Ginnie scowled.
‘Mummy said “Wash your hands,” she said nothing about wrists.’
Jane put the plug back in the basin and turned on the water again.
‘Get a move on.’
Ginnie and Angus bent over the basin. Ginnie nudged Angus with her elbow.
‘I don’t know about you, Angus, but seeing I never like washing my hands, giving them an extra special wash for Miss Bloggs offends me all over.’
Jane leant against the bathroom wall, waiting for the other two to finish.
‘I wish I could like Miss Bloggs more. Sometimes I feel awfully mean about her. Look at the way she gives us presents for Christmas and birthdays, and I’m sure she hasn’t much money. I bet she’s giving you something nice for your birthday, Angus. What a miserable thing it is that you can’t like people just because you know you ought to.’ She went back to the basin. ‘That’s better, Ginnie, let’s look at yours, Angus. Yes, they’ll do. Now do get a move on, both of you. I’m hungry.’
Cathy, Alex and Miss Bloggs had started tea when the children came down. One thing both Alex and Cathy were very strict about, and that was manners. All the children shook hands with Miss Bloggs, and Jane apologised for their being late. Miss Bloggs was always delighted to be in the vicarage. She smiled in a pleased way at the children.
‘Well, little people, what’s the news?’
Jane helped herself to a jam sandwich.
‘I’m going to dance the nymph in the school play.’
Ginnie, hoping no one was looking, stretched out her hand towards the potted meat and lettuce sandwiches. Cathy was on the look out.
‘Bread and jam. They’re more substantial.’
Ginnie knew she was beaten, but she had to have the last word.
‘Potted meat is more nourishing.’
Miss Bloggs tried to say something helpful.
‘What won’t fatten will fill.’
Angus paused with his sandwich half-way to his mouth.
‘Will it? I gave my green caterpillar cabbage to fill it, because I hadn’t lettuce to fatten it, and it didn’t fill, instead it burst and turned abs’lutely inside out.’
Alex knew only too well how descriptive Angus could become when describing misfortunes that happened to his caterpillars.
‘Get on with your tea, old man.’
Cathy was only half-listening to what everyone said, for her mind was still on clothes for Angus’s birthday party. If Jane had nothing fit to wear then somehow a new frock must be found for her, and Ginnie must wear Jane’s old frock. It really was very unfair that when anything new was bought Jane always had it. Poor Ginnie had scarcely had a new frock since she was born. If Jane could still be squeezed into the yellow, could Ginnie wear the green velvet, or that cast-off spotted blue of Veronica’s? Cathy’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door, and Esau barking.
Paul’s rain-splashed face came grinning round the door.
‘How do you do, Miss Bloggs? Hallo, Dad. Shan’t be a second, Mum, I must get my shoes off, they’re sopping.’
Angus got out of his chair.
‘Paul, I’ve got you a woolly bear caterpillar.’
Alex said:
‘Sit down, Angus, you know there’s no jumping up at meal-times.’
Miss Bloggs leant across the table to Angus.
‘Is Paul collecting caterpillars too?’
Angus took another sandwich.
‘’Course not. This caterpillar is a met-er-lodg-ical experiment.’
Alex laughed.
‘Any interest Paul takes in caterpillars, Miss Bloggs, is supposed to be scientific, he says he has outgrown keeping them as a hobby. I am afraid before long he’ll have turned his bedroom into a dissecting room. That’s the worst of having a son who intends to be a doctor.’
Cathy, thinking of party dresses, spoke more fervently than she felt.
‘I wish he wouldn’t want to be a doctor, that’s my family’s fault. I wish he’d take after Alex’s family and make money in the wool trade.’
Jane looked reproachfully at her mother.
‘You don’t, Mummy. Look at that lovely, lovely house Mumsdad and Mumsmum brought you up in, and look how simply gorgeous it is for Uncle Jim and Aunt Ann, and Ricky and Liza to live in now.’
Cathy nodded.
