Page 22

Chapter 22

Thursday 11 May 1911

‘I’m beginning to regret encouraging Ann to read the newspaper so thoroughly,’ said Ursula to John as she handed him his hat and umbrella in the hall.

‘I agree, she does seem to be overly interested in all the details of the fire.’ His voice was almost recovered now, only faltering if he talked too much or too loudly.

‘But it’s too late to put the genie back in that particular bottle, I fear.

When is the funeral?

’

‘On Sunday.’

‘So soon?’

‘It seems so.’

‘Perhaps all this will be less important to her after it’s over.

’

‘I was wondering,’ Ursula paused, ‘if I should take her to see it.’

He stopped walking towards the door.

‘Are you serious? Taking a child to something like that?’

‘Not to the actual funeral. But the newspaper says that tens of thousands of people are expected to come out onto the streets to pay their respects, and I thought we might be able to get a glimpse of the procession, if we were to get up early.’

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘I’m not sure what else will help.

She is obsessed with it.

And because he was an illusionist she is half-convinced that he isn’t really dead and that he will reappear in a swirl of brocade and silk and shout something suitably theatrical.

Perhaps if she sees the procession, she will understand that it is real.

’

‘I can see your reasoning.’ He turned again for the front door, and with one hand on the handle, he continued.

‘But allow me to think about it, please. You do have some rather unusual ideas sometimes.’

*

Rugby had given way to cricket at school and on Saturday morning Finlay had left early to prepare for a match, taking his breakfast with him.

John cleared his throat.

‘Ann, I was wondering,’ he said and then corrected himself, ‘ we were wondering if you would like to see the funeral procession for The Great Lafayette tomorrow. I understand that it will be very well attended.’

Ursula looked up from her bowl of Dr Allinson’s Power cereal.

She was unsure whether or not it was to her taste, but it was recommended, so she was doing her best with it.

John reached across the table and took Ursula’s hand and squeezed it.

‘It was a good suggestion, and now that I’ve had time to consider it, there seems to be no reason not to attend.

’

Ann raised her head from counting the embroidered flower petals on the tablecloth.

‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘I would like that very much.’

‘I expect your brother will accompany you.’ He looked at Ursula and saw the tiny barely-there shake of the head.

‘Or perhaps we could all go, if it’s important to you.

’

‘Yes please.’

‘Very well. I’ve finished reading the newspaper for now so I want you to look at it and find out the route of the procession and the time.

’ And with that he pushed his chair back and stood up.

‘I will be in the drawing room if anyone needs me.’

*

They arrived at the roadside early.

Ann let go of Ursula’s hand and pushed her way to the front.

The procession was slow.

A single black horse pulled a large floral display mounted on the back of a carriage.

‘THE LAST ACT’ was picked out in flowers on the front of it.

A brass band followed the carriage, and trumpets, trombones, clarinets and other instruments were played all along the route.

Two more black horses, with plumes of black feathers sprouting from their harnesses, pulled a second carriage, upon which lay a coffin.

This was followed by a car.

A Mercedes, Finlay noted.

But it was Ann who noticed that instead of the Mercedes symbol on the car radiator, there was a polished metal model of Beauty, The Great Lafayette’s dog, who had died just a few days before the fire.

Inside the car, she had read in the newspaper, was Mabel, his Dalmatian.

No people were in the car, just Mabel.

Ann didn’t know whether to cheer or to be quiet.

They made their way back home afterwards as two pairs.

Finlay walked beside his father, discussing the cricket scores from the day before.

Ursula could hear him talking about ducks, and there always seemed to be so many numbers.

She and Ann followed on behind.

‘Tell me what you are thinking,’ said Ursula.

‘There were a lot more people than I thought there would be.’

‘In the procession?’

‘No, on the pavements. I expect that’s because he is so famous.

When you die, or Father dies, I don’t expect there will be many people.

Finlay has a lot of friends but I don’t suppose even he will have a big funeral.

’ Ann kicked a small stone into the road.

‘And when it’s my turn I’ll be dead so it won’t matter anyway.

I won’t see it.’

Ursula was so shocked she didn’t know what to say.

‘I’m not going to go and see Mother any more.

’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘When we go and put flowers on the grave. I’m not going.

’

‘I think your father may be disappointed.’

‘I’ll say I have a headache.

Or I’ll think of another reason, like laryngitis.

Once I’ve not been going for a while, he won’t ask about it.

’

‘May I ask why you don’t want to go?

’

Ann didn’t say anything for half a road of houses.

‘Ann?’

‘Because she wasn’t a nice person.

’

‘What a thing to say!’

‘She wasn’t.

She would not have held my hand so tightly and rescued me from the fire.

She would have rushed out and left me behind to burn.

’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.

’

‘And I am sure that it is. And she would never have let me read the newspaper; she said those were things for boys, even when I could read quite well. But mostly it’s because she was horrid to Isobel.

She used to make her cry.

I heard her sometimes, shouting and shouting when Father was out.

And Isobel was sad. I heard her telling the postman that she was going to leave us and find another position.

’

‘I see.’

‘And even when she was ill, at the end, she still shouted, just not as loudly. Nothing was ever right. Ask Finlay.’

‘I most certainly will not ask him.’

‘If you did, he would tell you. She had a shout for everything, but only when Father was not in the house to hear her. I don’t know why she had children if she hated us so much.

’

‘Is there anything else?’

‘I don’t want to call you “Mother”.

’

‘I’ve never asked you to do that.

’

‘I know, but I think Father would like it. He sometimes says “ask Mother” to me, and I’m not sure if it’s because he forgets or because it’s something he wants.

So I try not to call you anything.

’

Ursula realised that this was true, and she had never noticed.

‘I see.’

‘I had a mother and she was not nice. She used to say bad things about me. She whispered them in my ears so no one else would hear. And you don’t do things like that if you love someone, so she definitely didn’t love me.

She once told me she named me Ann because it was the least interesting name she could think of.

She didn’t even put an e on the end of it.

’

‘Finlay calls you Annie Bee sometimes. Is that because your initials are A.B.?’

‘He only does it when he’s being nice.

’ Ann looked across at Ursula.

‘It’s because I had lots of black hair when I was born, and then my skin turned yellow for a few days.

He was four and a half, and he thought I looked like a bumble bee.

’

Ursula listened.

She listened more intently than she had ever done in her life.

‘You are nice to me and nice to Finlay and especially nice to Isobel.’

‘But you don’t want to call me Mother?

’

‘No, I don’t.’ Ann was suddenly so definite and so confident it was breathtaking.

‘I had someone called Mother and she is gone now and I’m glad.

’ The silence continued for a few more houses.

‘I would like to call you Ursula.’

‘I see.’

‘And I want to be like you. I don’t want any more meat on my plate.

’

They had fallen further behind John and Finlay, Ursula deliberately slowing down so that the conversation would be private.

She could already anticipate how John was going to take all this.

It was not going to go down well.