Forever Rose Page 13

  Do you think it is quiet in a zoo at night when the visitors go home, and the Gift Shop and Restaurant people switch off the lights and lock the doors, and the last cars creak across the gravel out of the car park?

  No.

  Zoo animals behave very badly after dark. Especially monkeys. I don’t know how they manage to get up in the morning. There was a monkey house right across the path from us, and we could hear them plain as plain, pushing each other about and banging on the windows. And something that sounded like a yak was kicking something that sounded like a drum. And sudden wild squawks came every few minutes, never from the same direction. And someone very large and close had a cough.

  Not to mention the footsteps.

  The footsteps might be night watchmen moving between their little hut places.

  Or they might be Mr Spencer, come furiously back to look for us.

  Or they might be something from one of the cages, got out. Caddy was always telling us admiring stories of animals who got out. Monkeys opening locks with sticks. Mountain lions who could leap higher than their fences, but kept their talents secret until after nightfall. Elephants’ footprints found on the wrong side of the dry moat in the morning.

  There was that coughing again.

  Molly glanced up from one of Kiran’s books and murmured, ‘It’s a tiger.’

  ‘WHAT!’

  ‘Tigers cough. It says so here.’

  I jumped up and began barricading the door with our backpacks. Kiran said, ‘There aren’t any tigers at this zoo.’

  ‘There’s one,’ said Molly. ‘Coughing.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t see any tigers today,’ said Kiran. ‘Rose, did you see any tigers today?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘See!’ said Kiran. ‘No tigers. Good.’

  ‘I didn’t know you didn’t like tigers,’ said Molly in a rather hurt voice.

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t like tigers,’ said Kiran, looking uneasily at my barricade. ‘I just said there weren’t any or we’d have seen them. Wouldn’t we, Rose?’

  Probably. Although I am not sure, because actually, I saw hardly any of any kind of animal today. They were all hiding in the bushes, or on sofas watching telly. I even missed the elephants, of which I know for a fact there is a whole herd. So I carried on arranging my barricade, and as an extra precaution I tucked David Attenborough under my arm. I thought David Attenborough would be a good person to have on your side if there were loose tigers around.

  Especially as Molly had the hardback edition.

  I wished I knew where a tiger’s weak point was.

  I asked Molly, as casually as I could, because I didn’t want to frighten her, if she happened to have any idea.

  Molly said she thought she had read somewhere that they have very sensitive digestions.

  Oh.

  This means that if there is a tiger on the loose I am going to have to make him

  Eat

  David Attenborough.

  Well

  If you ask me

  It’s about time someone did.

  It was now about half-past seven, and very cold. To take our minds off Man-Eating Tigers Kiran read us bits from her plane crash book.

  Then I read them bits from The Blue Fairy Book.

  And then we played snap very quietly in the dark which was useless, especially as we were listening all the time for tigers.

  ‘There are

      NO tigers

        Here!’ growled Kiran.

  ‘There may be only one,’ said Molly fairly, and I said one was enough.

  ‘Especially if it is on the loose,’ I said.

  ‘Of course it is not on the loose!’ replied Molly a little impatiently. ‘There is all sorts of special security in zoos. Things can’t just wander in and out of the cages and not get noticed.’

  Well!

  We did!

  ‘When we go out for our midnight explore,’ said Molly, ‘we will track which direction the coughs are coming from and see whether it really is a tiger.’

  WHAT IS ALL THIS ABOUT GOING OUT FOR A MIDNIGHT EXPLORE?

  Molly and Kiran said, ‘Of course we are going out, that is the whole idea!’

  ‘But let’s not wait till midnight,’ said Kiran. ‘Let’s go right now!’

  I don’t know if I fancy that.

  Tiger hunting in the dark.

  Now.

  Somebody ought to stay and guard the shed.