‘I know. It’s a lovely house, and being a doctor is a fine job, even if you don’t earn much, but it’s such a terribly expensive training. From the time he starts, even if he’s lucky, it’ll take Paul five years before he’s through.’
Ginnie spoke with her mouth full.
‘’Course it’s worth it. Do you know, Miss Bloggs, they’ve got a pony and a car, and a gorgeous garden with simply masses of fruit. And all we’ve got is one scrubby-looking vicarage and one dog. Oh, Daddy, I do wish we could have a car.’
Alex laughed.
‘You’ll have to go on wishing, Ginnie. There are so many things we need that even if we had a windfall, and that’s not likely, a car’s the last thing we’d bother about.’
Ginnie began counting on her fingers.
‘If it was me, first I’d have a car, and then I’d have a television set, and then, because Mummy wants it and it can make ices, I’d have a refrigerator.’
Cathy held her hand for Alex’s cup which was being passed up the table.
‘If we had a windfall the first thing we’d have is new carpets, ours are a disgrace, and secondly, a refrigerator, and thirdly new clothes all round.’
Jane leant across to her mother, her eyes shining.
‘Oh, Mummy, couldn’t a little of the windfall pay for me to go to a dancing school?’
Alex turned to Miss Bloggs.
‘My poor family don’t know it, but if we had a windfall we’d have the house painted and the roof seen to.’ Then he looked at Jane. ‘But if there was any over I think Jane’s dancing school would come next. That’s something I do wish I could manage, Jane, darling.’
Jane took another sandwich.
‘Silly Daddy, you know it’s only wishful thinking. I’ve long ago got used to knowing it can’t be, but I think wishing it could does me good. After all, miracles can happen, you said so in a sermon once.’
Alex gave a pretending groan.
‘The way Jane harbours my sermons, Miss Bloggs, and quotes them against me is enough to break her father’s heart.’
Paul was hungry. He drew his chair up to the table and helped himself to a sandwich.
‘Nice specimen, Angus.’
Praise from Paul was praise indeed. Angus glowed with pride.
‘Did you have time to speri-ment to see if it will snow next winter?’
‘I told you some people say they can tell next winter’s weather by woolly bear caterpillars, but I never said I believed it. Have you fixed anything for your birthday, Angus?’ Paul turned to his father, trying to keep pride out of his voice. ‘Starting next Thursday I’m to stay late to have coaching at the nets.’
Alex too, was a cricket enthusiast.
‘I say! That’s fine!’
Paul was cautious.
‘Shouldn’t think anything would come of it but they’re looking for bowlers.’
‘No good counting on it,’ Alex agreed; ‘but if you bowl as well as you did last summer, and your batting improves, there is a chance you know. If I could make time I might come along next Thursday and have a look at you.’
To Cathy it was always amazing how an otherwise sensible man like Alex could forget important things.
‘Alex, dear, next Thursday is the party.’
‘What party?’ asked Paul.
Alex looked ashamed of himself.
‘Of course, what an idiot I am.’
Jane glanced from her father to her mother.
‘Out with it, darlings, we don’t want any of the little-pitchers-have-long-ears stuff.’
Between them Alex and Cathy told the children the news. It had a mixed reception. Paul said gloo
mily:
‘Ballet’s not much in my line. It seems a bit off to miss coaching at the nets to see that.’
Jane felt so happy it almost hurt.
‘The ballet! Galosh galoosh, goody goody goody. The ballet! How scrumdatious!’
Ginnie leant across to her father.
‘I hope you won’t think Miss Virginia Bell rude, Daddy, dear, but she does wish it was Mumsdad and Mumsmum who were coming instead of Grandfather and Grandmother.’
Alex felt this needed some explaining.
‘My father is what is known as an outspoken man, Miss Bloggs; Ginnie prefers Cathy’s father’s softer approach.’
Miss Bloggs wagged a finger at Ginnie.
‘Hard words break no bones.’ She turned to Angus. ‘And what does the birthday boy think about it?’
‘I’ve never seen a ballet, so I don’t know what it is, but I hope the birthday supper’s good.’
Miss Bloggs got up to go.
