The Pink House at Appleton (26 page)

The big girls had said it, the mysterious thing. It was the association of the two words that hid its meaning. The whispering and the secrecy gave it a powerful, seductive quality. The only person who seemed to know anything was Diana Delfosse, who got off the school bus among much activity and excitement at Siloah. Miss Casserly was
in love
.

What did it mean?
Boyd sat at his desk watching for Miss Casserly, hoping she would take the class so that he could look at her with inquisitive eyes.
Miss Casserly was in love
. The September breeze whispered it. But, as he craned his neck to look, he saw Sister Margaret Mary in conversation with a man partly hidden at the door. Boyd sat bolt upright. It was Papa, standing by the steps like a schoolboy, attentive and respectful.

‘Boyd will need a sailor suit,' Sister Margaret Mary was saying. ‘All the children taking part will need sailor suits, sailor hats and black shoes. Mr Burton will make the suits. The costume list was sent with my letter.'

‘Oh, yes,' Papa said. ‘Boyd brought it straight home. He hasn't stopped talking about
H.M.S. Pinafore
.'

‘He knows all the songs,' Sister Margaret Mary said with a restrained smile. ‘Boyd really gets involved at rehearsals. If he wasn't so tiny, we'd make him Sir Joseph Porter or Ralph Rackstraw, Able Seaman.' And Sister laughed, not like other people with a loud roar and a throwing back of the head, but with a few soft
hmm hmms
from between closed lips.

Papa laughed too, thinking that that was the right time to take the small brown envelope out of his pocket and hand it to Sister, the real purpose of his visit.

‘My contribution,' he said, one hand behind his back.

Sister smiled like the full moon. All her ships had come in now. ‘We are very grateful,' she said. ‘God bless you. Thank you for taking time out from your important job at Appleton Estate to drive up here with your gift. It will be put to very good use. The teachers are so excited. Our midterm production will be magnificent, God willing. We look forward to seeing you and Mrs Brookes.'

Papa was walking away when Sister called him back. ‘Any news about little Susan Mitchison?' she asked.

‘Nothing, Sister.' Papa hung his head.

‘The poor thing, so sickly.'

‘Yes,' Papa said. ‘I think it's asthma. She's recuperating in Mandeville, I believe. The air is cooler up there.'

‘Well, we'll be praying for her,' Sister said.

Reeling with the news, Boyd saw Papa walk off in the yellow sunlight. Sister Margaret Mary entered the building, face in shadow, her rosaries playing the music of a hundred and sixty-five tiny chained black balls. He was
in extremis
. Everyone knew that Mandeville was where the hospitals were. Susan was there and growing weaker every day. Everyone was hiding the news. She would die suddenly, just like Little Nell, the girl he read about in
The
Old Curiosity Shop
. They would receive a telegram and the sun would stop shining, the music would end. She couldn't last
. Everything comes to an end.

* * *

That evening, Boyd and Yvonne sat with Papa in the Land Rover speeding towards Balaclava and Mr Burton. Every face that Boyd saw in every car they passed belonged to Susan, returning home from Mandeville at last.

They found Mr Burton in his little shop surrounded by bales of cloth. Black and white pictures cut from
Life
and
Ebony
magazines of men in suits hung from every wall. The shop was cosy and amber with lamplight. A Telefunken radio crackled on a low shelf.

‘You are very welcome, suh,' Mr Burton said. ‘Step into the shop, this way.' He led them into an adjoining room where two young men sat behind ancient Singer sewing machines, their glossy black and gold paintwork long faded. One of the young men was Mr Burton's nephew, Edgar. He seemed fastidious and vain. They had only been in the room a few minutes but he had already combed his sideburns and reshaped the hair above his forehead twice, in swift, slick movements. The action was like someone flourishing a switchblade knife.

‘You know mah nephew,' Mister Burton mumbled, waving a hand in Edgar's direction and shaking his head.

Papa nodded in Edgar's direction and said, ‘Young people.'

‘Tailoring is not in his plans,' Mr Burton said. ‘No young man of today wants to do tailoring. They only want to work in accounts, as clerks or some such, pushing paper. He's looking for a job at the factory.'

Edgar rose, yawned and sauntered out of the room. He must have gone straight to the Telefunken radio because moments later,
Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On
filled the room.