  So that is how I ended up with the best torch and all the blankets and The Blue Fairy Book and two Cokes in case I got thirsty (no thank you I am not drinking again until I am out of this) all by myself in an arctic foxes’ shed just before Christmas at night in a zoo.

  I could hear gnawing.

  And I could hear monkeys.

  Cars.

  Faraway voices.

  Wind in the bushes.

  A howl, lots of howls, just like wolves.

  Probably wolves.

  And I thought, Oh what a long time I have been here! Surely Kiran and Molly will be back soon. What is there to see in a zoo in the dark?

  That tiger has a terrible cough.

  I think I can hear an aeroplane.

  I’m sure I can hear a duck.

  And I can definitely hear

  Quite close

  And getting closer

  Footsteps.

  Kiran and Molly’s footsteps?

  No.

  Our plan to spend the night at the Zoo was doomed. It was doomed for two reasons:

  1. We underestimated the inquisitiveness of the parents involved.

  2. We forgot David.

  It began to go wrong when Molly’s mother telephoned our house to check that Molly had arrived safely and had everything she needed for the night. And although Indigo was out and Mummy was safely not answering in her shed, David was home.

  David explained that not only was Molly not at our house, but also I (Rose) was spending the night at someone called Kiran’s house and he was sure I had told him that Molly would be there too.

  So of course Molly’s mother said she would ring Kiran’s family at once, and she did and very soon she rang back to say nobody there, but not to panic, because it was school trip day and we could very well be stuck in traffic on our way home. And she would just call school to find out.

  As soon as she put the phone down David rushed out to the shed where Mummy was drooping over St Matthew’s.

  David did not waste any time trying to find a gentle way of breaking his news.

  ‘Rose is missing!’ he puffed. ‘God it sounds terrible she never got back from her school trip and neither did two other little girls!’

  And then, Mummy told us, the room – I mean shed – went all swimmy as if it was dissolving and she probably would have passed out completely if she had not heard David’s voice, sounding as if from faraway, say, ‘Mind, they might just be stuck in traffic, that’s what one of the mothers said.’

  At which timely remark Mummy recovered enough to do what she always does in a crisis, which is ring Daddy.

  And Daddy, for whom London has lost all its magic, who had been worrying about us ever since my cross shouting phone call, who was Personally Burned Out and longing to come home, turned wonderful.

  Daddy does this now and then. Saffy says that it is his ability to turn irresistibly wonderful that has allowed him to get away with so much.

  ‘I’m on my way!’ said Daddy, and it was true, they could hear him rushing round putting things into his pockets. ‘I’m dropping everything, sweetheart…’ (Sweetheart! ) ‘…Call the police! Call school! Call the coach company! Call someone to come and be with you! I hate to think of you all alone!’

  (‘I could make a cynical remark,’ said Saffy, on hearing the account of all this, ‘but I won’t.’)

  ‘I’ve got David,’ said Mummy (in response to my father’s last, uncharacteristic announcement).‘So I am not alone. He is being an Absolute Darling.’ (David,
when he reported this conversation to me, repeated the last bit about him being an absolute darling at least a hundred times.

  Well.

  Twice, anyway.)

  ‘Call me the moment you hear anything,’ continued Daddy. ‘Call me anyway, Eve sweet!’

  But Mummy did not call anyone. She had scarcely time to recover from all this irresistible wonderfulness (not to mention the shock of losing a daughter and gaining a husband) before Kiran’s father telephoned.

  ‘Stop panicking,’ he said. ‘Or anyway, stop panicking quite as much. I knew our Kiran was up to something and now I understand a very strange message the library left on our answerphone this afternoon. And Molly’s mum checked around and found David Attenborough and two large cucumbers were missing and a note from Molly in the fridge. Which she popped round with and I will read to you now. It says, “If you have noticed about the cucumbers you will have noticed about me too and I am quite all right doing something I have always wanted to do and we will not do anything to upset the animals and we have taken things to eat and things to keep warm from the Brownie Camp Cupboard and I will clean my teeth properly in the morning. Love Molly.” ’

  So then, as Indigo later remarked, the game was up.

