Molly and Pim and the Millions of Stars (3 page)

CHAPTER 3

Ernest Grimshaw

Molly's mama was only slightly different from other mothers, but in Molly's eyes
she was very obviously different. When school was over and everyone poured out of
their classrooms, the other mothers gathered in groups and chatted, but Molly's mama
stood alone in the shade of the buddleia bush. She looked to Molly like an owl, wide
eyed and wary, and so relieved to see Molly that she glided out of the bush as if
the task of gathering Molly up and steering her home suddenly gave her the right
weight in the world.

Molly and her mama rode home on the yellow bike. They always got off at the bottom
of the hill and walked up to their house at the top. It sat beside a cluster of old
pine trees that leaned dangerously and was home to a flock of cockatoos who flew
shrieking into the trees, like white handkerchiefs toppling out of the blue sky.

As Molly and her mama walked up the hill, a large man came thundering towards them
like a boulder rolling downhill, gathering speed as he neared them. His body pitched
forwards, his elbows flapped, and his hands bundled into fists and pummelled the
air. Molly could tell that, like all big boulders, he meant to have an impact.

‘Oi,' he shouted. The word seemed to fly out of him like a bullet. And then in a
fury of panting he miraculously ground to a halt in front of them. His face was red
and gleaming with sweat, which he swiped at savagely with his forearm.

It was Ernest Grimshaw, squinting and sneering and puffing all at once.

‘Hello,' said Molly's mama.

‘I went up to your house now but you weren't there,' Ernest Grimshaw accused, waving
his finger towards the house as if they needed to be reminded where they lived.

Molly's mama stared at him, a little amused. Then she remembered her manners and
replied. ‘We're on our way home now, Mr Grimshaw. Is there something you wanted?'
Next to the blustering, accusing, overheated boulder of a man, Molly's mama seemed
like a wisp of grass, straight and calm in the sun.

‘I came to tell you to get rid of that blasted rooster. It keeps waking us up at
dawn with its crowing. And if you don't get rid of it, well, I warn you—' he gave
a violent snort—‘I'll take an axe to it myself!' He shook his fists, as if he held
the handle of the axe right then, and Molly's mama ducked to avoid being struck.

Molly let go of the bike and stepped forward. ‘You can't kill our rooster. He is
a gentleman. That's his name: the Gentleman. He's sweet enough you can pick him up
and cuddle him. So
we won't be letting him get the axe from you.'

Ernest Grimshaw's mouth fell open. His little round eyes flared as if they were about
to pop out of his head.

Molly's mama clasped Molly to her side and glanced at her with a look of tenderness.
‘Mr Grimshaw, how about we try to find some arrangement so that the Gentleman doesn't
wake you? You know, I actually find that after time the sound of crowing can become
quite soothing and familiar and almost as golden as the dawn, and then it just seeps
like a little song into my dreams…'

‘What?' the man roared. A wind of hot breath grazed Molly's face. ‘Are you mad? A
little song? Crowing is crowing. Nothing musical about it.
And I don't care if he's
got a name or not. He could be Mozart for all I care.'

He turned as if this was the final word. But then he swivelled round and thrust his
fat finger at Molly. ‘And tell her, tell that little upstart, she needs to show some
respect for her elders. Or she'll have something coming at her too.' Ernest Grimshaw
nodded in agreement with himself.

Molly drew herself up indignantly to reply, but her mama held her back. And they
watched as the barrel-like form of Ernest Grimshaw turned and marched back towards
his own house.

Molly's mama whistled. ‘That poor man. How awful it must be to be him. I think you
and I need an ice cream. And, while I think about it, do stay out of his way, won't
you? No point aggravating angry people. At least until I sort out this business with
the Gentleman.'

Molly nodded, but only to please her mama. She had no intention of staying out of
Ernest Grimshaw's way if he came threatening the Gentleman.

CHAPTER 4

Prudence Grimshaw

Molly and her mama ate homemade banana ice-cream on the seesaw. Molly's mama liked
to stand in the middle and tip it up and down. Molly sat on the edge and dangled
her feet.

Sounds of banging from the Grimshaws' house floated up towards them, but otherwise
the world seemed to disappear, or at least to tilt away. Wafts of summer smells,
squished grass and lavender, drifted over them.

