Katy Read online

  ‘We’re going to Spain, but not till August too. I mostly hang out at Baxter Park. Do you go there?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Sometimes,’ I said, though it was right the other side of town and I’d only been there once or twice, when I was Jonnie and Dorry’s age.

  ‘It’s got a new skateboarding bit near the entrance. It’s great. Do you like skateboarding, Katy?’

  ‘You bet!’ I said. ‘I’m ace at it.’ I had been, until Dad and Izzie confiscated my skateboard simply because I’d careered into Elsie by total accident and knocked her over. I’d meant to swerve at the last second, truly.

  ‘And they’ve got those recumbent bikes – the ones like little cars that you pedal? Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘No, but they sound really cool. I used to have a real little pedal car when I was small,’ I said. I closed my mouth tight to stop myself blabbing about my mum.

  ‘Then come over to the park next week and we’ll go skateboarding and maybe have a bike race. Yeah?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Monday, late morning.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ I said, and we high-fived each other.

  Then we saw Eva and her entourage returning, the famous hairstyle resurrected. We raised our eyebrows at each other and sloped off in different directions.

  ‘Get you!’ said Cecy, when I joined her. ‘What were you and Ryan saying? You’ve gone as red as your skirt!’

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know!’ I said, and laughed.

  11

  We couldn’t go to the secret garden on Saturday. We had a visitor. It was Dad’s friend Helen.

  We’d never met her before, not even Izzie, but we’d all heard about her. She was one of Dad’s first patients, ages ago. She was in her teens then, but she couldn’t run or dance or do any of the normal teenage things because she had rheumatoid arthritis. Not the ordinary sort of arthritis that old ladies get, when they hobble a bit and say their knees are giving them gyp. This was a full-blown arthritis that attacked her whole body, distorting her and practically snapping her head off her shoulders. She was in and out of hospitals, but when she was home Dad often visited her.

  ‘She was such a fantastic kid,’ he’d tell us, eyes shining. ‘She’d moan sometimes – she was only human – and she could be bloody-minded in certain moods, but she had the most amazing courage and resilience. It was a privilege to know her.’

  We’d listen to Dad’s Helen stories, half fascinated, half bored. She was held up to us as an example, because no matter how ill she was she always studied hard and read difficult books and came top in all her exams. This made us thoroughly dislike her. She went to Cambridge University, wheeling herself to lectures and joining all sorts of societies, and she got a first, and stayed on to study further, and now she’s Dr Helen Spencer. She’s had academic books published, and always sends a copy to Dad: To dear Dr Carr, with many thanks for all your care and encouragement. Love Helen.

  And now she’d sent an email to say that she’d been having treatment for her lungs at the Brompton Hospital in London, but was feeling much better now, and it would be lovely if she could meet Dad for a coffee before she went back to Cambridge. Just a coffee. But Dad invited her to stay with us for the whole weekend!

  For once Izzie was completely thrown.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Alistair, you could have asked me first! I don’t know how on earth we’re going to manage an invalid in the house,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, lighten up, Izzie. Helen’s not an invalid! She’d hate it if you tried fussing round her. Just treat her like any normal guest,’ said Dad.

  ‘She uses a wheelchair, doesn’t she? She won’t be able to get upstairs, but she’ll have to sleep somewhere. And what about when she uses the bathroom? It’s all very well for you to invite her, Alistair, but I’m the one who has to rearrange everything and try to cope. You’re impossible at times!’ Izzie stormed off to see if she could possibly get a single bed into the little library room downstairs.

  I didn’t know what to think. I was usually pleased the rare times Dad and Izzie quarrelled. I hated it when they were all lovey-dovey together because it seemed such an insult to Mum. But this time I couldn’t help feeling on Izzie’s side.

  We didn’t want this saintly academic ill person to come here either, especially as we couldn’t go off and play. We all had to have a bath and wash our hair (Clover and me supervising the littlies) and be dressed in our best, waiting for Helen to arrive at eleven o’clock. I wanted to wear my new red skirt and black sparkly T-shirt but Izzie perversely said they weren’t suitable and insisted on the blue dress.

  Dad rushed off to fetch Helen from the station. We crowded to the living room window to get a first glimpse of her when she arrived.

  ‘She uses a wheelchair. Dad said,’ said Jonnie.

  ‘Hasn’t she got any legs?’ asked Phil.

  ‘Yes, but they don’t work,’ I said, wondering fleetingly what it must be like to be stuck in a wheelchair all the time.

  I tried to imagine what Helen would look like. I pictured her as a little fierce figure with scraped-back hair and glasses, maybe even wearing a black academic gown.

  The real Helen was a revelation. She looked wonderful, a little like a tiny Cleopatra, the Egyptian queen. She had long shiny black hair in a pageboy bob and big brown eyes made even larger by dark eye make-up. She wore a green silk dress and silver sandals showing her toenails, which were painted bright blue. She had a silver seahorse pendant round her neck and bangles on each small arm. If you looked closely you saw her fingers couldn’t work properly any more, and she was of course in a wheelchair, but she looked so dynamic it was hard to realize she’d been very ill.

  ‘Oh, I’ve been waiting ages to meet all of you!’ she exclaimed. She held out her arms to Izzie. ‘Hello! You’re just as beautiful as Alistair said!’

  Clover and I bristled a little, because Izzie wasn’t beautiful at all, nowhere near as naturally lovely as our own mother, but I suppose it was a tactful thing for Helen to say.

  Then she looked at me.

  ‘So you’re Katy, the eldest!’

  I waited for her to say something about my height. Everyone did when they met me for the first time.

  ‘You’re the one who makes up stories and gets into scrapes. You’re a girl after my own heart! Come and give me a hug,’ said Helen.

  I was a little afraid of hugging her, just in case I hurt her in some way. But her arms were strong around me so I relaxed and hugged her back. She smelled of wonderful perfume, orangey and exciting. I hoped a little of it would rub off on me.

  Dad must have told her all about us, because she didn’t once have to be told who we were.

  ‘Hello Clover. Look at your blue eyes! I bet you can wind your dad right round your little finger.’

  ‘You must be Elsie. You’re so delicate, just like a little fairy.’

  ‘Hi Dorry! What are we having for lunch today, hmm? I hope it’s your favourite meal.’

  ‘Hello Jonnie. I’m longing to meet all your family, especially Zebby.’

  ‘Come and sit on my lap, Phil. I’ll give you a ride up and down the path in my wheelchair. We’ll go as fast as a car and you can pretend to be the driver.’

  In less than five minutes we felt as if we’d known and loved Helen all our lives. We all clamoured to talk to her. Dad had to help manoeuvre her wheelchair into the house and park her in the living room by the big sofa, so we could all squeeze on to it and chatter properly. The littlies kept running to fetch their favourite treasures to show her. Jonnie of course dragged Zebby down from her bedroom and Helen stroked him solemnly and admired his stripes. Dad and Izzie sat with us and attempted proper conversation with Helen. They tried to shoo us away several times, but we were determined to stick to Helen’s side.

  Izzie got up reluctantly to go to the kitchen to start preparing lunch.

  ‘I’ll help, Izzie,’ Helen said immediately. ‘I’m surprisingly good at chopping vegetables and mix