  Kiran’s father set off for the Zoo.

  Daddy was called and told to drive much less fast and get here safely (darling).

  The Zoo were informed that three very young girls were thought to be loose in their grounds.

  And people were sent to look for us at once.

  And one of them came my way.

  That was the footsteps.

  They had a torch and they called ‘Hello! Hello! Don’t be frightened!’

  In a very familiar voice.

  Thus (Oh, excellent word) Caddy and I met by torchlight in the brambly dark outside the arctic foxes’ shed.

  There truly are no words to describe the moments that followed. Nor do I know how long they lasted. But after they had passed our astonished numbness thawed into speech.

  ‘Rose!’ screamed Caddy.

  ‘Caddy!’ I cried, and I hugged her.

  And she was very uncomfortable to hug.

  Then we both spoke together in unenchanted voices.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ said Caddy. ‘You’re one of those idiot kids that are mucking about in the grounds!’

  While at the same time I said,

  ‘Gross! You’ve got some awful zoo animal stuffed up your jacket.’

  And I turned my torch on her to see what it was and Caddy grabbed it from my hand.

  But not quite in time.

  Other people were about. We could hear their voices calling and see the flashes of their lights.

  They were people in a different world.

  It was dark where we were standing. Caddy had turned the torches off. And it was quiet (except for a bit of understandable snuffling).

  So I said,

  ‘I suppose that’s Buttercup.’

  ‘You must see, Rose,’ said Caddy (after much more snuffling),‘that I couldn’t call him Buttercup. It would be awful for a boy. Anyway I think it’s about time our family went in for a few plain names. I like Carlos myself, and he looks a bit like a Carlos, but that’s the Patagonian sea lion’s name too, so I don’t know. A lot of people here call him Tootles. And don’t you dare tell anyone!’

  Am I likely to tell anyone that I have a nephew called Tootles? Or insist that he be named Buttercup instead? And how can I judge whether he looks like a Carlos or not in the dark?

  ‘Oh all right,’ said Caddy grudgingly, and turned the torch on him for a moment. ‘I didn’t mean you weren’t to tell anyone he was called Tootles, I meant you weren’t to tell anyone about him at all! Isn’t he gorgeous?’

  Yes, he is. He is completely gorgeous. His eyes are shining slits of darkness. His skin is olive brown. His hair is black, and already long enough for Caddy to twist into a ponytail. He will grow up into one of those people who lean back to smile and jump so easily it looks like slow motion and steer cars with their knees and snitch roses from gardens to give to girls and write with their left hand and own two pairs of jeans and one jacket and fall in love from such a height and so hard and so completely that they never quite recover from the drop.

  But at least he will have me to look out for him.

  In the distance, but coming closer, we could see torchlight. Someone called, ‘We’ve found two of them!’ and I heard Molly’s voice, very clear and happy, saying, ‘I knew it was a tiger!’ Caddy hurriedly stuffed Buttercup into a sort of bag thing she had round her neck.

  ‘You go and get found too,’ she ordered, hugging me properly this time.

  ‘But I don’t want to yet!’

  ‘You must! And absolutely don’t say a word about Buttercup. (I’m not going to call him that!) Understand? Not to anyone!’

  I knew perfectly well who she meant by anyone, and I said I didn’t see why.

  ‘Because,’ said Caddy, ‘he has put up with enough. Ever since I gave him back his ring and then nearly married someone else and that awful row last year in Portugal that you don’t know about. Poor, poor darling! It would be just Plain Emotional Blackmail. I am giving him his freedom.’ (Snuffle, snuffle, snuffle.) ‘So promise!’

  I am very, very fond of my nutty big sister, and I know that she is just as fond of me. If our meeting outside the arctic foxes’ shed was not quite perfect it was because of nothing other than circumstances beyond our control.

