Jacky Daydream Read online

  ‘We’re up in the gallery!’ I said.

  I suppose we should have realized sooner, but the gallery was very seldom used. The choir sang there for special concerts, but that was all. We never looked at the gallery because we always faced the stage as we filed in for assembly. But now we were actually up in the gallery, so high we could almost touch the ceiling. It felt as if we’d grown wings and flown there.

  Then we heard the clacking of stout heels down below on the parquet floor. We saw Miss Audric’s red plaits and her emerald-green woollen suit. We both had a vision of her curled on Mr Pearson’s lap like a giant woolly caterpillar. We clamped our hands over our mouths to stifle our giggles.

  Miss Audric hitched up her long wool skirt, climbed the steps to the stage and sat at the piano. She waggled her fingers several times as if she was waving at the keys and then she started playing Handel’s Water Music, ready for us to start coming into the hall for assembly.

  ‘Quick!’ I said.

  We crept backwards to the door, lifting our feet so our rubber-soled sandals wouldn’t squeak on the wooden floor. Then we shot through the door and tumbled down the stairs, laughing wildly, clutching each other.

  We slipped inside the storeroom every morning and played dressing up. It was hard coping with such a splendid secret. It fizzed inside us all the time until we felt ready to explode.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ said Eileen.

  ‘Yes, where do you and Christine keep hiding, Jacky?’ said Alan.

  ‘Yeah, you keep sneaking off somewhere before school,’ said David.

  ‘Have you found a special secret place?’ asked Julian.

  ‘Tell us!’ said Robert.

  Christine and I looked at each other. We had to tell them.

  They were desperate to see for themselves but it was too difficult to sneak them all in before school. Besides, everyone arrived at different times, and Eileen and David were often late.

  I thought about lunch time. It was quieter in the school entrance then. There was always the risk of running into Mr Pearson – but at twelve thirty the school cook brought him his lunch on a tray and he ate his meal in private in his room.

  ‘OK, here’s the plan,’ I said. ‘We wait five minutes after the bell goes, and then at twelve thirty-five we creep into the school entrance. Mr Pearson will be in his study tucking into his lunch, so he won’t be doing any prowling about. But we’ll have to be as quiet as mice.’

  Julian started squeaking and scuttling on all fours.

  ‘And no messing about, OK! If Mr Pearson catches us, I shall be in serious trouble.’

  Julian stood up quickly. They all blinked at me seriously. It was a heady moment being able to boss them all around, even Eileen.

  They were as good as gold at lunch time. We waited in the playground, Robert checking his Timex watch every few seconds. Then Christine and Eileen and I went off together arm in arm. The boys followed in a little cluster, their cigarette cards splayed in their hands as if they were simply ambling off for a game of swapsies.

  We crept into the school entrance, all of us staring fearfully at Mr Pearson’s door. Then I took a deep breath, opened the door of the storeroom and shoved them all quickly inside – one, two, three, four, five, six, all seven of us, counting me.

  The boys started squealing in triumph when we were all in.

  ‘Ssh! We’ve got to be quiet! Mr Pearson’s only just across the hallway!’

  ‘Sorry, Jacky. Come on then, where are these costumes and all this other stuff?’

  I swept the piles of Christmas cards out of the way – growing larger day by day – and opened the trunk. The boys weren’t quite as impressed by the crowns and the jewellery but even they liked the costumes. Eileen adored everything. Christine and I offered her the purple velvet to be polite, but she preferred wrapping herself in long lengths of orange and scarlet and fuschia pink silk so that she glowed like an Indian princess. Robert found a pirate outfit with a patch, Alan was a sailor, David a policeman complete with helmet. Julian scooped up an enormous armful of fur. He stepped inside and became a large lollopy dog with floppy ears.

  We played an imaginary game together as if we were still little kids in the Infants. It was as if the costumes liberated us from our real selves. We could be colourful fantasy creatures.

  When the bell went for afternoon school, we had to whip all the costumes off quickly and then get out of the storeroom unobserved. Christine went first, taking David with her. Then Eileen and Robert. Then Julian and Alan. I waited a few seconds, looking round the storeroom, enjoying this moment of total happiness. Then I opened the door – and walked straight into Mr Pearson.

  He peered at me over his spectacles. ‘Jacky? What were you doing in the storeroom? You’re only supposed to go in there when you’re emptying the postbox.’

  I saw Christine and the others standing agonized at the edge of the playground. We were all going to get into terrible trouble unless I kept my head.

  I smiled at Mr Pearson. ‘Yes, I know, Mr Pearson, but I was in a bit of a hurry this morning and I was scared of being late for Mr Branson so I didn’t quite finish sorting yesterday’s letters into classes. I thought I’d slip in at lunch time. I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Jacky. I understand,’ said Mr Pearson, smiling back at me.

  There! I bet you were worried that we’d all be caught and punished, but we got away with it. We spent every lunch time playing in the storeroom until the end of term.

  Many many years later I was invited to give a talk about my books at Latchmere. I had a cup of coffee and a chocolate biscuit beforehand in the head teacher’s study. I was telling him all about my schooldays, and I mentioned the postbox.

  ‘We still use it!’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

  He took me into the storeroom and there was the red postbox in a corner – and the very same big trunk with the brass studs round the lid . . .

  * * *

  One of the characters in my books wears real Victorian clothes – but she doesn’t have a beautiful purple crinoline. She has to wear uniform, stitched by herself. Who is it?

  * * *

  It’s Lottie in The Lottie Project.

  ‘Do you feel you can manage all this?’ she said. ‘You look very little.’

  ‘But I am strong, Madam. I will manage,’ I said determinedly.

  ‘Very good. You can start on Monday. I will give you the print for your uniform and a bolt of cotton for your apron and caps. I hope you are satisfactory at sewing, Charlotte?’

  I blinked at her. ‘Charlotte, Madam?’ I said foolishly.

  ‘That is your name, it is not?’ she said.

  ‘No, Madam, I am called Lottie, Madam. It was the name of Mother’s doll when she was small. No one’s ever called me Charlotte.’

  ‘Well, I do not think Lottie is a suitable name for a servant. You will be called Charlotte whilst you are working for me.’

  I didn’t need to do too much research about the Victorians when I was writing The Lottie Project. My daughter Emma loved everything Victorian and so I used to read her all sorts of old-fashioned stories. We had a huge 1880s Christmas catalogue and we spent happy hours choosing what we wanted! We also played special Victorian imaginary games. Emma always wanted to be the lady of the house, so I had to be the servant and curtsey to her and do everything she commanded. We wrote long rambling Victorian stories together too. Emma’s were better than mine!

  33

  Bournemouth

  THE SUMMER I left Latchmere we went on holiday to Bournemouth. We were branching out, staying in a three-star hotel for a whole fortnight.

  I’d never been to Bournemouth before. It seemed to take for ever to get there. We still didn’t have a car. We struggled with the suitcases on a Green Line bus from Kingston all the way up to London, lugged them down the escalators and onto the underground, and then onto the train to Bournemouth. We flopped down exhausted, and ate our egg sandwiches and Lyons fruit