The thirteenth tale (19 page)

THE FRIENDLY GIANT

I ran. I jumped over the holes in the floorboards, leaped down
the stairs three at a time, lost my footing and lunged at the handrail for
support. I grasped at a handful of ivy, stumbled, saved myself and lurched
forward again. The library? No. The other way. Through an archway. Branches of
elder and buddleia caught at my clothes, and I half fell several times as my
feet scrabbled through the detritus of the broken house.

At last, inevitably, I crashed to the ground, and a wild cry
escaped my lips.

‘Oh dear, oh dear. Did I startle you? Oh dear.“

I stared back through the archway.

Leaning over the gallery landing was not the skeleton or monster
of my imaginings, but a giant. He moved smoothly down the stairs, stepped
daintily and unconcernedly through the debris on the floor and came to stand
over me with an expression of the utmost concern on his face.

‘Oh my goodness.“

He must have been six-foot-four or -five, and was broad, so
broad that the house seemed to shrink around him.

‘I never meant… You see, I only thought… Because you’d been
there some time, and… But that doesn’t matter now, because the thing is, my
dear, are you hurt?“

I felt reduced to the size of a child. But for all his great
dimensions, this man, too, had something of a child about him. Too plump for
wrinkles, he had a round, cherubic face, and a halo of silver-blond curls sat
neatly around his balding head. His eyes were round like the frames of his
spectacles. They were kind and had a blue transparency.

I must have been looking dazed, and pale, too, perhaps. He knelt
by my side and took my wrist.

‘My, my, that was quite a tumble you took. If only I’d… I should
never have… Pulse a bit high. Hmm.“

My shin was stinging. I reached to investigate a tear in the
knee of my trousers, and my fingers came away bloodied.

‘Dear, oh dear. It’s the leg, is it? Is it broken? Can you move
it?“ I wriggled my foot, and the man’s face was a picture of relief.

‘Thank goodness. I should never have forgiven myself. Now, you
stay there while I… I’ll just get the… Back in a minute.“ And off he went. His
feet danced delicately in and out of the jagged edges of wood, then skipped
swiftly up the stairs, while the upper half of his body sailed serenely above,
as if unconnected to the elaborate footwork going on below.

I took a deep breath and waited.

‘I’ve put the kettle on,“ he announced as he returned. It was a
proper first-aid kit he had with him, white with a red cross on it, and he took
out an antiseptic lotion and some gauze.

‘I always said, someone will get hurt in that old place one of
these days. I’ve had the kit for years. Better safe than sorry, eh? Oh dear, oh
dear!“ He winced with empathy as he pressed the stinging pad against my cut
shin. ”Let’s be brave, shall we?“

‘Do you have electricity here?“ I asked. I was feeling
bewildered.

‘Electricity? But it’s a ruin.“ He stared at me, astonished by
my question, as though I might have suffered a concussion in the fall and lost
my reason.

‘It’s just that I thought you said you’d put the kettle on.“

‘Oh, I see! No! I have a camping stove. I used to have a Thermos
flask, but“—he turned his nose up—”tea from a Thermos is not very nice, is it?
Now, does it sting very badly?“

‘Only a bit.“

‘Good girl. Quite a tumble that was. Now tea—lemon and sugar all
right? No milk, I’m afraid. No fridge.“

‘Lemon will be lovely.“

‘Right. Well, let’s make you comfortable. The rain has stopped,
so tea outdoors?“ He went to the grand old double door at the front of the
house and unlatched it. With a creak smaller than one expected, the doors swung
open, and I began to get to my feet.

‘Don’t move!“

The giant danced back toward me, bent down and picked me up. I
felt myself being raised into the air and carried smoothly outside. He sat me
sideways on the back of one of the black cats I had admired an hour earlier.

‘You wait there, and when I come back, you and I will have a
lovely tea!“ and he went back into the house. His huge back glided up the
stairs and disappeared into the entrance of the corridor and the third room.

‘Comfy?“

I nodded.