Molly puzzled over what Pim Wilder had said about seeds continuing on forever. Perhaps
he was
marvelling at how one small seed dropped on the ground, with only sun and
water added, becomes a huge tree. This wasn't something Molly had ever thought about,
but Pim was right: a tiny seed contained the whole magic of a towering tree. Molly
was about to point this out to her mama, when a shrill, piercing voice rang out across
the garden. Maude leapt up with a short appalled bark.

Prudence Grimshaw's head poked over the fence. ‘I'll have you know that if it was
you, you will be punished. We have called the police!'

Molly and her mama both stared at Prudence Grimshaw in confusion. Prudence Grimshaw
held a hammer in one hand and she gripped the fence with the other, while nosing
the air as if sniffing for clues. Her eyes bore down on them accusingly.

‘What are you talking about Mrs Grimshaw?' said Molly's mama.

‘I'm talking about our turtle. Someone stole it.' She gave the hammer a little jerk
and looked over her nose at them with a suspicious stare; her voice was suddenly
measured and low. ‘And whoever took it thought it was funny to leave a watermelon
in its place.'

Molly smothered a giggle.

‘Do you think that's funny?' Prudence Grimshaw shrieked. ‘Because you won't when
we find out who did it.'

‘It wasn't me,' said Molly flatly. ‘I don't like pretend turtles.'

‘We hope you find it, Mrs Grimshaw. It was probably just a joke and the turtle will
be returned,' said Molly's mama with a weary sigh.

Mrs Grimshaw made a horsey sort of hurrumph and disappeared. The sounds of banging
recommenced.

This time Molly sighed. ‘Mama, she is more noisy than the Gentleman and Maude put
together and one hundred times nastier too. Let's move our
house to the other side
of the pines.'

Molly's mama laughed. ‘Houses are much too stubborn to be moved.'

Molly knew what her mama would be thinking. She would be thinking of other solutions,
weird ones. ‘Mama,' she cautioned, ‘this isn't a time for potions. You can't stop
nastiness in neighbours with a potion.'

‘We have to look at it another way, Molly,' her mama replied. ‘What we have is a
musical problem. We have to resolve it into a new sort of harmony.'

Molly squinted into the sun. She wanted her mama to be like Ellen Palmer's mother
and to have apricot muesli bars put in her lunchbox. Molly couldn't even imagine
what Ellen Palmer's mother would do in this situation. But she knew that Ellen Palmer's
mother would not be thinking of a musical solution.

‘I have an idea,' said her mama.

Oh no, thought Molly.

‘We'll grow a tree. That way we'll have
something beautiful to look at and the Grimshaws
won't see in when they poke their heads over the fence. That will be our new harmony.
A very beautiful large tree. Perhaps a white cedar with the lilac blossom. Or a weeping
myrtle. What do you think? Even an oak…'

‘But Mama, trees take a long time to grow.' Molly thought again of the seed in the
ground.

‘Yes, usually, but I think I can make it grow very quickly.'

Molly said nothing. She stared gravely at the sky.

‘We could get an acorn from that glorious tree in the gardens. The huge spreading
one near the playground. I'll soak the acorn in a special decoction. And then, when
we plant it, it should
grow in a week.' Molly's mama sat up tall and talked excitedly.
‘We'll need to dig a big hole, though, one much bigger than we'd need for an ordinary
acorn.'

‘You hate digging, Mama. It makes your back ache.'

Though this was true, her mama ignored it. She jumped off the seesaw, waving her
hand in the air. ‘Well, I can still dig it.'

Digging holes made them both think of Molly's father, as her mama always famously
claimed that digging holes was the most useful thing he ever did around the house.

Molly's father was an adventurer and had disappeared somewhere in the Sierra Maestra,
a mountain range in Cuba. Molly's twin brothers had both gone to Cuba to look for
him. Miro, however, had joined a mariachi band with his trumpet and bought a silver
caravan, while Yip met a peasant girl called Olga who lived in a hut in the mountains
and who persuaded him to take
her to Mexico where she modelled bathers for a magazine.

Molly could barely remember her father. There was a photo of him stuck on the fridge
with a frog magnet: a broad-shouldered and slightly podgy twenty-nine-year-old man,
smoking and squinting, with his thumb tucked in his pants.

Molly would always remember when he left, though. She had cried until she felt so
tired she couldn't cry anymore, and then she lay quite still for as long as a week,
as quiet and dazed as a little mouse. Her mama gave her herbal concoctions and wrapped
her up and told her stories and slowly coaxed her back.

Molly decided not to think about her dad again and never, never to cry again. And
she never had.

She could be very strong about some things.