Lottie Project (14 page)

‘He’s very nice,’ she said. Her tone was brisk – but she blushed.

I stared at her. Grandma was staring too.

‘Very nice?’ said Grandma impatiently. ‘What
sort
of very nice? What job does he do? What does he look like? What’s happened to the boy’s mother?’

‘He’s very nice – what more can I say?’ said Jo. ‘He’s something in the Civil Service.’

‘Which grade?’ said Grandma.

‘As if I know!’

‘Is he good looking?’

‘I suppose so. In a kind of lean, lost sort of way,’ said Jo.

‘Mmm!’ said Grandma. ‘And is he a widower?’

‘No. His wife left him. She had custody of Robin at first, but he didn’t get on with the boyfriend, so now he’s back with his dad.’

‘And Dad doesn’t have a girlfriend?’

‘No. Well. He could have. But he hasn’t mentioned one,’ said Jo.

‘She’s just his cleaner,’ I said crossly. ‘She doesn’t have anything to do with him, do you, Jo?’

‘No. That’s right. Yes,’ said Jo, sounding muddled.

I frowned at her. What was she on about? And why did she have that stupid little smile on her face? I suddenly got terribly anxious. What was going on?

Jo hadn’t ever said anything about this man to me. Well. She’d said he was nice. Very nice. But that’s such a limp nothing sort of comment that I didn’t even notice it at the time.

I didn’t have a clue what he was really like. I’d never met him. I had met Robin. It was easier for Jo to bring him round to our place after she’d met him from school.

‘It’s so I can be here for you too, Charlie. We can all have a snack together,’ said Jo. ‘Then I can take him home and do a spot of cleaning before his dad gets back.’

I wasn’t at all keen on this idea, but I couldn’t really object much to Robin. He wasn’t like an ordinary boy of five at all. He was very little, with a long thick fringe and huge dark eyes in a white face. He gnawed nervously at his bottom lip all the time, and he trembled for the first few visits. He was like one of those small furry nocturnal creatures you see in the zoo, hunched at the bottom of their cage.

He certainly didn’t run amok, messing up all my things. He sat where he was put, picking anxiously at the scabs on his bony bare knees, going nibble nibble nibble at his lips. Jo brought him books and he looked at them obediently. Jo found him paper
and
crayons and he drew neat square houses with a mummy on one side and a daddy on the other and a very tiny Robin in the middle, under the house. He wasn’t any good at perspective so it looked as if the house was falling on him, about to crush him completely. Or maybe that was really how he wanted it to look, I don’t know. I asked him but he wouldn’t talk properly. He’d just nod if I said, ‘Is this your mum?’

I’d only got him going once. I noticed he had a little pocket in his school sweatshirt that he patted every now and then. I thought he was checking up on his handkerchief. Robin was the sort of little boy who always breathes heavily and has a runny nose. He kept sniffling one afternoon so I told him rather sharply to use his handkerchief.

He looked stricken. He didn’t move.

‘Your hankie! Your nose is running. Yuck!’ I said.

He shrivelled away from me, practically going inside the neck of his sweatshirt.

‘Stop nagging him, Charlie. Here, we’ve got some tissues somewhere,’ said Jo.

‘But look, he’s got his hankie with him,’ I said, putting my hand in his pocket and pulling something out.

It wasn’t a hankie. It was a little fluffy toy.

‘That’s mine! Give him back!’ said Robin, and he darted forward, grabbing.

‘Hey, OK! Don’t get in such a flap. Here’s your
little
toy. What is it?’ I said, peering.

Robin held it tight against his chest.

‘Is he shy, your little animal?’ I said. ‘Oh yes, he is, isn’t he? Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten him. He’s looking at me with one big beady eye. I think he really wants to make friends. Are you going to get him to say hello to me, Robin?’

Robin didn’t seem sure. He fidgeted, not meeting my eyes – but he seemed almost to be joining in the game.

‘Hello, little shy animal,’ I said into Robin’s clasped hands.

‘He’s not an animal,’ said Robin. ‘He’s a bird. He’s Birdie.’

Birdie edged his beak into the air so that I could see.

‘Oh, so he is! Hello, Birdie. Can you fly?’ I said.

Robin nodded, and made Birdie nod too.

‘I don’t believe you,’ I said.

‘He can!’ said Robin, and Birdie’s beak went up and down.

‘No. I’m sure he can’t possibly fly,’ I said.

‘Yes, he can, I’ll show you,’ said Robin, and he unclenched his fist so that Birdie’s woollen wings flapped free. Robin stood up and skipped round the kitchen, making his arm swoop up and down. Birdie flew along with him. He had two black bead eyes, a yellow beak, and big brown wings, carefully scalloped at the edge. He wore a bright-red knitted waistcoat.

‘I get it! Birdie’s a Robin, like you,’ I said.

Robin nodded happily, and Birdie flew faster.

‘Did your mum make him for you?’ I said without thinking.

Robin stopped. Birdie lost height rapidly and landed. Jo frowned at me from across the kitchen. Robin went and sat on a chair without saying another word. I didn’t know whether his mum had made Birdie or not.

‘I’m sorry, Robin,’ I muttered.

I wondered what it would feel like if your mum didn’t really want you. I knew what it felt like not to have a dad, but then that was OK. I didn’t want one. Certainly not one like mine. When I was really little, younger than Robin, Jo used to tell me all these fairy tales about a lovely daddy who was so sad he couldn’t see me, but I soon twigged she wasn’t telling the truth. I asked her straight and so she told me straight. My dad was Jo’s first boyfriend. She loved him like crazy but he was never so keen on her. Then when she found out she was going to have me she told him and he didn’t want to know. ‘That’s your problem,’ he said. I’ve been Jo’s ‘problem’ ever since but we manage just fine.

Robin doesn’t look like he’s managing very well, even if he’s still got this very nice dad. If he
is
very nice.

I don’t like the sound of him.

FAMILY

IT IS OUR
Jessie’s birthday today. She is five years old, quite the little lady. I have been fretting over what to send her for a birthday present. Louisa has so many discarded toys in her trunk. There’s a little china tea-set our Jessie would adore. Louisa packed it away so carelessly all the little teacups fell out of their cardboard setting and the lid of the sugar pot seems to be lost for ever.

‘I don’t care about that old tea-set, not now I have my new willow-pattern set,’ said Louisa.

I very nearly asked her if I could have it for my little sister. Louisa might have said yes, but I didn’t think the Mistress would like it. There are many many many things the Mistress doesn’t like!