To say that Sue was small and brown is to say nothing at all. It is to say that she resembled a sparrow, and sparrows are very common.
‘In England, sparrows are the most common form of bird,’ says Maze, who knows everything about birds and beans. Jane Eyre is a sparrow. She is Jane who takes to the air, Jane with no perch, Jane with no family. But once upon a time, Jane Eyre did have family. Jane’s uncle was a nice man called Mr Reed, but unfortunately for Jane he is dead. Only his awful wife remains. Mrs Reed has adopted Jane, but Mrs Reed doesn’t really want her. Jane knows that her aunt hates her and her aunt knows that she knows this, and so it goes on: the hating and the concealing and then the seeing.
‘What would Uncle Reed say to you if he were alive?’ Jane screams at her aunt one morning. But once she’s begun, Jane can’t stop herself. Mrs Reed is furious and lashes out; she boxes Jane’s ears. She can’t believe her insolence!
‘They are not fit to associate with me!’ screams Jane Eyre.
Mrs Reed was rather a stout woman; but on hearing this strange and audacious declaration, she ran nimbly up the stairs, swept me like a whirlwind into the nursery, and crushing me on the edge of my crib, dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place, or utter one syllable during the remainder of the day … she boxed both my ears, and then left me without a word.
I’m not quite sure what ‘boxing ears’ means, but I think it means slapping someone very hard around the side of the head so that they are knocked unconscious. The white stars soon arrive. An ambulance has to be called.
Mrs Reed locks Jane in the Red Room and leaves her there for days. Her only wish now is to get her out of her sight; and so Jane is sent to Lowood School, where she is starved and beaten and frozen almost to death.
8
One day, not so long ago, someone called an ambulance to our house. That was the day God sent a plague of rocks down from the sky.
The day my brother Peter knocked his head hard on the paraffin heater; the heater that stands in the corner with sharp metal edges Mum is always telling us to stay away from. That day Peter banged his head and saw the stars. A few weeks later another ambulance came and carried Poor Sue away. We only saw her toes poking out from the back of the van. I caught a glimpse of a small pink hand and a tiny red beak, and I thought that Sue was done for. The black rocks had knocked her unconscious; the black rocks had boxed her ears. Sue had been crushed by the black rocks tumbling from the sky.
But I am mixing Poor Sue and Peter together. Was it Peter and then Sue, or Sue then Peter? There were two ambulances. When David went away we never heard the ambulance. We didn’t see the men in white rushing out. We never saw his body, only Mummy standing by the kitchen door looking like a ghost.
But once upon a time Sue was there and she was lying stretched out in an ambulance with her little toe poking through the gap in the door. Then there was my brother Peter; there was Peter with his broken head and Mummy speaking her Greek and me staring out the kitchen window waiting for the ambulance to come. I look up at the sky and I see dark clouds; I see Mrs Sturgess at the window next door looking down at me. I look up at Mrs Sturgess and I poke out my tongue. Then I feel bad.
So I turn back towards the kitchen table and there is Mummy with her mouth wide open and black rocks falling out.
‘Cummmmingleeeenghaawghulalghulaa, ghulala, ghulala, ghulala, cumingleeeehawghulaghulaghula, cummingleeeinghawwghulaghulaghula.’
Mummy is humming like a bee. Her mouth is writhing like a snake. I am six or seven and Mummy’s mouth is filling up with rocks and the rocks are tumbling onto the floor. I can hear the sharp bang.
‘Mummy, Mummy, are you hurt? Shut your mouth, Mummy, shut your mouth. Mummy, please shut your mouth.’
‘Ghuuullllllllllaaaparrrwarrrrrrbarralllungungungung.’
‘Mummy, Mummy, is he dead? Is he dead? Is Peter dead? Mummy, please bring him back. Bring him back, Mummy, please, please bring him back.’
It was Mrs Sturgess next door who heard the wailing through the walls and made the call. When the ambulance men came in through the back door Mummy was holding Peter tightly, rocking him back and forth and my brother was as still and quiet as a perfectly behaved baby Jesus.
‘Mummy, is Peter coming back to life now? Mummy, has God saved him? Mummy, can he breathe now? Can he breathe?’
‘Yes, darling. Peter has come back to us. We must thank God for his special words. We must remember this special occasion. AH-MEN.’ And then Mummy’s head fell forward and the dark rocks came spilling out.
——————————
One morning, a few months after the boxing of her ears, Jane Eyre is hiding away in the nursery, making shapes from the frost on the window. She sees a small robin, a hungry little robin that came and chirruped on the twigs of the leafless cherry-tree nailed against the wall near the casement. Suddenly Bessie the maid bursts into the room and demands that Jane get herself ready to come downstairs. She is wanted by Aunt Reed, this minute!
So Jane is scooped up by Bessie and taken down to the front parlour, where she meets a black pillar of a man standing with his legs wide apart. His name is Mr Brocklehurst and he is a servant of God.
‘Well Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?’ asks Mr Brocklehurst.
But before Jane can answer, Aunt Reed butts in: ‘Mr. Brocklehurst, I believe … that this little girl has not quite the character and disposition I could wish. We must send her away, I want this child out of my sight! Out of my sight! Far away!’
9
By the time I was ten I had read all of Agatha Christie and I practically knew Jane Eyre off by heart. I was ready for something new. ‘Proper Literature!’ Mum said. ‘Now go and find some Dickens! None of this murder mystery nonsense!’
So I went to the library with a list of names. Oliver Twist … Barnaby Rudge … David Copperfield. I thought I’d try a book about a David. This was difficult, because the lady at the desk was watching me like a hawk.
‘Young lady, can I help you?’
‘I’m looking for a book by Charles Dickens,’ I said.
‘Dickens! What does a child like you want with Dickens? You can’t be more than nine.’
‘Actually, I’m ten and a bit. I’m an August birthday.’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ said the brown jumper and hair. ‘You aren’t ready for Dickens.’
‘Mum says I am!’
‘Does she now? Humph.’
‘Well, I can’t keep reading Jane Eyre, can I? Mum says I need to start something new.’
The brown glasses lifted and a pair of dark narrow eyes and wispy eyebrows flew towards me. Worms, bookworms, I thought. Urgh!
‘Well, I don’t mind you going to have a quick browse. But be sure that you don’t