The Peppermint Pig (16 page)

She said, triumphantly, ‘You wanted a quarrel because he called you a runt. That’s all it’s been all the time. And now you’ve killed him because of it.’

Theo was watching her, fascinated. He said, ‘Poll…’ but she started to cry. ‘Poor Noah,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, poor Noah.’

Her tears fell like rain. Poor Noah but poor Theo, too! She gasped out, ‘Run Theo, run away quickly
before someone finds out! Or they’ll catch you and send you to prison!’

He said, very bitterly ‘Now that I know what you think of me, what a mean, shabby person I am, I’d rather stay, thank you! I just hope they’ll catch me and hang me!’

This made her cry harder. Through a veil of tears, Theo’s face wobbled in front of her. He said, ‘Listen, Poll, I can’t run away! Can’t just leave him…’

She started to scream in little, short bursts. Someone shouted, ‘Shut your bawling, you silly great mawther!’

She stopped, choking. Noah was sitting up, grinning. She rubbed her eyes but it was true, not a dream! She said, ‘You were only pretending!’

‘Only way to stop him, warn’t it?’ He got up, feeling himself very carefully as if wondering how many bones had been broken. Then smiled slyly at Theo. ‘Took you in, didn’t I?’

Theo frowned. Poll was afraid he was going to say that he hadn’t believed Noah was dead for a minute, it was only his stupid young sister! She said, ‘Theo was scared to death! We both were!’

Noah beamed. Theo smiled shakily. He said, ‘I’m sorry, Noah. Poll was right what she said. I made it all up! All what I told you!’

Noah thrust his hands deep in his pocket and swaggered. ‘Think I didn’t know that? You’re not the only person with brains.’

‘No, I know that,’ Theo said humbly. Now it was over, he looked very sick.

Noah said, ‘That’s that, then. I reckon we’re square now. You bashed me up and I fooled you!’ He took his hand out of his pocket and offered it to Theo, who stepped forward and shook it. They looked at each other and laughed in what seemed to Poll a loud, stupid way. Even though they were not enemies now, they were too different to be friends, so it was silly of them to pretend they could be.

She followed them back to the Fair, feeling a little resentful because they went on ahead without once looking back at her, but too occupied with her thoughts to be really jealous. Theo had said she would understand what he’d done when she was older but she understood now – and better than he did! Theo was clever but he wasn’t sensible like ordinary people and it set him apart from them. Even Noah understood that: it was why he had been so magnanimous. Poll thought,
Theo will always be lonely
, and it made her feel proud and sad to know this, and very responsible. It was as if someone, a teacher, or a clergyman, or Aunt Sarah, had suddenly said to her, ‘Your brother will have a hard time all his life, you will have to look after him.’ She would have to do that, now she’d been asked, however angry she might sometimes get with him.

CHAPTER NINE

A
UNT
H
ARRIET WAS
shouting at Mother. Hesitating at the back door, Poll heard her say, ‘I don’t care what you say, Emily some children feel more than others and that one wasn’t raised in a cow pat!’

She swept out of the kitchen, almost falling over Johnnie and Poll on the step. She was huffing and puffing with temper but when she saw Poll she laughed her loud, mannish laugh and said, ‘Talk of the devil! Go and put on a clean frock, we’re off out, you and I!’

She whisked off, skirts flying. Poll went indoors and said, ‘What was all that?’

‘Just your aunt having the last word as usual.’

‘What about? What child wasn’t raised in a cow pat?’

‘Never you mind.’ Mother was pressing a dress,
soaping the seams. The flat iron hissed as she banged it down harder than was really necessary and her lips were compressed. She said, without looking at Poll, ‘Your blue and white check will do. And a fresh petticoat. She’s ordered the governess cart from The Angel, so hurry up and don’t keep her waiting.’

Aunt Harriet was at the door, the grey pony fidgeting. It had started to rain, big thundery drops, but with the gig umbrella up and the waterproof rug over their knees, they were warm and dry in their small house on wheels. Aunt Harriet did not seem disposed to talk but she slapped the reins on the fat pony’s rump, singing ‘Pretty Redwing’ in a strong, cheerful voice, and by the time the rain had stopped and she had folded the umbrella and put it back in its holder, she seemed in fine spirits and Poll dared to ask where they were going.

‘Mystery tour,’ Aunt Harriet said. ‘Wait and see.’

