Aunty Marmalade Read online

  “Ok, Aunty M. I must write up my diary or mum will kill me. I have to do it every day and I didn’t do it yesterday.”

  “So you’re busy too. That’s good. Now I really must get on. See you later. We’ll have coffee and some chocolate chip cookies at eleven. I’ll call you.”

  “Yum. Can I have coffee too?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. You have to have coffee to bring out the flavour of the cookies!”

  When Aunty M had left, I plugged back into my iPod and lay on my bed. I couldn’t face writing my diary but I decided it was best to get it over and done with. I put my diary and furry rabbit pencil case on the bottom shelf in the corner of the room, and went back to the bed to lie down. Nick Delenti was singing his latest track in my ears and I found I couldn’t help wriggling my toes in time to the music. I looked up at the ceiling. It bowed down in several places. There were lots of cracks like long wrinkles across it too. The cottage must be really old. Then as I looked towards the corner where the shelves were, I noticed a square cut into the ceiling above the top shelf.

  I became curious. What could it be? Why would anyone cut the ceiling? I walked over to the shelves. The bottom step was very wide and they got narrower as they went up. I realised they were a hidden stairway that led up to a hatch, which must open up to the attic.

  This was exciting. A secret stairway. I wonder if mum knew about it. Yes, she must have known. Well, this was her room after all. Without thinking and without asking if I could, I made a space on the shelves as I started to climb up. There were a few dusty pots and a vase of dried flowers but they were old and faded and they looked rather sad. There were also some old books and a pile of old comics from when mum was little. They looked old fashioned and well-read. When I had cleared a space up the shelves, I stood back and looked.

  I climbed up. It wasn’t easy as there were no banisters, then when I got to the top, I could see a brass ring which had been painted white like the ceiling, on the hatch. I grabbed the ring, pulled and down came a panel. I was showered with dust but I could see up inside the attic. I held on to the edge of the hole, with my legs dangling down. Then I swung my legs to give me more momentum and with all my strength, I hauled myself up.

  I glanced around. The attic was full of dusty, cobwebby book shelves, trunks that looked like pirates once owned them and racks of dressing up clothes. My heart jolted as I caught sight of what looked like a huge headless doll in the corner but as my eyes got used to the dim light, I saw it was one of those dummies dress makers use. At the far end of the attic was a huge arched window. It had a stained glass pattern at the top and was very dirty and so let in very little light. The attic was gloomy and the shadows that the light made were odd and sort of spooky. I didn’t feel scared just excited really. There must be all sorts of treasures and secrets and stuff from years ago up here. I thought back to my project on the Victorians that I must get down to. Maybe I’d find pieces of Victorian junk that I could take to school. I couldn’t wait to start exploring.

  It was then that I remembered the noises I had heard coming from up here. A cold sensation trickled down my spine. I glanced around suddenly feeling that there was something behind me. I turned slowly around. Nothing. “Stop being silly,” I said out loud to myself. “The wind and old houses are always spooky and creaky and make scary noises. Well, they always do in scary books and films.”

  I walked down towards the window and in front of it was a red, squashy, well used sofa. I guessed that’s where Aunty M and my mum would have sat and read in the peace and quiet when they were little. There were two deep dents one either side of it.

  “That’s where they must have sat,” I found myself saying aloud.

  I ran my fingers across the velvety pile. The whole, battered sofa had lost its springs but there was a bit of stuffing left to make it comfortable. I’d come up and write my diary later.

  By the side of the sofa was an old wooden box. It was inlaid with gold leafy patterns across the top and a key hole on the side. I tried to lift the lid but it was locked.

  “I wonder where the key is?” I heard myself say aloud again. I really must stop talking to myself.

  I pulled the box towards me. It was really heavy and it scraped across the floor. Behind the box I noticed a little door cut in the wall. It had a rusty old key in the lock and a piece of faded ribbon was knotted around the end. What was that door doing there? I tried to turn the key but it wouldn’t budge. I pushed the door in a bit and tried again. It reluctantly turned, hurting my fingers, but I hoped it would be worth it. The door creaked towards me. Instantly, there was a musty smell and a breath of cold air. As my eyes got used to the darkness, I could see a large black box and what looked like a photo album. I was intrigued. Who would want to hide a box and a photo album? And what was I going to find?

