This was already beginning to sound like one of Ivy’s usual discontents. Polly had long ago learned to dread them. Later in her life she learned to dread them much more. This time, as usual, her feelings were hurt on Dad’s behalf. She had to give up trying to feel honoured and tell herself she was being considerate instead. As Ivy talked on, she found herself thinking that Dad was not secretive. He just expected you to know what he was feeling by the things he said and did. It was Mum who kept herself to herself, locked away in moods.
“I know I have these moods,” Ivy was saying, a long time later. “But what can I do when I’m being rejected at every end and turn? It gets me that way. I know when I’m not wanted. It didn’t use to be that way when Reg and I were first married. We shared then. But not now.”
Polly listened, still trying to be considerate, and kept vowing privately that she would never, ever lock herself away from anyone. When she looked at the clock, she was surprised to find it was past her bedtime and Ivy was still talking. By now it was sounding just like her usual discontents.
“Well you know me – I’ve slaved and worked to make the house nice, gave up my job to have it all perfect. And I do think in return the least he could do is not walk muddy feet all over the carpets, and shut drawers after he’s opened them, and tidy up a bit sometimes. Not a bit of it. When I mention it – and I’m not a nag, Polly – he laughs and says I’m in my mood again. Then he gives me a present. Then what does he do? He goes straight from me to that Joanna Renton of his!”
This was new, Polly thought dully. This must be what Dad had done.
“Joanna’s not the first either,” said Ivy. “But I was a fool before and didn’t keep track of what he was doing.”
“Is – is he with Joanna Renton now?” Polly broke her long, long silence to ask.
“Yes,” Ivy said. She sounded tired. She too looked at the clock. “Oh, is that the time? Are you hungry at all, Polly?”
“No,” Polly said considerately, though she was rather. “I had a big tea.”
“Good,” said Ivy. “I haven’t got the energy to think of food, somehow. You hop along to bed, Polly. And remember when you get married not to make the mistakes I did.”
“I don’t think I will get married,” Polly said as she stood up. “I’m going to train to be a hero instead.” But she could tell her mother was not listening.
THOMAS THE RHYMER
Dad came back two days later. Polly had just got home from Nina’s and she was in the hall when she heard his key opening the door. She rushed and hugged him. Dad greeted her with his usual half-shout and great grin, and hugged her back, just as usual. Polly felt the arms hugging her quivering ever so slightly. It reminded her of the quiver she had felt in Mr Lynn’s arm when she pulled him down the street after catching the horse.
The quiver stopped when Ivy came and stood in the living-room door, looking at them with her stoniest expression. Polly felt Dad’s arms all hard as he looked up and said, “Now, what’s all this, Ivy?”
“I’ve been to a lawyer,” said Mum.
“You haven’t!” Dad said blankly, and then tried to hide the blankness with a grin.
“That’s right, laugh it off,” Ivy said. “As usual. But I have. And I’ve told Polly all about it too. I’ll thank you to let her go and stop subverting her. Come here, Polly.”
Dad’s arm clenched round Polly and he made a strange noise. It was a jeering groan, and a maddened shout, and the growl you make before hitting someone, and the sound you make trying not to cry, all in one. “Subverting!” he said. “Just what have you been making her think of me?”
And Polly was suddenly being pushed back and forth along the hall while her parents shouted at one another. The first push was Dad trying to use Polly like a shield or a hostage to get past Ivy into the living room. But Ivy stood barring his way to anywhere but the hall and put her arms round Polly protectively. Dad shouted that she was using Polly against him like she always did. Mum pushed Polly back to Dad. Back and forth Polly went, feeling so numb and stupid that she almost wanted to laugh, in spite of the way they were screaming.
In the midst of it the back door banged without anybody but Polly noticing. Granny was there, upright as the Queen Mother and stiff with anger, and taking everyone’s attention, even though she was only a head taller than Polly.
“Polly’s coming with me,” Granny said, “until you’ve had your shout out. I’m not taking sides, and it doesn’t matter to me what you settle, but Polly’s not coming back until you have. Get your things, Polly.”
Polly thought Dad seemed relieved. Ivy drew herself up angrily. “Reg, did you tell her to come here and poke her nose in?”
“I phoned to see how she was,” Dad said defensively. “That’s all.”
“You—!” began Ivy.
“Shut up!” said Granny. Her voice banged like someone hitting a biscuit tin. “Reg is always glad for someone to do his dirty work for him – I’ll give you that, Ivy – but he didn’t ask me to come. I told you, I just came for Polly. When I’ve got her, I’ll go. But not until.”
Granny, naturally, won. Ten minutes later she and Polly went out of the front door with a duffel bag of Polly’s clothes, Granny marching and Polly creeping rather.
“I know, I know,” Granny said. “I’m not a saint, Polly. You’ll have to learn that.”
Saint or not, Polly thought there was a kind of holy calm about Granny’s house, smelling of biscuits. She stayed there a week, and went to school from there. It meant a longer journey and not seeing so much of Nina, but it seemed worth it. Polly sat at Granny’s kitchen table and painted Christmas cards for everyone she knew, including Mr Lynn. Then she painted several big pictures of Tan Coul fighting a dragon and overcoming a wizard, with herself dressed as a boy, rather small, down at one side.
While she painted, Granny bustled quietly about and talked to Polly about things she had done as a girl. Granny had been what she called “a bold, bad girl”. She had done a number of things Polly thought were really much more daring than gate-crashing a funeral. But she was surprised that Granny did not talk about Dad when he was a boy, the way she usually did.
“That would be taking sides,” Granny said, “and I said I wouldn’t. Besides, I’m not sure I didn’t spoil your father rotten. I’m not making the same mistake over you. Off to bed now, and no arguing.”
Polly had the same bedroom she had shared with Nina. And there was her Fire and Hemlock picture hanging over her bed. She lay and looked at it, with Mintchoc curled up and purring on the pillow by her neck. Mintchoc had a smell too, but not of biscuits. It was a faint, clean scent, like talcum powder.