‘Tun the radio down,' growled Mr Burton. Then in his normal voice he said, ‘That young man needs to put his hands to something useful. He's helping with the sailor suits. And I am surprised with how he is so quick to visit the school to make a delivery. Before I took him to meet Sister, he never show a ounce of interest. Now he can't wait to get over there. Young people of today, you cannot figure them.'

‘You're telling me,' Papa said, furrowing his brow and letting his eyes rest on Boyd.
Young people of today
was very much a Papa preoccupation.

‘Let me measure up your boy, suh. I give you a good price since you are a big man at the factory.'

Papa laughed. ‘Is that so?'

‘Yes, suh.' Mr Burton took his measuring tape from around his neck while the quiet young man sitting behind the battered sewing machine sprang to his feet with pencil and an opened notebook. Boyd felt himself being manhandled, an unpleasant feeling, especially as Yvonne stood around staring pitifully at him.

‘Anything going at the factory, suh?' Mr Burton asked casually.

‘What's that?' Papa hadn't heard him.

‘Any small job opening at the factory? Young Edgar can do it. He knows accounts and figures and has a good fist. He has the best writing hand I ever see.'

From the other room came the sound of new music, a bouncing, thumping tune and girlish voices. Edgar had turned up the volume again.

‘It's The Bobbettes,' Yvonne whispered excitedly, ‘
Mr Lee.
'

‘I'll make the suit as a gift, suh, you are a gentleman,' Mr Burton suddenly said. ‘Your son will be the best dressed sailor boy in
H.M.S.
Pinafore
. You leave it to Burton's Tailoring Establishment, suh.'

‘You don't mean that,' Papa said, slightly embarrassed.

‘Ah do, suh, ah do,' Mr Burton repeated, spinning Boyd around and patting him on the back. ‘All done, young gentleman.'

Mr Lee
still came thumping in from the radio in the front room. Mr Burton rolled his eyes and Boyd noticed the other young man immediately hurry out the door to remonstrate with Edgar. After a brief, hushed exchange, the volume went down and Edgar strolled casually back into the room.

‘Uncle,' he said, ‘I want to take the finished costumes over to the convent. Save you a trip. And I want to know if Sister will let me help with the lighting work for the concert.'

‘What you know about lighting? That is a job for the electricians.'

‘I know plenty.'

‘Heh, heh, you know plenty all right,' Mr Burton said mockingly.

‘I try me hand at everything,' Edgar said, glancing at Papa sitting at a low desk, observing Sister Margaret Mary's drawing of a sailor suit on the piece of paper in front of him but clearly listening to the conversation.

Mr Burton waved to Edgar dismissively. ‘Alright then. But tek care you don't damage the suits and I don't want you stopping at Carty's bar on the way.'

‘See you later, alligator,' Edgar said, grabbing a huge brown paper parcel from a table and stumbling through the door.

‘After a while, crocodile,' the other young man called after him.

When Edgar had gone and the other young man seated himself at the front of the shop listening to the radio, Boyd and Yvonne wandered off to join him. They got within a few yards of him before he knew they were there. He was speaking quietly to someone in another room through a partly opened door. The other person was shy-looking, with soft eyes. Boyd saw a familiar face, sniffed distant DDT, savoured Paradise Plums and remembered someone who had gone away. The face behind the door was none other than that of Mr Jarrett, the sprayman, although now sporting a smart moustache. Seeing who had just entered the room, he vanished like a shadow, the door closing quietly. The young man by the radio, sensing the children's presence, moved away too.

In the other room, Papa turned to Mr Burton with his hands in his pockets.

‘All young people need is an opportunity,' he said, aware of Edgar's reputation. ‘I'll see what I can do at the factory.'

‘God bless you, suh,' Mr Burton replied, overcome with gratitude, thanking Papa again and again as he left the shop.

But it wasn't long before Edgar's notoriety rocketed. People were talking about him at the club, at work and over their dinner tables.

‘All those men living at the Bull Pen, with one or two exceptions, are up to no good,' Mr Moodie said at dinner one evening. ‘Take that new feller, Edgar. His uncle threw him out of the house for all his shenanigans with the young girls at Balaclava. Now he's spreading nasty rumours about the poor man.'