  Chapter 7

  I pulled out the box which was tied up with a very dirty, faded piece of white ribbon. It had a label on top which said, ‘Wedding Dress 1996.’ I dragged out the photo album and flicked through the photos. There were brown, black and white and coloured photos. Why would anyone want to hide these things? I looked at the box. I untied the ribbon and pulled it from around it; I lifted the lid and shook it gently. The bottom of the box thumped onto the floor. Inside there was a fold of black tissue paper. I gently parted the tissue, and inside I saw a little satin bag and what looked like a wedding dress. The dress was made of soft, shiny white material which was now quite yellowed. I lifted the dress out held it up to me and gazed into an old, cracked mirror which was in front of one of the book shelves. The gown was beautiful. Layers of petticoats puffed out the skirt and tiny covered buttons stretched down the back while rows and rows of tiny pearls adorned the front and the back. Unfortunately, the cupboard was so cold and damp that a musty smell permeated the room. I went back to the box and took out the satin bag. Inside was a coronet of waxy flowers with a gauzy veil attached to it; I placed it carefully on my head. I went back to the mirror. I stared at myself. A ghostly figure stared back at me. Suddenly I lost my nerve.

  “What are you doing?” I said aloud, realizing I had unearthed something private; something that was nothing to do with me. I touched someone’s secret world. “How would you feel?” I asked myself.

  It was then that I thought I heard a breathy voice say, “Put it back. Put it back.”

  Looking all around me I could see no-one. It must be the wind again. I realised how spooky it was up here. Could the wind be sending me messages? I’d been watching too many cartoons about creepy mansions. Then I realised how excited I had become. This was better than staying with a child minder any day. I was going to have plenty to tell Eloise, my best friend at school, after the holidays. Plenty in fact.

  But I felt that I may have disturbed something. My flesh started to creep. It just felt wrong. I felt awful at what I had done. I folded the dress and quickly put it back in the box along with the coronet and slammed down the lid. I pulled the ribbon and tied it back round the box. I pushed it back into the cupboard. Whoever had worn the dress had had something happen to them of that I felt sure. Would the album help me to find out? My curiosity was charged. I knew I shouldn’t look inside but I lifted the green leather cover of the album.

  It was then that my mobile phone rang. I climbed backwards down the shelves and grabbed my phone.

  “Hello, who’s there, its Florence?”

  Silence. Nothing Then from faraway a breathless whisper answered me, “Florence, Florence, Florence.”

  Then the line went dead.

  Chapter 8

  Whoever it was knew my name. Strangely my phone read, ‘no-caller,’ so I had no idea who it could have been. I decided to find Aunty M. It’s not normal to keep hearing things is it? No, I must be losing my marbles. I ran to find her.

  “Hello Aunty M, am I interrupting you?”

  “No not at all dear. Are you Ok? Fancy that coffee now? I’m desperate.”

  “Yes, me too. I’ll go and put t
he kettle on.”

  I walked down to kitchen and felt safer there. My imagination was running wild. I decided not to tell Aunty M about finding the attic. I wanted time to explore more and if she knew she might stop me. I also decided not to say anything about the noises. She’d think I was attention seeking or something. I knew I must not be a nuisance. Probably just better to pull myself together and stop being silly.

  My curiosity was getting the better of me. Later, I went back up to the attic. The photo album turned out to be full of old photos of Aunty M and my mum when they were little. There were also photos of my mum on the beach or playing in the garden with a dog very similar to Biggles. That must have been Ranger. I had heard my granny talking about him. There were lots of photos of people I did not recognise and I guessed they must be friends of the family. Then, towards the end of the album, there were some wedding photos. The man in the first photo was very tall and dark. I’d never seen him before and yet somehow he looked familiar and I couldn’t think why. I was just about to turn over to the next page, when I heard Biggles’ nails scraping on the wooden floor of my room. I had to get down because Biggles meant that Aunty M must be around. The last thing I wanted was for her to find me in the attic. There was a lot more investigating to do up there. I had just pulled the hatch down and got down the steps when Aunty M appeared in the doorway.