The governess cart rattled through lanes dusty with summer and stopped outside a cottage with a slanting roof covered with roses and a green water butt outside the back door. A plump woman came running out and helped them down from the trap. She had a chrysanthemum head of fiery red hair and her face was a round moon of freckles and laughter. She called Poll, ‘My chicken,’ and clasped her to her cushiony chest, scratching Poll’s nose on a brooch, then released her and cried, ‘Harriet, what fun, you’re just in time for tea!’

Outside the cottage door, in the sun, was a huge wooden box squirming with puppies. Their mother came forward to greet them, crouching belly to earth and showing white teeth in a smile. ‘She won’t hurt you, my chicken,’ the plump lady said. ‘You can pick up her puppies.’

Poll was enchanted. Five of the puppies were smooth-coated like their mother, the sixth was covered with tight, brown curls. When Poll picked him up, he was heavy and warm in her arms, his soft stomach firm as a drum. ‘He’ll make a fine dog, that one,’ his owner said. ‘All the others are bitches. First thing’s first, though, you’ll be hungry after your journey.’ Poll set the puppy down and he stumbled back to the box on short, splayed-out legs, crying for his mother.

Tea was laid on a table under an apple tree. They ate bread and butter and blackberries and damp harvest cake. The two women talked and laughed and Poll watched the puppies. She liked the curly one best, he was so bold and strong, trampling his sisters to get to the side of the box and stand up looking over, and his nose shone like a black boot freshly polished for Sunday.

Aunt Harriet said, ‘We can’t stay too long, Hetty. Better pass the time of day with the old fellow before we go, I suppose. How’s he been?’

Hetty didn’t answer for a minute. Poll saw her round face grow sober and somehow chilled under
her flaming hair as if the sun had gone in. She said, ‘No better, nor will be, this side the grave,’ and Aunt Harriet put her hand out, over the table, and Hetty clasped it.

They got up and carried the tea things indoors. Poll offered to help but Aunt Harriet told her to play with the puppies and she guessed that the ‘old fellow’, whoever he was, disliked children. The door was left open and she could hear Aunt Harriet talking and a low, whining grumble replying, but all she could see when she craned her neck forward was the end of a bed with a patchwork quilt on it.

She tickled the puppies. The curly one decided her hand was a good toy to play with and attacked it in short, prancing rushes, his little teeth sharp as needles. She laughed and wiggled her fingers and he stalked them, stiff-legged, growling like a small engine.

‘Like to take him home, Poll?’ Aunt Harriet said.

Poll’s heart missed a beat. Had she misunderstood? But when she looked up, Aunt Harriet was beaming down, the bumps of her cheekbones hard and shiny as apples. She said, ‘Birthday present.’

Poll’s birthday had been two weeks earlier. Mother had given her a satchel, Theo and Lily a blue china duck full of chocolates, and George had made her a pop gun from an alder stick with the pith removed that shot acorns or small balls of wet paper as ammunition. And the aunts had given her gauntlet gloves for the winter…

Had Aunt Harriet forgotten? She said, reluctantly, ‘You gave me those gloves.’

Aunt Harriet laughed. ‘Do you want him, or don’t you?’

Poll felt giddy with happiness. But she couldn’t quite trust it. Aunt Harriet was given to impulses. ‘Never looks before she jumps,’ Aunt Sarah said. It seemed rude to question her kindness, but Poll knew that she must. She asked, ‘What about Mother?’ – and dreaded the answer. Mother had always said, no more animals! They couldn’t afford extra food and all the scraps went to Johnnie.

‘Oh, that’s all right, I arranged it,’ Aunt Harriet said.

Poll picked up the puppy. She was too full to speak. When Hetty said good-bye to her, she could only smile weakly and dumbly. As they set off down the lane, she felt ashamed. She managed to whisper, ‘I didn’t say thank you.’

‘Your face was enough, I dare say,’ Aunt Harriet said, rather shortly. Poll thought she seemed sad about something.

She said, ‘Is your friend’s husband ill?’ and Aunt Harriet nodded.

‘Dying, the miserable man, and punishing poor Hetty for it. Hates her because she’s living and breathing and he won’t be much longer. If I were her I’d tell him a thing or two but she’s too soft-hearted. It’s always the soft ones get hurt in this world and it
hurts the rest of us watching them.’ She looked at Poll. ‘Thought of a name for your puppy?’

Poll shook her head.

‘Hetty’s a Scotswoman. Hetty Macgregor. Why not call him Mac?’

Poll tried it out. ‘Mac?’ she said, and the curly puppy wriggled excitedly and buried his cold little nose in her neck.

