Cora Ravenwing (7 page)

“No. Unusual, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Briggs smugly. “I thought you’d like it. Copcutt’s have got a whole batch in. They’re novelty charm bracelets. That’s a special good-luck goblin to start you off … no, don’t wrap it up again, dear. Wear it for your party.”

“Shouldn’t I keep it safe?” I appealed to Mother, hoping she would understand how much I wanted to put the thing out of sight.

She did understand but chose to ignore me. “No, no, dear. Of course you must wear it today. What a lovely idea. Here … I’ll do it up for you. Now, what about changing into a dress …?”

“I thought I wasn’t dressing up. I thought everyone was coming in ordinary clothes.”

“Well, now we’re obviously not going to be outside, I expect the others will put nice dresses on.”

“Of course they will,” seconded Mrs. Briggs. “Go on, dear. You slip on something pretty. You won’t feel a
birthday
girl if you don’t make an effort—And I won’t let you keep on your new bracelet!”

I was beginning to think it didn’t much matter what I wore or what other changes of plan Mrs. Briggs managed to engineer, the whole afternoon was doomed in any case. As I plodded numbly upstairs I heard Mother saying: “She’s terribly disappointed about the weather, I’m afraid. Do
excuse
her. I expect she’ll cheer up soon.”

“Oh, don’t apologize, dear,” said Mrs. Briggs. “I’m used to kids, remember.”

I glanced back at her; she was pulling a lurid shiny apron over her head—another “glad rag”.

At half-past three on the dot the doorbell rang again and I went to open it. By this time the boys had been taken next door to be out of the way and I’d put on my only party dress, which Mother had always assured me was not only very pretty but also a “good garment”. It was broderie anglaise, with narrow, crimson, velvet ribbon threaded through at the neck, waist and hem. I’d also put on my white angora bolero to please Mother. These tiny jackets were very much the fashion amongst girls at the time—we nearly all had one. I hated mine; it had been knitted by my grandmother and the wool was rather thick and matted where it should have been like fluffy down round my shoulders. Barbara and Susan were standing in a huddle on the doorstep, giggling and chattering and holding brightly wrapped packages above their heads to keep the rain off their hair. They looked excited and pretty and for a second my spirits soared as they jumped inside, saying: “Happy birthday, Becky! I knew you’d be in a party dress!”

“Have a present!”

“I’ve only put a frock on because Mummy insisted,” I said. “You’re not supposed to know it’s a birthday party. You shouldn’t have brought presents!”

Mother came through from the kitchen. She looked
cheerful
and fresh in a crisp cotton dress. “Hello, girls … now I specifically said … Becky, aren’t they naughty? … Well, you must look now, dear. What kind new friends …!”

Susan had brought me a new pencil case and Barbara had brought chocolates. We all had one at once while they took their coats off and shambled hesitantly into the front room, where Father was fiddling with the record player. “Snap!” said Susan, pointing at my bolero; she was wearing one too, over a silky orange dress with a huge sash.
Barbara
was wearing a sensible plain navy dress with white buttons and she’d put a white band in her hair. I could see Mother thought them a very nice pair of girls, just the sort I should be mixing with. And Father looked just as pleased as he rose to greet them. I left him putting them at their ease to open the door for Hermione, who arrived at that moment. As she came in I spotted Cora approaching the gate, but instead of holding the door open for her I slammed it quickly. I wanted just a few seconds with Hermione
before
Cora’s presence jinxed everything. Hermione’s father had delivered her at the door in the big white car and she was hardly wet at all. She was wearing a green velvet cape with a fur collar, and underneath she had on a pink dress trimmed with lace, and she had brought soft pink shoes to change into. She gave me a present to open while she changed her shoes; it was a collection of poems by Walter de la Mare.

I said: “Hermione! That’s my best present of all!”

Then Mother was bustling into the hall and sweeping
her off into the front room as the doorbell rang again for Cora, the last and fatal guest! My heart was black with treachery as I contemplated not opening the door. I wished she’d be suddenly sick and have to go; I wished I could just stick my head round the door and hiss: “Buzz off!” I wished I’d never in my life had anything to do with her. But, with profound reluctance, I opened the door and looked wanly out at her.