  Still, I did not like it when I had to let go of her and Buttercup and she pushed me away and disappeared into the blackness. Nor when, from that blackness, her voice hissed,

  ‘Don’t forget you promised!’

  I did not promise.

  I never knew a day could be so long until that one. And when I finally arrived home (delivered by Kiran’s father) I was so tired I was hardly surprised to find Daddy waiting up for me.

  He was just one more phenomenon on the way to bed.

  Tuesday 19th December

  The Stable and the Shed

  ‘I cannot be angry with you,’ said the Head to Molly and Kiran and me. ‘Nor can I punish you. I cannot even tell you off as I should. I am just so thankful to have you safe.’

  This was pretty much what our families had said, and we smiled at each other and sighed with relief.

  And then the Head gave us such a tremendous, detailed, unrestrained and furious BLASTING that our coordination was affected and we could hardly speak or stagger out of the door and we only got back to our classroom by keeping very silent and holding on to walls.

  And I personally felt as if the world had exploded around me and left me standing alone.

  Presently Kiran recovered enough to speak and she said, ‘I bet that’s nothing compared to what he says to Mr Spencer.’

  This delicious thought made all three of us instantly one hundred per cent well.

  The rest of the day at school was unusually nice. Mr Spencer, we were told, was Very Busy Somewhere Else. This meant that Mrs Shah took our register. She did it very carefully, making sure she had seen every person full length and facing forward before she ticked them off. Afterwards she counted us. And she continued to count us at odd intervals all through the day. She said, ‘If any more of you disappear it won’t be my fault.’

  In between countings Mrs Shah helped us to decorate our classroom with left-over Christmas decorations. Then she gave us a large chocolate-filled Advent calendar that she had bought with her own money and we opened the first nineteen doors all in one go. After that she read us a Christmas story. We have had that story every Christmas since Miss Farley’s class, but we did not mind. It is a long time since anybody bothered to read us a story.

  In the afternoon we were sent to the hall to help Class 1 rehearse their Nativity play.

  I think they need a lot of help.

  Mummy’s costumes look a bit tatty close up, but they are all right from a distance, and the manger is filled with real hay (and also
glitter hearts and stars which I think is a mistake). It is a pity that Baby Jesus is really Baby Annabel and much too girlie looking and pink. I offered to paint her a more Holy colour. I could have done that quite easily and it would have washed off afterwards, but I wasn’t allowed. I also think Mary and Joseph need to calm down. When the innkeeper said they would have to sleep in the stable Joseph said, ‘Oh cool, that is amazing,’ and Mary punched the air. I’m sure the first Joseph and Mary were not that thrilled.

  Class 1 do not know anything about real life, and I don’t suppose any of them have ever seen an actual stable. I tried to explain to Mary and Joseph how uncomfortable it would have been and I should know. I spent a whole evening in an arctic foxes’ shed with no bathroom and there cannot be much difference. It was no good though, Mary and Joseph would not listen. Kiran had got to them first. Kiran described the arctic foxes’ shed so unnaturally that it sounded like a small dark patch of Heaven. Also she gave Class 1 the bad idea of squeezing in a large feast, similar to the feast we had in the shed, between the birth of Baby Jesus and the arrival of the shepherds.

  Class 1 are so messy that half the time the dinner ladies make them eat their lunches wearing paper-towel bibs! Mummy’s costumes would be ruined. So I said the feast was a terrible idea and they should sing ‘Away in a Manger’ instead. Their class teacher agreed with me and said the last thing Mary and Joseph needed was a dose of E numbers in the middle of the Nativity; they were overexcited enough as it was.

  So I won.

  Also, before the end of the afternoon I managed to get all the glitter out of the manger. I hid it in the bin under a box of frankincense that got squashed.

  ‘You are a perfectionist, Rose,’ said the Class 1 teacher, watching me.