O Caledonia

Woeful and cold she felt as they drove homewards. They passed the wolves, scrimmaging together in the dusk, fending and ripping at a small blue anorak. “Well now,” said Francis, “I wonder what they’ve done with the owner.” Lulu gasped; fearfully she clutched Rhona’s arm. “Don’t be silly, Francis,” said Rhona, “I saw you chucking that in to them.” “Only something I found in a puddle. I thought it might cheer them up.” Vera sighed heavily. Janet sat in the front this time. Steadily the windscreen wipers fanned through the slush and mud. The snow had stopped but there had been a great burden of it on the canvas roof and now it was melting and dripping down all the windows like streaming tears, like the tears of the manatee. She shook her head hard, trying to dislodge the thought. There had been a happy fish in the aquarium house. It was a skate, a pure white skate, and it had moved vertically, floating up and down on a little wake of bubbles, like a handkerchief or a small pale ghost. As it floated, it opened and closed its mouth, and it had seemed to Janet that it was soundlessly singing “Hallelujah, hallelujah.” Its fluent effortless dance was a dance of praise, a joyous offering.

For most of the journey the little ones were quiet, but as they turned up the drive to Auchnasaugh and birthday tea and candles, excitement broke loose again. “What IF,” they shrieked. “What if a penguin rode on an elephant?” “What if a pear jumped over the moon? No, a melon.” “What if a slow-worm?” “No, Caro, that’s not how you do it.” “Water’s dripping in from the roof,” said Francis. The canvas was sagging heavily inwards. “Oh, never mind, we’re almost there,” said Vera, accelerating perilously. The car skidded, zigzagged, straightened. In the headlights they saw Jim pedalling laboriously towards them. He was on his way home; two rabbits and a pigeon dangled on strings from his handlebars; the rabbits’ stiff hind legs swung against the spokes of his front wheel. “I must just have a quick word with him.” Vera braked abruptly. The car lurched sideways again. There was a rending sound; an avalanche of slush and ice water engulfed Janet’s head. “The roof ’s split! Look at Janet!” squawked Francis. They looked, they squealed with laughter, they looked again and collapsed in helpless mirth. Vera wound up her window, waved to Jim, glanced at Janet, and began to laugh too. Janet was speechless from the shock of the cold; her hair was saturated, water was still pouring over her face, onto her lap, soaking into her coat, trickling even into the capacious recesses of her padded pre-formed brassiere, bought to leave room for growth. (Growth

, what a hideous word.) The car drew to a halt by the front door. “What if,” proposed Francis, “something extremely funny happened to Janet?” Blindly she rushed into the hall and up the stairs. The twin lagoons gurgled beneath her jersey. Far below she heard Caro trying again: “What if a clown jumped into a bucket of socks?”

The summer term at St. Uncumba’s was almost bearable. Although the weather was always cool because of the sea breeze, the monotone grey dispersed and sky and water vied with each other in subtleties of blue and green. There was no more hockey, and you only had to play cricket if you showed promise. Otherwise there was tennis and swimming. Janet played tennis with her usual ineptitude, but because it was not a team game no one minded, except Cynthia, who would become exasperated and then furious and start hitting very fast and very accurate balls at Janet and the game would end. They swam in a huge natural pool among the rocks; the tide swept in twice daily and flooded it, bringing marine exotica, and not always removing them as it withdrew. Janet lost her pleasure in swimming here after meeting a six-foot eel with goggling eyes. On sunny days when they went riding they wore their swimming costumes under their jodhpurs and Aertex shirts; they would gallop along the wet shining sands and then take the saddles off and swim the horses. This was marvellous. The horses trod warily into the shallows; they picked their feet up high and skipped sideways at the little waves. Then as they waded deeper they arched their necks and snorted, pushing their muzzles into the green swell. Their flanks grew wet and slippery. And suddenly with a wild forward lurch they gave themselves to the sea, wantonly plunging, surging, and wallowing. The billows washed into Janet’s face, the wind took her breath, she clung to the mane, elemental air and water, terror and ecstasy. She could die like this and never know the difference, horsed on the sightless couriers of the air.