Someone Special (35 page)

‘All right, then,’ Snip said. The two of them set out the way they had come, splashing briskly through the puddles and the still-falling rain. ‘Tell you what, this new one, this Prince Albert, if he’s a-goin’ to be king he’ll be at Sandringham over Christmas. It ain’t far from King’s Lynn and we’ll be there after Norwich, over-winterin’. Mebbe you an’ me could get a ride out there, see the royals an’ them two little princesses.’

‘That would be prime,’ Nell said at once. She handed Snip the already damp newspaper. ‘Put it under your coat before all the writing’s washed off, and then we’ll run.’

It’s always good to be first with the news, but Snip and Nell had not dreamed of the furore their breathless information would bring about. They waved the paper at Chicken Joe, taking down his hoopla with a good deal of bad language, and he forgot what he was doing and who he was cursing and snatched the paper from them, reading it carefully before abandoning his work and accompanying them to Cissie’s trailer.

‘The king’s abdicated; long live the king,’ he shouted, and Nell saw her mother’s mouth drop open, Cissie’s eyes widen, as Chicken Joe told them what it said in the paper.

‘It can’t be true, though,’ Hester kept saying. ‘Why does he want to marry that woman so badly? She’s really ugly and he could have anyone he liked. He could have had the Duchess of York, I expect.’

‘She wouldn’t have wanted him,’ Cissie said decisively. She was a keen royal-watcher and knew everything there was to know about the royal family, or so she said. ‘Ooh, the Duchess is ever so lovely, much too nice for anyone but Prince Albert. And he had to work hard to win her, I can tell you. Won’t they make a lovely king and queen, though?’

‘What’s all this?’ Mr Gulliver, dripping water, stood
in the doorway. He had a shiny yellow cape around his shoulders and a rain-darkened cap on his head. Close behind him were at least two members of the Morris family and even as Cissie moved forward to invite them in, a couple of children pushed through, soaking wet, hair in rat-tails.

‘Oh come along in and catch up wi’ the news,’ Cissie called. She had already spread old newspapers on the floor to sop up the rainwater. ‘Here, Hester, put the kettle on for a nice cuppa. ’Tisn’t every day we gets ourselves a new king. And pass that paper round so we all know what’s happenin’ and why!’

9

ANNA SAT IN
the back of the car with Nanny and Jamie, trying very hard to keep cool and calm; Daddy drove and Mummy sat beside him in the passenger seat. They had started their journey very early indeed, when dawn was just lightening the sky and the birds were shouting their heads off to welcome the new day.

Anna was going to be very good indeed, because for the first time in her life she was visiting London, and more importantly, she was going to see Princess Elizabeth, who had been born on the very same day as Anna, and who might one day, be queen of England. Anna was not sure why the Princess might now become a queen but felt the reflected glory strongly and ever since Daddy had mentioned the coincidence, had eagerly devoured all news of the older Princess. Princess Elizabeth would be right in the thick of the coronation, and Anna was to see her great moment.

There was a lot of fuss and bother of course, as Mummy kept stressing it wasn’t a light task, to take an eleven-year-old and a six-year-old to London to see a coronation. At last the luggage was wedged into the big boot, the picnic basket, the little primus stove and the kettle were stowed away under the feet of the backseat passengers and they were off, driving into the cool grey of early morning with the hood down, despite Mummy’s warnings that it would almost certainly rain.

So far, all had been well. The car sped silently along the empty road, Nanny snoozed, Mummy and Daddy talked in low voices. Jamie jabbered for a bit, then fell abruptly asleep the way he sometimes did, his curly head resting on Nanny’s shoulder and his thumb creeping towards his
mouth.

They stopped, as Daddy had promised, on Thetford Heath. Jamie went on sleeping but Nanny and Mummy got out of the car and, just as the sun came up, they spread a waterproof sheet on the bright new grass and covered it with the red and white checked tablecloth. Daddy lit the primus and Nanny emptied two big bottles of water into the kettle and made tea. Mummy unwrapped delicious-looking sandwiches – honey, marmalade, egg and cress – and Daddy took his binoculars in one hand and Anna’s small paw in the other and walked across the springy turf until they reached a stand of pine trees.

‘See the birds? There are a pair of chaffinches … a great tit … a tree-creeper,’ Daddy said. ‘See the squirrel? Watch him through the binoculars, you’ll see how clever he is and how quick.’