‘Marvelous.“ He smiled as though it were indeed marvelous. ”Now,
let us introduce ourselves. My name is Love. Aurelius Alphonse Love. Do call me
Aurelius.“ He looked at me expectantly.

‘Margaret Lea.“

‘Margaret.“ He beamed. ”Splendid. Quite splendid. Now, eat.“

Between the ears of the big black cat he had unfolded a napkin,
corner by corner. Inside was a dark and sticky slice of cake, cut generously. I
bit into it. It was the perfect cake for a cold day: spiced with ginger, sweet
but hot. The stranger strained the tea into dainty china cups. He offered me a
bowl of sugar lumps, then took a blue velvet pouch from his breast pocket,
which he opened. Resting on the velvet was a silver spoon with an elongated A
in the form of a stylized angel ornamenting the handle. I took it, stirred my
tea and passed it back to him.

While I ate and drank, my host sat on the second cat, which took
on an unexpected kittenish appearance beneath his great girth. He ate in
silence, neatly and with concentration. He watched me eat, too, anxious that I
should appreciate the food.

‘That was lovely,“ I said. ”Homemade, I think?“

The gap between the two cats was about ten feet, and to converse
we had to raise our voices slightly, giving the conversation a somewhat
theatrical air, as though it were some performance. And indeed we had an
audience. In the rain-washed light, close to the edge of the woods, a deer,
stock-still, regarded us curiously. Unblinking, alert, nostrils twitching.
Seeing I had spotted it, it made no attempt to run but decided, on the
contrary, not to be afraid.

My companion wiped his fingers on his napkin, then shook it out
and folded it into four. “You liked it then? The recipe was given to me by Mrs.
Love. I’ve been making this cake since I was a child. Mrs. Love was a wonderful
cook. A marvelous woman all round. Of course, she is departed now. A good age.
Though one might have hoped— But it was not to be.”

‘I see.“ Though I wasn’t sure I did see. Was Mrs. Love his wife?
Though he’d said he’d been making her cake since he was a child. Surely he
couldn’t mean his mother? Why would he call his mother Mrs. Love? Two things
were clear, though: He had loved her and she was dead. ”I’m sorry,“ I said.

He accepted my condolences with a sad expression, then
brightened. “But it’s a fitting memorial, don’t you think? The cake, I mean?”

‘Certainly. Was it long ago? That you lost her?“

He thought. “Nearly twenty years. Though it seems more. Or less.
Depending on how one looks at it.”

I nodded. I was none the wiser.

For a few moments we sat in silence. I looked out to the deer
park. At the cusp of the wood, more deer were emerging. They moved with the
sunlight across the grassy park.

The stinging in my leg had diminished. I was feeling better.

‘Tell me…“ the stranger began, and I suspected he had needed to
pluck up the courage to ask his question. ”Do you have a mother?“

I felt a start of surprise. People hardly ever notice me for
long enough to ask me personal questions.

‘Do you mind? Forgive me for asking, but— How can I put it?
Families are a matter of… of… But if you’d rather not— I am sorry.“

‘It’s all right,“ I said slowly. ”I don’t mind.“ And actually I
didn’t. Perhaps it was the series of shocks I’d had, or else the influence of
this queer setting, but it seemed that anything I might say about myself here,
to this man, would remain forever in this place, with him, and have no currency
anywhere else in the world. Whatever I said to him would have no consequences.
So I answered his question. ”Yes, I do have a mother.“

‘A mother! How— Oh, how—“ A curiously intense expression came
into his eyes, a sadness or a longing. ”What could be pleasanter than to have a
mother!“ he finally exclaimed. It was clearly an invitation to say more.

‘You don’t have a mother, then?“ I asked.