Boyd had been to the Bull Pen once with Vincent. The place smelled of young men – sweat, cigarettes and cheap cologne. The older men there spent their time playing dominos and doing the football pools in the hope of scoring a big payday. Men walked about in stripy underwear and sleeveless, white merino vests. Women were not allowed there, but on the day they visited, Boyd caught sight of a young woman, scantily dressed, being pulled into a doorway. Vincent had winked.

‘Nasty rumours, I tell you,' Mr Moodie continued. ‘That man Burton is a good tailor. He makes all my trousers and your suits, Harry, so you know. He doesn't live with a woman – so what? I don't live with a woman myself and no one would dare say I'm a, you-know-what. I love women.' Mr Moodie winked at Papa, who gave him a hard stare. Mama pretended not to hear.

Papa kept quiet. But he might have said he was shocked at Edgar's blatant ungratefulness, his indiscipline, his sheer fecklessness.

* * *

Edgar made his way gingerly up the hill towards the convent with brown paper parcels under his arms as the
H.M.S. Pinafore
songs floated down. Miss Casserly appeared at the door. When she saw who it was, she took the parcels hastily, coquettishly, and left Edgar standing on the doorstep. Boyd, seated under the apple tree in the school yard, saw this and wished that Susan would come to the door of the pink house, sit with him in the warmth and silence on the verandah, breathing and feeling each other's presence.

* * *

That Friday evening, he saw into the Mitchison's house, and it was full of music and party things. Pretty girls in pretty frocks and shiny hair were there. A large table was heaped with cakes and puddings, candy, ginger beer and Kool-Aid. Ann Mitchison dashed about, her hair flashing, welcoming everyone and serving ice cream.

‘Hello, hello,' she said. ‘Come in, come in. How is Mummy and the new baby?'

‘Fine,' Yvonne said, not believing that she'd been invited to the party too.

Susan, dressed in a frilly white frock with pink ribbons, red strap shoes and pink socks, served cake from a small tray. She went round to all her friends, girls he did not know (obviously come up from Monymusk and Mandeville) but also Ann-Marie and Dawn Chin and Adrian's sisters, Ann and Carol Lees, who lived on the estate. When she came near, birds sang in the garden.

‘Are you the boy from next door?' he thought he heard her say.

He nodded and noted that she had small, moist, quivering, strawberry-red lips. Her eyes – turquoise, like his marbles – fell upon him like a caress, the kind only Mama was capable of. Her eyes conveyed delicate, intimate questions. Boyd's chest pounded. He wanted her alone in the bedroom, or in the garden where there was silence.

Adrian Lees came over to blow a party whistle in his ear, shattering everything. Then they ran off outside to gasp and chase about. They tried to catch lizards, using stalks from long grass at the bottom of the garden and inadvertently frightened a small girl who ran off bawling, the whites of her eyes shocking. Then they ran to the back of the house bathed in red sun, not talking, only feeling.

‘They'll be cutting the cake soon,' Adrian said, throwing a stone over the garden fence and into the road. ‘Let's get back.'

The sun went down and it grew dark. Lights came on in the house and children were singing, Happy Birthday to yoo, Happy Birthday to yoo, Happy Birthday to yoo-whooo, Happy Birthday to yoo. Then it was quiet as Susan cut the cake, her hair falling into her face. She searched for him with soft eyes and a pouting mouth. As she cut the cake, there was a crescendo of claps, hoorays and giggles. And Ann Mitchison was again among the throng, a robust reassuring adult presence, handing out more cake.

Then it was over. He was standing in the garden with a crashing headache from too much cake and ice cream and from running about with Adrian. Ann Mitchison was on the front verandah saying goodbye to the parents. And then the house was silent except for the discreet sound of Evadne collecting the cutlery and glass. Yvonne and a small girl were playing hopscotch on the patio and creating quite a scene. Susan was nowhere to be seen. Then he glimpsed her, gliding through the drawing room. She came to the window seeking him out. But someone was already there with her. It was Adrian. He was standing behind her, pulling at her hair so that she moved back into the room out of sight, not wanting it. The curtains trembled. Boyd ran forward gingerly, the movie music rising in him, Technicolor writing dripping treachery. He ran to the window and peeped in. And he saw them. Adrian was on the bed with Susan. Her shoes were off. He saw her pink socks and her reluctant eyes. He backed away into the gloom. Reaching the garden fence, he went through it and into the arms of Mavis.

‘Where's Yvonne?' Mavis asked.