“Becky!” she said smiling. “Happy birthday!” She held out a damp little parcel. “… Can I come in?” A big shiver ran right through her. She was drenched and cold.

“Oh, come on in, Cora,” I said. I was relieved that the actual sight of her brought me back to reality. How could such a drab, wet little creature provoke anything but pity? She was so limp and insignificant the others would hardly notice her. She could just sit by the fire and dry out while the rest of us went ahead with the fun and games.

“I thought nobody was dressing up, Becky,” she said, worried when she stepped round the door and saw my party dress.

“Change of plan—because of the weather.” I said. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter at all.”

“Oh, I wish you’d said …” She looked upset as she took off her macintosh and stood there in the usual navy
tee-shirt
and shorts, the rain gathering in droplets along the ends of her fringe. She struggled out of her Wellingtons and pulled on the black gym shoes she’d brought for inside. “I have got a frock, you know.”

“I’m sorry, Cora. You’ll be fine. Come on; the others are here already. Come and get warm.” I wanted to get on with the moment of confrontation. Sounds of music and mirth were coming from the front room. I wanted everyone to know the worst as soon as possible.

As I pushed the front room door open I caught sight of Father grinning, his hand hovering over the gramophone pick-up. Susan and Barbara were thumping up and down to the music and Hermione was taking rather more elegant skips and jumps in a corner; Mother was looking on from an arm-chair, smiling gently. Cora and I stepped in as Father lifted the pick-up. The music stopped. Susan,
Barbara
and Hermione crashed to the floor in a giggling heap. “Still not too old for musical bumps!” said Father to me. “Now. Who’s this? Do we all know each other?”

One by one the others sat up and stopped laughing. “Cora!” said Mother. “My dear, you’re soaked! Come and sit by the fire with me and get dry. Becky, run and get a towel, love.”

So I left the room and didn’t see the immediate effect of Cora’s entrance. I didn’t see if there were any nudges, faces pulled, whisperings … or if Father sensed a sudden chill. By the time I came back with the towel Cora was huddled at Mother’s feet and the others were watching Susan
unwrap
a prize she’d won for the musical bumps. The next hour passed pleasantly enough, I thought. I was glad Father had worked out a non-stop programme of games. I had protested earlier in the day that we were all getting rather old for organized games, but now they provided the perfect excuse for the others to ignore Cora totally without it appearing the least obvious. We all soberly and intently applied ourselves to games which would normally have given rise to much roistering about. By the time it was a quarter to five and Mother excused herself to put the
finishing
touches to tea I was almost enjoying myself.

Mother reappeared in a few moments and asked us all to go through to the dining-room. The afternoon was overcast and dark and when we went in I was surprised to find that
the curtains had been drawn and the room was lit with candles. The girls were all very delighted with the effect; Father helped them into their chairs and they started to pull crackers and put on paper hats. Only I, at first, noticed Mrs. Briggs lurking in a dark corner, her red face glistening under a pointed paper hat. I watched her as Cora shuffled in, last in the line. Her eyes bulged like marbles, her face loomed purple in the flickering light. She made an
explosive
sound like a stifled sneeze. Then I watched Cora, waited for her to spot Mrs. Briggs in the shadows. When she did, she choked on a sausage-roll and Father had to thump her on the back rather hard to dislodge the crumbs. Mrs. Briggs enjoyed that. I thought she’d probably like to be in Father’s place, hammering away at poor Cora’s bony little spine. The meal progressed; the food was delicious; Mother and Mrs. Briggs made sure our plates were never empty. It wasn’t obvious that Mrs. Briggs never offered anything to Cora. I was at one end of the table and
Hermione
and Barbara were on either side of me; Father sat down at the other end and acted the clown, to Susan’s delight; even Cora couldn’t help laughing at him. At the end Mother brought in my birthday cake with its candles and I blew them out while the girls sang “Happy Birthday.” Cora’s voice rose sweet and clear with the others. Everyone wanted the candles lit a second time, so we repeated the procedure and afterwards Mother said: “What a beautiful voice you’ve got, Cora.” And Cora, warmed through, smiled like a little pixy under her dark cap of hair.

