certainly. Stephen and I both have jobs here, and you're here.” I picked up a pair of tights from the floor and put them on the chair.
We made the soufflé together, and it rose to stunning heights. Afterwards, at Jenny's suggestion, we played Pellminism, a game at which she excelled. Not only did she remember the position of every card we turned over, but she was also spectacularly lucky. When she had won three games in a row, I called a halt and said that it was time for bed.
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I was watching television when Stephen came home. He hurried into the living room, still wearing his jacket. “Hello,” I said. “You're home early.”
“Deirdre gave me a lift.”
“But she didn't come in?”
“She had a mysterious date. You know what a hectic schedule she has.” He sat down beside me. “Listen, I feel terrible. I forgot to wish you luck today. I tried to ring you at your office, but you'd already left. I'm awfully sorry.”
“That's all right,” I said.
“No, it isn't. If you hadn't rushed off quite so early I would have remembered, but that's no excuse. Tell me all about it. Did the sales people praise you to the skies?”
“Pretty much. They seemed to really like the idea of the essay book. Bill started dropping hints about a series.”
“I can see it already. âThe Gilchrist Series of Improving Books,' it will say on the cover in big letters. All over the country, teachers will be saying, âNow turn to page three hundred of your Gilchrist.'” We both laughed. “And how about the poetry?”
“That went fine. There are so many poetry books that it's more a matter of coming up with the right comparisons.”
Stephen bent forward and rummaged in his briefcase. “I bought some wine,” he said. “To toast your success.”
Suzie and I were on our way to lunch when she asked if I would be interested in going to a second-hand shop. She was looking for a sofa. “Danny is a bit erratic,” she explained, “but Friday is a good day to catch him.”
“That would be great,” I said. “I want to buy a desk for our room. When I was preparing for the sales conference, it was very aggravating having nowhere to work besides the dining room table.” We were walking down Melville Street. At the far end the church was sharply etched against the blue sky and the trees were in full yellow leaf.
“I thought you had a desk.”
“We do, but Jenny uses it.”
“How's she getting on?” Suzie asked. “You seem to have been in a better mood these last few days.”
“I didn't know it was obvious.” I smiled. “I think she's finally settling down. Initially the only thing we had in common was Stephen, but now that we've spent some time alone together, we're becoming friends.”
“That makes sense,” said Suzie.
We turned off Melville Street and began to make our way through the side streets in the direction of Haymarket Station. At first sight of Danny's, it was hard to believe Suzie's claim that she had found some nice pieces of furniture here. The sign over the front of the shop was so faded as to be illegible, and the windows were shuttered; only the open door suggested the possibility of commerce. Inside, furniture was piled
high. Suzie led me between wardrobes, chests of drawers, and beds to the back of the shop, where Danny sat in an old armchair beside a single-bar electric fire. “Hello, girls. What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I'm looking for a sofa, and Celia's looking for a desk,” Suzie said. “How have you been?”
“Not perfect.” He began to describe some problem with his digestion, and I wandered away. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I was better able to distinguish Danny's wares. I was examining a rocking chair when I spotted, balanced on top of a dresser, a white table with two drawers.
Danny was shaking his head about a sofa in which Suzie had expressed interest. “It's a piece of junk,” he said. “It needs rewebbing, and the upholstery is covered in cat hair. There's sure to be something better by and by.”
“How much is that table?” I asked.
He squinted in the direction of my gesture. “The white one? I'll give it to you for ten pounds. Mind you that's a bargain. If you strip it, you could sell it for forty.”
“Show me,” said Suzie.
Together we lifted the table down; I tried the drawers and checked to see if it was steady. “You should take it,” Suzie said. “Ten pounds is hard to beat.”
I went over to Danny and got out my cheque book. He shook his head. “Cash only,” he said. When I offered a twenty pound note, he drew out of his pocket a sizeable wad of fattened notes.
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Next morning Stephen and Jenny went to fetch the table and came home with it tied to the roof of the car. While Jenny carried in the drawers, Stephen and I untied the table and manoeuvred it into the house. It fitted perfectly in front of the bedroom window.