‘I hope it is too.’ She leant over Angus. ‘An elf has whispered in my ear a little something that a birthday boy might want.’
Ginnie waited until Miss Bloggs, followed by her father and a barking Esau, had left the room. Then she leant across the table to Angus.
‘Clap, my boy, and Tinkerbell won’t die.’
Cathy said reprovingly, ‘Ginnie!’ but her mind was once more on clothes.
‘You haven’t grown much, Jane, I should think that yellow dress would still fit.’
Ginnie took advantage of her mother’s absorption in clothes and snatched the last potted-meat sandwich, scowling at the rest of the family to prevent them from giving her away. She spoke with her mouth full.
‘And what’s Miss Virginia Bell to wear?’
Cathy spoke carefully, knowing there might be a row.
‘There’s Jane’s green velvet.’
Ginnie was not fussy about clothes, but that was too much.
‘I won’t wear it, so it’s no good talking about it. It came in a second-hand bundle of clothes for needy clergy. All that fluffy stuff, that made it velvet once, is rubbed off. And whoever wears velvet in June?’
Jane spoke for the honour of the family.
‘It’s absolutely true, Mummy, nobody does. And it doesn’t meet across the back on her, and when she leans forward her knickers show. It’d be all our shame if she went to Covent Garden dressed in it.’
Cathy’s voice was full of doubt.
‘There’s that pretty blue spotted frock.’
Ginnie gasped.
‘Pretty! Mummy! D’you think I’m going to a party with Veronica, wearing a dress that was an everyday frock of hers last year? If that’s all you’ve got for Miss Virginia Bell she’ll wear her school uniform, thank you.’
Cathy shuddered.
‘That she certainly won’t. It’s hideous.’
‘Not half as hideous as green velvet with the fluff gone, or one of Veronica’s everydays worn as a party frock.’
A sudden glorious idea came to Jane.
‘If the yellow frock is too short for me, Ginnie could wear that, couldn’t she? Then I’d have to have something new, because there’s absolutely nothing else. Oh, Mummy, suppose it doesn’t fit! Suppose the gorgeousness of having something new!’
Alex was in the doorway. Cathy said:
‘Before you sit down get the money box. I think we may be going to need one new dress for this party.’
Alex hesitated.
‘Ought we to open it for that? There’s the summer holiday and …’
Cathy was firm.
‘I know. But it’s your family’s party, and you know what they are.’
The thought of the possibility of a new dress had brought colour to Jane’s usually pale face. She clasped her hands.
‘Oh, Mummy, could it be something really long and party-ish?’
Cathy hated to say no, and she sounded as if she did.
‘I’m afraid not, darling. You know it’s got to be suitable for all the parish things, as well as this party. Besides, it’s not going to be evening dress, Aunt Rose sent a special message to say it’s day dresses.’
Paul thought of his missed cricket practice.
‘Pity really, if it had been evening dress we couldn’t have gone, because none of us have got any.’
The money box lived in a corner of Alex’s big roll-topped desk. It had been started when Paul was a baby. The idea had been to open a Post Office account. No Post Office account had ever happened for something was always needed. One of the family got ill and had to have special food, shoes wore out, clothes wore out, windows got broken; it seemed as if no sooner was there a little money in the money box than an evil spirit with a big appetite came and ate it up. A space was cleared in the middle of the dining-room table and Alex took the top off the money box, which was made like a letter-box, and tipped the money on to the table. Angus pounced with surprise on a ten-shilling note.
‘Goodness, ten shillings! However did a ’normous sum like that get in?’
Ginnie was putting pennies in piles of twelve.
‘Mummy had it as a birthday present from Uncle Jim.’ She pushed a farthing into the middle of the table.
‘That was mine. I remember wondering if it was still good being rubbed so thin.’
As the family finished counting they pushed the money across to Alex, who jotted down the figures and announced the grand total.
‘Four pounds, thirteen shillings and tuppence three farthings. How much would you need, Cathy?’
‘Oh, about thirty shillings. Could you three men clear the tea and wash up if we three women went to my bedroom for a big try-on?’