Aurelius’s face twisted momentarily. “Sadly—I have always
wanted— Or a father, come to that. Even brothers or sisters. Anyone who
actually belonged to me. As a child I used to pretend. I made up an entire
family. Generations of it! You’d have laughed!” There was nothing to laugh at
in his face as he spoke. “But as to an actual mother… a ”actual, known mother…
Of course, everybody has a mother, don’t hey? I know that. It’s a question of
knowing who that mother is. And I lave always hoped that one day— For it’s not
out of the question, is it? And so I have never given up hope.“

‘Ah.“

‘It’s a very sorry thing.“ He gave a shrug that he wanted to be
casual, but wasn’t. ”I should have liked to have a mother.“

‘Mr. Love—“

‘Aurelius, please.“

‘Aurelius. You know, with mothers, things aren’t always as
pleasant as you might suppose.“

‘Ah?“ It seemed to have the force of a great revelation to him.
He peered closely at me. ”Squabbles?“

‘Not exactly.“

He frowned. “Misunderstandings?”

I shook my head.

‘Worse?“ He was stupefied. He sought what the problem might be
in the sky, in the woods and finally, in my eyes.

‘Secrets,“ I told him.

‘Secrets!“ His eyes widened to perfect circles. Baffled, he
shook his head, making an impossible attempt to fathom my meaning. ”Forgive
me,“ he said at last. ”I don’t know how to help. I know so very little about
families. My ignorance is vaster than the sea. I’m sorry about the secrets. I’m
sure you are right to feel as you do.“

Compassion warmed his eyes and he handed me a neatly folded
white handkerchief.

‘I’m sorry,“ I said. ”It must be delayed shock.“

‘I expect so.“

While I dried my eyes he looked away from me toward the deer
park. The sky was darkening by slow degrees. Now I followed his gaze to see a
shimmer of white: the pale coat of the deer as it leaped lightly into the cover
of the trees.

‘I thought you were a ghost,“ I told him. ”When I felt the door
handle move. Or a skeleton.“

‘A skeleton! Me! A skeleton!“ He chuckled, delighted, and his
entire body seemed to shake with mirth.

‘But you turned out to be a giant.“

‘Quite so! A giant.“ He wiped the laughter from his eyes and
said, ”There is a ghost, you know—or so they say.“

I know, I almost said, I saw her, but of course it wasn’t my
ghost he was talking about.

‘Have you seen the ghost?“

‘No,“ he sighed. ”Not even the shadow of a ghost.“

We sat in silence for a moment, each of us contemplating ghosts
of our own.

‘It’s getting chilly,“ I remarked.

‘Leg feeling all right?“

‘I think so.“ I slid off the cat’s back and tried my weight on
it. ”Yes. It’s much better now.“

‘Wonderful. Wonderful.“

Our voices were murmurs in the softening light.

‘Who exactly was Mrs. Love?“

‘The lady who took me in. She gave me her name. She gave me her
recipe book. She gave me everything, really.“

I nodded.

Then I picked up my camera. “I think I should be going,
actually. I ought to try for some photos at the church before the light quite
disappears. Thank you so much for the tea.”

‘I must be off in a few minutes myself. It has been so nice to
meet you, Margaret. Will you come again?“

‘You don’t actually live here, do you?“ I asked doubtfully.

He laughed. It was a dark, rich sweetness, like the cake.

‘Bless me, no. I have a house over there.“ He gestured toward
the woods. ”I just come here in the afternoons. For, well, let’s say for
contemplation, shall we?“

‘They’re knocking it down soon. I suppose you know?“

‘I know.“ He stroked the cat, absently, fondly. ”It’s a shame,
isn’t it? I shall miss the old place. Actually I thought you were one of their
people when I heard you. A surveyor or something. But you’re not.“

‘No, I’m not a surveyor. I’m writing a book about someone who
used to live here.“

‘The Angelfield girls?“

‘Yes.“

Aurelius nodded ruminatively. “They were twins, you know.
Imagine that.” For a moment his eyes were far away.

‘Will you come again, Margaret?“ he asked as I picked up my bag.

‘I’m bound to.“

He reached into his pocket and drew out a card. Aurelius Love,
Traditional English Catering for Weddings, Christenings and Parties. He pointed
to the address and telephone number. “Do telephone me when you come again. You
must come to the cottage and I’ll make you a proper tea.”