“Sit down,” said Stephen. He lifted our clothes off the chair and placed it in front of the table. Obediently I sat.
“What is it for?” asked Jenny. She was kneeling on the edge of our bed.
“It's for Celia to work, so she won't always have to chase us out of the dining room.” He put a book down in front of me, to simulate working conditions.
“I used to use the desk in your room.” I turned to look at Jenny.
She smiled. “Before I came to live with you,” she said, bouncing slightly up and down.
“That's right,” Stephen agreed. He rested his hand on my shoulder. “This will be a nice place to work. You can gaze at the garden and daydream. I'm going to make the shopping list. Can you think of anything we need?”
“I'll have to come and check,” I said.
“KitKats, raisins, peanut butter,” said Jenny. She followed him out of the bedroom.
In the gloom of Danny's shop the table had looked fairly clean, but in broad daylight it was apparent how dirty it really was. I decided to take the drawers out and wash them at the kitchen sink; the rest of the table I would clean in place. When I came into the dining room, Stephen was standing by the side-board, reading the list. “Orange juice, butter, cheese,” he said. “Do we need more flour?”
Suddenly Jenny sat down at the table and put her head in her hands. “My tummy feels odd,” she said.
“Odd how?” asked Stephen. He hurried over and knelt down beside her.
“Like I might be sick.”
Stephen put his hand on her forehead. “I don't think you have a temperature, but maybe you should stay here. If you're feeling sick, being in the car will only make it worse. Why don't you get into bed for a bit?”
“Okay,” said Jenny. She walked slowly out of the room, followed by Stephen. I carried the drawers into the kitchen and began to wash one of them in the sink. Presently Stephen
returned. “She's in bed, reading,” he said. “I don't know what can be the matter. She seemed fine earlier, and all she's had to eat today is cereal and toast.”
“Perhaps moving furniture doesn't agree with her. Will you get a couple of lemons?”
I finished washing the drawers and propped them against the back-door steps to dry. Then I went and tapped on the door of Jenny's room. “Come in,” she said in a quiet voice. I stepped inside. The curtains were drawn, and the room was lit by the bedside lamp. Jenny was sitting up in bed. As far as I could see, she was still fully dressed. “Can I get you anything?” I asked.
“No. I feel sleepy.”
“I'll be in the bedroom. Just shout if you need me.”
She nodded and slid a little further between the sheets.
I filled a bucket with warm water and carried it with other cleaning supplies to the bedroom. The table was covered in a heavy white gloss paint which would not be easy to strip, but it could at least be clean. I turned on the radio and began to scrub one of the legs. In a few hours, I thought, Stephen and I would have the house to ourselves. Jenny was going to stay the night at Anna's, and we would not see her again until tomorrow afternoon, when Stephen had promised to take both girls swimming.
I finished washing the second leg and decided to fetch fresh water. As I stood up, I glanced out of the window. Jenny was in the garden. She must be feeling better, I thought. She was standing at the far end of the lawn, with her back to the house, brandishing a stick at a flower bed. I assumed she was playing some sort of game. Then she took a step forward, and Selina appeared from among the lupins. She ran across the grass towards her hutch, and Jenny darted after her, bringing the stick down as she went.
When she reached the run, Selina stopped beside the wire netting, as if seeking admittance, then the stick came down,
Jenny was almost upon her, and she fled for cover behind the shed.
I ran from the bedroom, through the dining room and the kitchen. As I flung open the back door and stepped into the garden, there was a scream, a piercing and terribly human sound. I felt the hair rise on my head. I knew at once that Jenny had not uttered such a cry.
I ran across the grass. Jenny had cornered Selina behind the shed. She had her arm raised, ready to bring down the stick once more, when I seized her wrist.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. I held her as hard as I could.
“You're hurting me.” She did not even glance at me; she kept her face turned towards Selina, as if intent upon her prey.
“What are you doing?” I did not slacken my grip.
“Selina escaped. I'm trying to catch her.”
Selina lay next to the compost heap, pressed as close to the earth as possible; save for the faint tremors that shook her, I would have feared she was dead. On the several occasions when we had let her out of her cage, she had proved docile and friendly, unwilling to stray too far and easily lured back into captivity with offers of food.