Clearing the table Angus’s face wore a worried look. Alex noticed it.
‘What’s bothering you, old man?’
‘What is ballet, Daddy? I know Jane does it, but that’s just dancing class. Is that what we’re going to see on my birthday?’
Alex had seen very little ballet himself, so he was rather hazy as to what was in store for them, but he always liked to give the children a sensible answer if he could.
‘It’s a story told in dancing.’
Angus scowled more than ever.
‘A proper story like The Wind in the Willows?’
Paul was listening too.
‘It’s more sloppy stuff, about love and all that, isn’t it, Dad?’
Alex felt he was getting out of his depth.
‘No, they dance real stories, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, all sorts. I don’t know what Uncle Alfred’s taken tickets for, it depends what they’re dancing on that night. Sometimes I think they do three ballets in an evening.’
Angus put a plate on the top of his pile.
‘When I’m an uncle and I’m going to arrange something for my nephew’s birthday I shall say to him: “This is your party, what would you like to see?”’
Angus went out of the room with some plates. Paul nodded at his departing back.
‘I must say it is rather bad luck, Dad. I dare say he won’t like a ballet at all.’
‘I’m not sure. He’s a funny little boy. In spite of all this fuss he makes about singing in the choir school he’s an unusually musical child. I shouldn’t wonder if he enjoyed a ballet, for, after all, music’s a large part of it. It’ll be interesting to find out. It might give us a line on the way to use his talent, perhaps he ought to be learning the violin or the piano instead of singing.’
Paul was sweeping the crumbs off the table.
‘Sickening it’s a Thursday, the only ballet I ever saw I was bored stiff, a lot of girls prancing around, they did it in the middle of a pantomime.’
Alex laughed.
‘The Sadler’s Wells Ballet is in rather a different class, I think. I’m sorry I can’t let you off, old man, but your grandfather will want to see you.’
‘Trying to get at me again, I suppose.’
Though Alex had chosen a career of which his father did not approve, he was fond of the old man and could see
his point of view.
‘You’re the eldest grandson, you can’t blame him for wanting you in the wool business.’
‘But he knows the answer so what’s the good of going on nattering?’
Alex was carrying a tray to the door but at that he stopped.
‘Be just, old man. Your grandfather is a great believer in commonsense winning in the end. He thinks he’s making you a good offer. He can’t believe that in the long run you’ll be such a fool as to turn it down. Although he’s failed with me he’s not lost faith in you. He’s a stubborn old man, your grandfather, but he knows what he wants and usually he gets it.’
‘You’ve done all right without him, I bet he hates that.’
‘I may seem doing all right to you, but I don’t look any great shakes to him. You look at your Uncle Alfred, he’s enormously rich, he’s been knighted, and here am I barely able to dress my own children.’
Alex had not meant this to be taken seriously, but Paul was far more practical than his father. He knew that though this was not literally true there was truth in it. He answered especially quickly.
‘Rats! We get along all right.’
Alex opened the door with his foot.
‘Not by your Uncle Alfred’s standards,’ then he gave Paul a proud smile; ‘but I’m lucky with you, old man, that scholarship’s made all the difference.’
Paul picked up another tray and followed his father.
‘I suppose if I wanted to go into the wool trade I could be rich, couldn’t I?’
‘You bet you could. Your grandfather would adopt you, I shouldn’t wonder, but we’re not worrying about that. You use the gifts God gave you. You wish to be a doctor, then be a doctor. It’s a fine career, and a worthwhile one, and if you don’t make much money it doesn’t matter, because you’ll be leading a worthwhile life.’
In her bedroom Cathy was crawling round Jane, giving little pulls to her yellow taffeta skirt.
‘Yes, it’s much too short, darling, it’s at least three inches above your knees.’
Jane leant over to examine her skirt.
‘I can’t think why, I haven’t grown much, I’m still the smallest girl in the school for twelve.’
‘Even not growing much it’s some months since you wore it, and girls of your age don’t wear skirts three inches above their knees.’