Jamie woke up; they heard him shout as he ran clumsily across the heath towards them. ‘It’s ready,’ he shouted. ‘Mummy says to say the kettle’s boilin’ an’ the sangwidges is gettin’ cold.’

Daddy laughed. He was in a good mood, the best sort of mood, when he teased Mummy without upsetting her, talked to Anna as though they were equals, and didn’t keep correcting Jamie’s speech.

‘Thanks, old son, we’re coming,’ he called back. ‘Tell Mummy I want my sandwiches piping hot and my tea ice-cold.’

They all laughed and Anna ran ahead, suddenly starving, eager for the wonders of her first open-air picnic breakfast.

‘Tea or milk, Anna darling?’ Mummy asked as soon as they were close enough, another proof that all was well. Mummy didn’t call her
Anna darling
every day of the week. Today was special; she was almost an adult, Daddy had let her use his binoculars.

Anna, who enjoyed milk and did not much care for
tea, answered without hesitation. ‘Tea please, Mummy.’ She panted up to the picnic group and collapsed on to the grass. It all looked wonderful, the sandwiches on red and blue celluloid plates, the cups from the picnic set being filled with tea, a blue bowl with ten rosy apples piled up in it – two each – holding down the cloth. ‘Can I have an egg sandwich, please? And may I have it in my hand so I can look round while I eat it?’

You could tell what a special day it was; Mummy agreed without hesitation, poured Jamie a mug of milk and handed him a honey sandwich.

‘You wander off too, Jamie,’ she said. ‘It’s such a wonderful morning, it will do you good to stretch your legs.’

Daddy had a cup of tea and took four sandwiches. Then he sat down and put his arm round Mummy’s waist. She went pink with pleasure, but then she reached for her own cup of tea and Daddy released her and began to eat. Anna and Jamie wandered over to the pines and Anna tried to show Jamie the birds which Daddy had showed her, but he wasn’t interested. He asked if this was where Winnie the Pooh lived and began to scout around for signs. All too soon the picnic was packed away, the grown-ups returned to the car, and Anna and Jamie found themselves tucked up in the back seat once more. Nanny, who had been packing, she said, for the best part of a week, tried desperately hard not to fall asleep and to keep them both amused.

As they got nearer London, of course, the roads became busier, the pavements more crowded. Mummy turned in her seat to explain that people were beginning to congregate for the coronation early to get good places.

‘We have places, in Aunt Ella’s window,’ she said, laughing at their excited faces. ‘But even so we’ll need time to settle in, so Daddy thought it was wisest to arrive the day before rather than fight our way through the crowds on the day itself.’

This meant that they would be spending two nights away: a great treat, because though they had enjoyed trips to London pantomimes and other entertainments they had never spent a night, far less two, in London. They had never seen the Plunketts’ flat before either; it would be fun to sleep in someone else’s house, to sit down to a meal with them, to bathe in their baths, sit on their lavatory seats and see how the cousins ordered their lives when at home and not having country holidays at Goldenstone.

The journey had been fun, Anna decided, but London was too crowded. The car crept along, passing cyclists, horses, carts, people, hemmed in by other vehicles, going slower and slower, then stopping for long periods while drivers got out of their seats and craned their necks to see what was holding them up.

There was one delay which seemed as though it would never end. ‘Traffic jam,’ Daddy muttered and Jamie said ‘Where?’ and everyone laughed, even Jamie, when it was explained that a lot of cars all stopped at once was called a traffic jam. ‘I thinked you meaned jam-jam,’ Jamie said, and Mummy gave a little squeak and got out the sandwiches again and they had another little meal sitting in the car.

‘Motornic, not picnic,’ Jamie said sagely, and just as Daddy began to get cross the traffic started moving again and they were near now; this was the West End. Mummy began to tell Anna about the buildings they were passing. She told them the great spidery constructions they could see were stands from which people could watch the coronation and Anna listened and tried to give the sort of responses Mummy wanted, only she was cramped and hot and it was difficult to hear because of the noise of traffic.

At last they reached their destination: a big block of red-brick flats reared ahead of them. Mummy gestured.
‘Look up, darlings! Auntie Ella lives on the sixth floor, we’ll get an excellent view from there!’

Daddy drove round to the back of the flats, where there was a courtyard, a block of garages, a plane tree. He parked the car and he and Nanny began to struggle with the luggage, then a man in uniform came out of the flats and helped them and Mummy ushered the children into a large, stuffy lift which whisked them up to the sixth floor. At least, Anna supposed it was the sixth floor since when the lift door opened there was Auntie Ella, beaming at them.