Mother said, ‘Your responsibility, mind! Any puddles or messes, you clear them up!’

Poll said, ‘I’m so happy I could die. Theo always wants to die when he’s miserable but I feel like that when I’m happy.’

‘Don’t make much sense that way round,’ Theo said. ‘Can I hold him?’

‘He might wet on you. He has on me, twice. And he’s
hungry
. Can he have some milk, Mother?’

Mother put a saucer of milk on the hearth. Mac started to lap but stopped when Johnnie came to investigate. The huge pig terrified him; he staggered back to Poll, squeaking, and tried to climb up her legs.

‘Go away, Johnnie, you’ve scared him,’ Poll said.

‘Poor old Johnnie,’ George said. ‘He was here first. Come here, poor old pig,
she
doesn’t want you.’ He sat down and scratched Johnnie’s neck and blew into his ears, until he grunted with pleasure.

‘I’m not pushing Johnnie out,’ Poll said. ‘It’s just
that Mac is only a baby and I have to look after him.’

‘Oh, of course!’ George said. ‘Off with the old love, and on with the new!’

‘Don’t tease her, George!’ Mother spoke sharply and George looked at her. They looked at each other and then, as if some unspoken thought passed between them, at Poll. George said, ‘Sorry, Poll,’ and Mother said, ‘So I should hope!’ and went to the scullery.

George pulled Johnnie’s ears, watching Poll. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.

Poll said, ‘Silly Mac, you’ve got to get used to our Johnnie,’ and put him down. This time, when Johnnie came up to him he wasn’t so frightened, just rolled over exposing his soft, beating drum of a belly. Johnnie nudged him with his flat nose and settled down in his rightful place on the hearth; the puppy sniffed at him, then, greatly daring, pounced on his comfortable stomach. Johnnie grunted and Mac started to play, dancing round him, nipping his ears and yapping excitedly. Johnnie seemed not to mind these attentions and when he grew bored and stood up to go, he looked back at the puppy from the door of the scullery as if to say, ‘Why not come along, take a look at the garden?’ and little Mac cocked his head on one side and trotted after him.

‘I knew they’d be friends,’ Poll said. ‘Didn’t you know they would, George?’

But George didn’t answer. He hadn’t moved from his chair and was watching Poll with a worried, abstracted expression as if he were too absorbed in his private thoughts to pay much attention to his sister’s new puppy. Was he pretending not to be interested because he was jealous? Poll knew she would have been, in his place, but George wasn’t like that. ‘George hasn’t a jealous bone in his body,’ was what Mother said, and Poll had always thought this a silly remark. How could bones be jealous? Perhaps George was just in a funny mood.

She noticed, the next day or two, that George made more fuss of Johnnie than he had done for ages. He had often complained that the pig took up too much room and was always occupying the hearth when he wanted to stretch his long legs out. Now he not only didn’t complain, but came home every day with some titbit for Johnnie; an apple, or a handful of acorns. Poll began to think that even if George wasn’t jealous on his own behalf, he might be jealous for Johnnie, now she had the puppy.

A week later something happened that made her quite sure of it. Breakfast was over and she was having a last game with Mac before she went off to school, throwing a cotton reel on a string for him to pounce on with fierce little growls, when George said,
‘What about saying good-bye to Johnnie before you go, Poll?’ And when she looked up, surprised, ‘Well, poor old pig, you’ve been neglecting him lately.’

She said, ‘Don’t be stupid,’ but he had made her feel guilty She loved Johnnie, of course she did, but he was old and fat now and Mac was more fun to play with. She picked up her satchel and went up the garden to make amends. But although the hen-house gate was open, he didn’t come trotting eagerly out as he always did.

Mother was at the back door. ‘Hurry up, you’ll be late. Annie’s come for you.’

She said, ‘
Johnnie
,’ impatiently, but he still didn’t come out of the hen house.

Mother frowned as she kissed Poll. ‘First time he’s not come when he’s been called in his life.’

‘Just lazy,’ Poll said. She shouted, ‘Good-bye, you lazy old pig,’ and ran off to school.

And when she came back, he was gone.

She hadn’t known – for the rest of her life she was sure she hadn’t known – and yet, when she came home, she knew what had happened before anyone told her.

She was late for tea. She came in with Annie, their pockets full of acorns they had collected for Johnnie, and her family was at the table already: Lily and George and Theo and Mother with Mac on her lap. Only one missing. She said, ‘Where’s Johnnie?’ – and, in her heart, knew the answer.