“How did she get out?”
“I don't know. I was in the shed. Then I looked and she was hopping across the grass.”
“She's never got out before.” Within my grasp Jenny's wrist was no thicker than the stick she held, and it seemed that I might as easily snap it in two. I squeezed harder.
“Let go of me,” Jenny said. At last she looked up, her eyes dark and wide. There was a thumbprint of colour in the middle of each cheek, and she was breathing hard.
The urge to hit her rose inside me, brimming right to the edge of overflowing. I was so angry that I could scarcely speak, while she, although excited, seemed entirely in control.
I jerked the stick out of her hand and threw it over the garden wall. “Come on,” I said. “We're going inside.”
I led her across the grass, as if she were a criminal and I the jailer. Only when we reached the dining room did I release her. As soon as I did so, without my saying anything she went to her room and closed the door. I took refuge in the bedroom. The radio was still playing, and I turned it off. I wanted to be able to hear if Jenny dared to leave her room. The house hummed with silence.
I stood gazing out of the window, hoping to see Selina hop out, unhurt, from behind the tool shed. I was still breathing hard, and my heart was racing as if from some tremendous exertion. There was a movement in the herbaceous border. Tobias appeared. He looked right and left, walked swiftly across the empty grass, sprang up onto the wall, and vanished. I reminded myself of acts of cruelty I had committed when I was Jenny's age. At school it had been the custom to torment our maths teacher, a woman with a slight lisp, whose prominent teeth were often smeared with bright red lipstick. On several occasions my class had successfully reduced her to tears, the sight of which only whetted our appetite for more. Then there were the other children, whom we attacked with random ferocity.
Suddenly I remembered that I had once been one of those casual victims. Four children who lived at the far end of our street had ganged up against me and every time I came out of the house had pursued me with sticks, thrown stones. I could not tell my parents, for according to our code of conduct there was nothing worse than being a tell-tale, but I began to stay in my room; even the garden, which had always been my kingdom, no longer seemed safe.
The feud had been in progress for several days when my mother asked me to go to the shops. I argued that I had homework to do, but she insisted. “It'll only take a few minutes,” she said, handing me the list and a five pound note.
I paused at the door to retie the laces of my gym shoes, and set out. I was running down the street as fast as I could, hoping to pass by my enemies unnoticed, when the first stone hit my shoulder. The children appeared, two on either side, closing in on me. Then, as another stone fell at my feet, one of the boys started to run in the opposite direction. “Stay right there,” called my father. “Aren't you on your way to the shops, Celia? You'd better get going.”
The most remarkable effect of my father's intervention was that afterwards the children were friendlier to me than they had been before they commenced their attacks.
Jenny must have been watching from her window for Stephen's return. Suddenly I heard her running out into the hall, and flinging open the front door. “Daddy, Daddy, Selina escaped. You've got to help me get her back.”
“I thought you were in bed,” said Stephen. “How are you feeling?”
I came out of the bedroom just in time to see Jenny's startled expressionâshe had forgotten her illnessâbut she quickly regained her poise. “I'm better. Come and help with Selina.”
“I don't understand how she could get out.” Stephen handed her a bag of groceries to carry.
“She had a little help,” I said.
“It's not true. She got out by herself.”
“When I looked out of the window, Jenny was chasing her round the garden with a stick. After what happened, it'll be amazing if Selina doesn't die of shock.”
Jenny stood on one side of Stephen, holding the bag he had given her, staring fixedly at him. She did not once look at me, where I stood on his other side. And he remained in the middle, turning his gaze, first on one of us, then on the other.
“I didn't mean to chase her,” Jenny said. “I was trying to make her go back in. Can we go and catch her now?”
“When I saw you, you weren't making the slightest attempt
to catch Selina.” I wanted to grab her, to force her to at least look at me, but her father stood between us.
“We can talk about this later, Celia,” he said. “The main thing now is to put Selina back in her run and get Jenny some lunch. I promised I'd have her at Anna's by two o'clock.” He gave me a quick smile, then put his hand on Jenny's shoulder and steered her in the direction of the dining room.