‘Darlings, how beautifully early you are, just in time for a hot cup of coffee and a rest before we start our programme of events. After lunch we thought we should go out and take a look at the abbey, the palace, that sort of thing. Come along in, all of you … where’s JJ?’

‘He’s bringin’ up the boskes and bagses,’ Jamie said, squeezing past Mummy and entering the flat first. ‘Nanny’s helpin’ ’im; vey won’t be long.’

Auntie Ella was nice; she was Daddy’s sister, and she had three children, two boys, Ben and William, and a girl, Nancy. Ben was sixteen, William fourteen and Nancy just a bit older than Anna, which was nice for them, or so their parents seemed to think. In fact Anna thought Nancy found her boring and automatically became so in her company, and she thought Nancy smart and clever, which made her worse.

‘Boxes and bags too! Well, I expect the porter’s helping them,’ Aunt Ella said, ushering them into a large room with french windows leading to an equally large balcony. Their boy cousins lounged on a big, fat sofa, Ben reading a book, William writing, and Nancy, who was little and dark and intense, could be seen on the balcony, draping a huge Union Jack carefully across the brick and wrought-iron balustrade. ‘I would send Ben and William down to help, but you’re only staying for a couple of nights so I don’t
suppose you’ve got much luggage despite all the boxes and bags.’ She smiled brightly at them, then raised her voice, addressing her own children. ‘Here are your cousins, kids – find them some orange squash or something, and there are biscuits in the tin over the fridge.’

Nancy came in from the balcony and grinned at Anna. ‘Hello there! Come into the kitchen and we’ll see if cooky’s got any of those scrummy chocolate bar things. Looking forward to seeing the procession?’

‘Very much,’ Anna said rather breathlessly. Even in the lift she had been conscious of all those stairs. ‘I’d like to be on the ground though, because all we’ll see from up here will be heads!’

Nancy frowned and Anna realised, too late, that her first remark had been a critical one.

‘Just heads? My dear kid, all you’d see if you were down below would be heads all right, the backs of heads! You’ll get a good view from here, and then later we can go down, perhaps.’

‘Of course; I forgot all the other people,’ Anna muttered. Jamie, with his usual sang-froid, had darted ahead of them and was ingratiating himself with Auntie Ella’s cook. ‘I want to see the Princess Elizabeth very much. We were born on the same day, you know.’

‘Really? Lucky old you,’ Nancy said. ‘I wonder if she’ll ever get to be queen? I suppose she might, only the Duchess of York’s bound to have a son, don’t you think? Queens usually do.’

‘Daddy said she might be queen one day, but I thought it all depended on who she marries,’ Anna observed. ‘I thought you had to marry a king to be queen.’

‘What do they teach you, little country mouse?’ Nancy said, getting a bottle of squash out of a tall cupboard and pouring it carefully into a big green jug standing ready on a tray. ‘I’ve got a royalty chart in my room … we’ll go and look at it when we’ve had our drinks. Daddy’s gone
for his morning constitutional – he goes twice around Kensington Gardens every morning, it’s a huge park, he must walk
miles
– but when he gets back I’ll get him to explain about the crown and the accession. Here, choose a biscuit!’

‘Oh, thanks,’ Anna said distractedly, picking a biscuit quite at random, a thing she rarely did since Mummy was always on at her not to eat too many sweet things because men didn’t like fat girls, or girls with spots. Quite without meaning to, she had wished a lecture from Uncle Phil down on her head, and she was scared of Uncle Phil. He was tall and handsome and had a hooty kind of voice and made fun of children who didn’t immediately take his meaning. Anna did her best to appear worldly-wise in his company but she was sure he was not fooled for an instant and knew her for the duffer she was. ‘But don’t let’s trouble Uncle Phil, Nancy, let’s go and look at your chart instead.’

‘Okey-dokey,’ Nancy said. Anna thought she was very brave to use slang so near to parental ears. Even Ben and William watched what they said when their father was home, and Auntie Ella was quite capable of giving any slang-user a telling off. It was strange, really, because all grown-ups used slang themselves – but not old grown-ups – and, what was more, Anna’s Daddy swore when he wasn’t supposed to, Anna often caught a whispered curse or even quite a loud one, but if she so much as said ‘Darn!’ someone would jump on her for sure. ‘Let’s take our drinks on to the balcony shall we? Jamie’s happy enough, buttering up cook.’