People told him he looked
just like Humphrey Bogart. He was thrilled. Every morning
I had to climb up on a chair and comb his hair, smoothing
it down to perfection with my small hands, until it was as
shiny and sleek as his polished black leather shoes. Looking
back, I think he saw his life as a Hollywood film, with himself
as the star. He was certainly the star of my life. My Daddy,
my hero.
The only rival I had for his attention was my mother, and
she was no competition at all; always sighing and grumbling
in the kitchen, banging pots and pans around and muttering
under her breath. When I was alone with her, the world was
cold and grey. Her voice hammered down on me in a hailstorm
of reproaches and rebukes. I retreated into the warmer world
of Enid Blyton's Sunny Stories, until my father came in. Then
the coal fire always seemed to perk up and look more cheerful.
I had a big book of fairy stories beside my bed. On weekend
mornings, I would wake early and read it over and over, stopping
occasionally to rub my freezing hands. But I didn't really
feel anything when I read that book. Under blue, blue skies,
I wandered through magical lands far away.
There must have been many such mornings. But one in particular
stands out in my mind. I'll never forget it. I must have been
about six years old. Daddy came into my room and said, ‘Put
on your favourite dress, because I'm taking you out. It's
a special surprise!’
Excitedly I pulled on my brown velvet dress with the lace
collar, asking Daddy to button up the back for me. He was
always full of surprises – such as tickets for the pantomime
on Mummy's Women's Guild night, or a table booked at a restaurant
when she'd been busy cooking. On these occasions I'd be jumping
up and down with sheer joy, wondering why she was always such
a spoilsport. Her expression would have doused an inferno.
Now, he and I were successfully ignoring her. The air was
full of where-do-you-think-you're-goings and don't-bother-to-tell-me-anythings,
but we paid no attention.
On the top deck of the tramcar, I felt like the queen of the
whole world. I didn't think it was possible to feel any happier,
until, suddenly, I did. Daddy said: ‘First of all, we're
going to have your photo taken. I want to keep you in my wallet,
for ever.’ He patted his inside pocket, where each morning
he stowed away his precious wallet when I handed it to him.
I'd stroke the soft leather and trace the creases with my
finger. It was definitely his most important possession, and
I loved it too. The photographer didn't need to ask me to
smile. When Daddy stood behind him making funny faces, I giggled
until I was sore.
I was still smiling a little later, sitting at a round table,
with a pink iced cake on my plate. Daddy took one of my hands
in his.
‘I'm not going to be home so often now, I'm afraid,
poppet.’
For a moment or two, I didn't reply, and kept on swinging
my brown lacing shoes against the table leg. Something wasn't
quite right, I could feel it. Desperately I tried to make
everything happy again. ‘You'll still come home every
night, though, won't you?’
I was so impatient for his answer that I couldn't bear it
when he paused to give one of his special smiles to the waitress
who'd brought a pot of tea. Then he poured some milk into
his cup,
before saying: ‘Not every night. But very often. You'll
see.’
‘Where will you be? Won't you be lonely?’ I hated
to think of him all alone, without me to comb his hair and
choose his tie for the day – and hand him his wallet,
with my photo in it.
‘I'll be working most of the time, sweetheart, and I
won't be alone.’ He carefully balanced three sugar lumps
on top of each other, before adding, in a strangely quiet
voice: ‘I've met a lovely lady. She's like...’
He was lost for words, which wasn't like him, at all. He really
wasn't himself. And that was frightening. I carried on kicking
my feet, and waiting.
He swallowed some tea. ‘If I said she's like a fairy
– like one of the fairies in your big book, that might
help you to understand.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, not understanding at all,
but wanting to please him. Then a thought struck me. ‘Has
she put you under her spell?’ This was important.
‘Oh, yes, indeed she has.’ Daddy stared into space.
I'd never seen anyone under a spell before, but he was certainly
showing the effects of enchantment. His eyes seemed to be
looking at something I couldn't see. It was very frustrating.
‘Has she got wings?’ I nibbled at my pink cake,
without tasting it.
He laughed so loudly that I was afraid he'd choke. ‘No,
no wings,’ he spluttered. ‘But she does have long
fair hair. And lovely dresses.’
‘Does she have a special fairy name?’ I couldn't
really imagine what that might be. Something like Cinderella,
perhaps.
‘More questions!’ He chuckled. ‘Her name,
if you must know, is Doreen.’