Father said: “Bet you’re full of secrets, Cora, eh?” I could see he was rather captivated by her shy, hesitant manner. And certainly he was favouring her now as he sensed that, for some reason, she was odd one out. Perhaps it even pleased him to thwart Mrs. Briggs, whose outburst
against Cora he could not have forgotten. When we’d eaten all we could he swept Cora out of the dining-room right under her nose, saying: “A rare blackbird we’ve got here, don’t you think, Mrs. Briggs?”

After tea Mother organized us in the front room again. She decided we should have a Beetle drive while we digested our food and soon we were all seated round the card-table, heads lowered, dice rattling. We had three or four games, and Cora won most of them and was presented with a prize at the end, which nobody seemed to resent. After this, things became less orderly. Mother and Father decided that we could entertain ourselves for the time remaining and they retired to the kitchen to have a cup of tea with Mrs. Briggs. Joseph and Dorian were delivered back from next door and came bursting in to see what they’d missed. They loaded themselves up with chocolate biscuits from the dining table and, after initial shyness, started to show off to the girls.

I myself eventually suggested a game of hide-and-seek all over the house. I wasn’t sure that Mother and Father would approve, so I insisted that everyone keep very quiet—no yelling, shouting or thundering up and down stairs. It turned out to be rather exciting as we all crept stealthily about in the gathering gloom; Mother and Father hadn’t switched on the upstairs lights yet as they hadn’t been
expecting
us to leave the front room. After a while I became aware that nobody was looking for Cora any more and that she’d been hidden for ages. When it was my turn to seek I searched high and low for her but couldn’t find her and decided not to hold the game up on her account. I never mentioned her to the others, nor did I suggest that they try to find her. As a matter of fact I thought that, as things had gone so well, it didn’t really matter if she was
abandoned 
in some dusty corner for the last half hour or so. I could always find her when everyone else had gone home, and make some sort of amends.

We had just finished a round of the game and were all laughing and flopping about in the front room when the kitchen door opened, and Mrs. Briggs came out and headed for the stairs.

“That’s Mrs. Briggs going upstairs for something,” I said. “Better not muck around up there for a bit with her on the prowl. Let’s have another game of Beetle or something.”

We began to organize ourselves desultorily when
suddenly
appalling screams from upstairs filled the house. My heart leapt. I rushed into the hall. Mother and Father burst out of the kitchen. Mrs. Briggs, panting and shouting, rushed wildly down the stairs with Dory in her arms.

“She’s killing him! She’s killing him!” she shrieked as Mother seized him and he burst into screams of fright. “First her mother, then my baby, then the Spenser baby—now yours! I’ll get her, the little devil …!” She turned, her eyes glaring madly, and made for the stairs again. Father grabbed her. It took all his strength to hold her. Over his shoulder he ordered me and the others back into the front room. As I closed the door behind us I saw him hauling Mrs. Briggs into the kitchen and soon afterwards we heard his footsteps on the stairs. He was going up for Cora.

Susan was sobbing on the settee and Barbara was
comforting
her. Hermione sat motionless and white on the floor. After a while, when she started chewing her fingers, I dared to approach her and speak.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what on earth’s happened …”

She hissed: “Didn’t I tell you? I warned you. I wasn’t supposed to but I did. I told you all about her. But you still invited her. You must be mad!”

“I didn’t realize … I didn’t mean …”

“It’s too late now. Look at Susan. What effect do you think it’s had on her?”

I crawled across the carpet and knelt before Susan,
looking
up into her trembling, wet face. She and Barbara had heard nothing of what Hermione had said. “Susan, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Susan bravely, wiping her face. “You couldn’t have known about her and what she did to my little brother.”

“Oh yes she could,” said Hermione with icy clarity. “… I told her.”

“But I didn’t understand,” I pleaded as I saw shock hit the faces of the other two. “Forgive me. I can see it all now. I won’t speak to her again. Not ever.” I burst into tears myself. “Don’t chuck me out because of this …
Please
don’t.”

It was Barbara, sensible Barbara, who made the decision. “It’s O.K., Becky. Don’t fret,” she said. “Even if Hermione told you the facts I can see how hard it would be for a newcomer to understand. I suppose it was even nice of you to try and be friends with Cora—but it can’t be done, you see …”