While he took off his postman shoes, her Dad was whistling a tune she didn’t recognise. His whistling normally made her hopeful. Today the long drawn out notes made her sad. She looked round the kitchen, usually so reassuring. It was full of enemies. She gloomily eyed the teacups on the shelves above the sideboard and the row of grinning cat plates propped up behind. The shelves were lined with flowery paper smelling of lemon. The teapot, in its woollen hat with the bobble on top, could read her mind.
‘So, did you have a nice day?’ Her Dad sat down opposite her. She wished he would go into the lounge and read the evening paper, or out to his lean-to to mend something. Her Mum had popped back to the surgery where she had left her purse. Alice could have had plenty of time to chuck the bear in the rubbish bin. Now her Dad could see right into her head and take out her thoughts with a spoon. She tried to think ordinary things: school…ballet…subjects it would be okay for him to find. Then she remembered the precious glass jewel and closed her mind. The teddy bear would take more than ten swallows. She was sure she had eaten more of its left cheek, but now its whole face was leering at her. If Doctor Ramsay delved inside her head he would discover she had taunted Eleanor about Mrs Ramsay and the medicine. No one knew what Alice was really like. Except for Eleanor who was biding her time.
‘Yes, it was a lovely day. Thank you.’ This was mostly true.
‘Is that all? Where are all your stories? Your Mum said you picked flowers.’
Alice’s mouth went dry. ‘Yes, we looked for flowers for my collection. Doctor Ramsay helped.’
‘Did he? You know your flowers. I expect he was bowled over. Bet you could hold a candle to any of his kids.’
‘Eleanor didn’t pay attention. Gina knows about flowers, but she was with her horse.’ While her Dad was there Alice had to keep eating. She got another spoonful ready and readied herself. He was watching.
‘That Eleanor’s a bit of a wild one.’ Steve Howland looked through his daughter as he considered the truth of his remark. Despite this, he rather liked the girl. She had spirit.
‘Mum’s asked her to tea tomorrow.’
‘Did you bring them home?’
‘Who?’
‘The flowers you picked. A nice bunch for your Daddy?’
Alice gulped down some jelly and sprawled her arms out around the plate. It was more comfortable than sitting up straight. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She had been told to chew her food ten times before swallowing, surely that didn’t mean jelly. It had gone by chew five.
‘Oh-oh, so what was it like? What about what’s her name, Lady Muck?’ He gave a roar of laughter.
‘Mrs Ramsay. I wish you wouldn’t, Steve.’ Her Mum hurried into the kitchen on an urgent mission. Alice saw that her mother didn’t do anything calmly; she was always rushing and going out of control. She grew hot with impatience as her Mum filled the kettle, crashing it down on the stove and waving the gas lighter at it inaccurately so that it took longer to light than it needed to.
‘Did you tell Dad about Doctor Ramsay’s lesson on photosynthesis? Wasn’t he kind to take the time, Steve? So busy and with three of his own. He sat her down and went through it. Normally it’s not done until they get to the big school.’
She turned from the stove pointing the gas lighter at Alice, ‘Make the most of it, love. You’ll have a lovely head start.’
‘She said he took them on a jaunt to get flowers!’ Steve Howland remained unimpressed.
‘Doctor Ramsay works harder than you and I put together.’ Kathleen Howland wrapped a tea towel around her hand and pulled open the oven door. Warm air wafted around them.
‘You should see the state of their drive, cracks, bumps. Needs seeing to.’ Steve judged everyone by the route from the street to their letter box. He gazed fondly at his daughter, she smiled back and collected up some more jelly.
Steve and Kathleen tried not to spoil their only daughter. But at times like this they thought she was perfect. Steve took pleasure in everything his Alice did. He loved the way she held her spoon, daintily like a lady, not in her fist like other children. She was beautiful with her soft eyes, sitting there so straight, with her hair falling down past her shoulders. He often told himself she was the point of his life, the apple of his eye. Despite his sarcasm, he was proud she could go to tea with the Ramsays and be like them. Even if it meant she’d change beyond all recognition he would fight tooth and nail to prevent anything holding her back.
Alice was sure her parents must have heard about her imprisoning Eleanor in the dining room on Saturday. Her Mum would have been astonished and told the doctor it wasn’t like Alice to behave unkindly. She would have looked for an explanation, but have been too polite to blame Eleanor. She would have promised to have a quiet word with Alice over tea, perhaps even told Doctor Ramsay about the bear treat and how that would be a good time to choose. She would say Steve would be there to ensure a firm hand, hoping that, as a father himself, Doctor Ramsay would appreciate that. So Alice guessed this was why they were both there, waiting for the right moment. She felt sorry for them. They were so sure there must be a perfectly good explanation. They would say she wasn’t naturally mean.
They were wrong.
Alice could not have explained to anyone what had made her torture Eleanor with the Cheese Secret. She couldn’t talk about the sniggering, the put on voices, cat hairs, bowls of vegetable soup like sick, and finally the matches in the toilet. Alice could not explain that she hadn’t thought Eleanor would mind because she didn’t believe Eleanor loved her Mummy as much as Alice loved hers. She had seen no recognisable signs. The Ramsays were not like ordinary people.
‘You’re clever when it comes to flowers. You’ve got a gift.’ Steve turned to Kathleen for back up, but she was draining potatoes over the sink. ‘You could be a florist.’
‘Doctor Ramsay said I’d make a great botanist and should get a job at Kew Gardens.’
‘Ah well. He should know.’ Steve Howland puffed out his cheeks with an explosive sigh.
Alice wanted to tell him about the picture in her head. She could see a face, eyes sparkly like diamonds with trying not to cry. A crayon snapping in her fist as she made the sun bright yellow. The big room with wooden walls was caving in on her. She wished there was someone she could tell the truth to about the sort of girl she really was. She wasn’t the Alice everyone thought she was.
After rushing out of the White House last Saturday afternoon, Alice had stuffed her screwed up picture in the bin when she got home. Her Dad could have seen it, if he had looked inside.
Her Mum put a plate with two chops, four potatoes and a map of peas down in front of her Dad. He went off to wash his hands, like he always did exactly when the food was ready. Her Mum tutted at the delay, like she always did. But still she filled his silver tankard with frothing London Pride, his favourite.
‘Hurry up with that, Alice.’ Mrs Howland flitted from one task to the next without stopping. She began washing the pans, clinking and clattering as she loaded the rack with steaming dishes. Alice saw her chance.
She kept her eyes on her Mum and, stepping around her chair, guided the remains of the bear into the hole at the top of the stove. The rubbish bin was too far away. For a second his face looked at her before it slathered over the unlit coals. Her father returned just as she sat back down.