I was disappointed. She didn't sound like a fairy to me. There
were just a couple of other things I needed to know.
‘Do you like being under her spell? Or is it because
you can't help it, and you've got no choice?’
‘I love being under her spell.’ He paused. ‘And,
at the same time, I can't seem to help it.’ He looked
so happy that I couldn't help being happy too – especially
when he added: ‘This is just our secret. Our special
secret. I'm not telling Mummy yet, but I wanted to let you
know, so you can understand.’
I felt hugely important. We'd had secrets before, but this
was the biggest one ever. I'd keep it for him, of course I
would. Mummy didn't deserve to know, anyway, because she didn't
believe in fairies. She'd told me so one day when I was reading
my book and she said I should be doing something useful instead.
Now, my faith in fairies helped me squash my doubts and fears.
I wanted to seem really happy, so as not to let Daddy down.
All the way home, I felt as if the special secret was lighting
us up like a halo that everyone could see.
And I felt like that for a very long time afterwards. I didn't
mind too much the days when Daddy wasn't there. I had homework
to do, and, of course, I always had my books.
Funnily enough, Mummy and I were getting on reasonably well
now. She never tried to stop me reading these days. She spent
a lot of time with our next-door neighbour, who came in for
a cup of tea most evenings. I'd hear them tut-tutting and
see them shaking their heads as I tried to concentrate on
my homework.
I was all right, really. All the same I did spend very long
times standing at my bedroom window, from where I could see
right to the bottom of our road. But I never once saw him
coming when I waited there.
I always rushed to answer the phone, hoping to hear his voice.
One day when he'd promised to come home, the phone rang. Maybe
it would be him, calling to say he was coming sooner than
planned.
‘Hello, how's my girl?’ His voice sounded different
somehow. It seemed to have lost its sparkle, especially when
he said: ‘Tell Mummy I can't come home tonight after
all. Tell her something's cropped up. Tell her I'm sorry.’
‘But her dress is all laid out on the bed, you know,
the blue one that you like, and she's had her hair done, and
your favourite meal's in the oven...’ I trailed off
hopelessly, knowing it wouldn't make any difference to him,
not when he was under a spell. I'd helped Mummy make plans
and I felt so sad for her.
‘I'm sorry,’ he said again – not sounding
sorry enough, I thought. Then he whispered: ‘You see,
poppet, it's Doreen's birthday. You understand, don't you?’
Did fairies have birthdays? I'd certainly never heard of one
who did. I can't remember what I said to him, but I certainly
remember hanging away Mummy's dress. We were both too hurt
to talk. Mummy's face was tear-stained. It often was, these
days. She didn't grumble and get cross so much, but she was
always sad, and that was almost worse.
I made her some tea, finding her favourite rosy cup. I took
a few biscuits out of the tin to arrange in a pretty pattern
on the plate, but my thoughts weren't pretty at all. I knew
that good fairies had magic wands, and they made everyone
live happily ever after. But Doreen – well, she was
the opposite. How silly Daddy was not to see that! I'd never
been angry with him before, and it felt strange – disloyal,
somehow. But he'd let us down, Mummy and me, hadn't he? And
I'd kept his secret all this time. His special secret. I spilt
some tea in the saucer but Mummy didn't notice. She was cradling
her head. It looked as if it would break if she didn't hold
it together.
I put her cup down, and gently stroked her shoulder. She slipped
an arm round me. ‘My little love, what would I do without
you?’ She pulled me close.
I shut my eyes, and let the warm, safe feeling flood all over
me. If we were in a story, I wondered, might this be the happy
ending? It was certainly a surprise ending. I didn't want
to speak to Daddy ever again – except to say he should
have known a bad fairy when he saw one. Perhaps she'd told
him he looked like Humphrey Bogart. That would explain everything.
|
| Shortlisted
The runner-up in the Adult Fairy Story competition was Louise
Dop, Verwood, Dorset. Entries shortlisted to final judging
stage were from: Maggie Bolton, Kilmaurs, Ayrshire; Elizabeth
Candlish, Crail, Anstruther, Fife; Ruth Collet-Fenson, Witcham,
Ely, Cambridgeshire; Tina-Louise Holland, Cheltenham; Katherine
May, Rochester, Kent; Greta McGough, Sible Hedingham, Essex;
Sally Nex, West Horsley, Surrey; Karen Joanne Turner, Higham,
Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk; Evelyn Webster, Congleton, Cheshire.
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