  “There you are Biggles, come on let’s go walkies. Are you coming too Florence? Darling, I do think you ought to make your bed in the morning. There’s nothing worse than getting into an unmade bed. Very uncomfortable.”

  Feeling a bit shaken by the close shave, I looked at the room in disbelief. I had to think quickly.

  My bed, which I had made that morning, was completely messed up. The duvet was on the floor, the pillows trampled on and stuffed under the bed. Not only that, but the curtains were drawn and every drawer and the wardrobe doors, were open. It looked like I had been burgled. I had only been in the attic about half an hour. I walked through my room before I went up and my room was tidy. All this happened while I was up there. But what was more to the point, whoever had done this, did it, silently just under me, to get me into trouble.

  “Aunty M, I am so sorry. I just forgot to make my bed and tidy up earlier. I couldn’t find my iPod and I became frantic because mum would murder me if I lost it. I won’t let it happen again. Mum would go mad if I did this at home.”

  “All forgotten darling. My mum, your granny, used to tell me off constantly for being untidy so I know what it’s like! I just want you to have a good night’s sleep and you can’t do that in an untidy bed. Let’s go.”

  We walked on the beach and the sea air cleared my head. I didn’t remember untidying my bed. I knew I had not. I can’t have forgotten to tidy my room. I always make my bed and close drawers because if I don’t my Mum goes off on one of her rants and I avoid those at all costs. Perhaps the sea air is fuddling my head, I thought.

  That night as I lay in bed, I tried to piece everything together. The phone call, the untidy room, the thuds upstairs and the voices “What’s going on?” I whispered to myself. Then I suddenly thought. Someone is trying to contact me but who?

  Chapter 9

  The following day it rained quite heavily. Aunty M was busy in her studio so I decided to go up to the attic to finish looking at the album. Everything looked the same up there. I had a look at the rack of dressing up clothes and there were some gorgeous silk dresses and amazing matching hats. There were fur stoles with the foxes head and feet still attached and the weirdest shoes with round toes and buttons.

  “These must be great granny’s and granny’s dresses when they were young.” I said aloud to myself.

  It was comforting to hear my voice. Because I am an only child, I do tend to talk to myself.

  Unfortunately, once at school I’d gone to the loo and thought I was alone. I chatted to myself and Felicity, one of the ‘cool gang’, came in and heard me. She called me, “Dingbat” and told everyone so then everyone called me that. They won’t call me that at my new school.

  I picked up the album and carried it to the sofa and made myself comfortable. I turned back to the wedding photos. I turned over to the next page. There was the wedding group a huge crowd of small faces stared back at me. There was the man I’d seen in the photo before. He was the groom. Then I recognised the dress. The bride was wearing the wedding dress and the coronet and veil in the box.

  That’s who wore the dress, I thought to myself. As I looked more carefully I realised that the woman in the wedding dress looked like mum. The picture was so small but it was her. It was taken ages ago; eleven years ago, in 1996 and she would have looked different then. Then I realised what I had found. My mum married someone else before my dad. Why had she never told me? I looked more carefully at the groom but the picture was too small. I flicked back to the bigger picture and stared at the face. I didn’t know him but he definitely looked like someone I knew. Who was it? I thought about everyone that came to our house. No I’d never seen him and yet he looked so familiar. He had black hair and blue eyes, and a gap between his two front teeth. I have blue eyes and a gap between my teeth too. I turned over a couple of pages. There were more wedding pictures. The bride and this man smiling and happy. I looked along the line of guests. There was granny and granpy and Aunty M. I turned over to the next page. Baby pictures. Two dear little babies. Twin babies. They were dressed the same and looked the same. As I looked at the photo, I shivered. I was one of the babies. I had photos like this one at home taken when I was little but I was always alone. Well I would be because I was an only child. But here were two identical babies. Who was the other baby? And why did she look the same as me?

  Chapter 10

  I wandered down to the kitchen. How could I ask Aunty M why I was in the photo and who was the other baby? If I asked, I would have to tell what I had been doing in the attic. The babies looked just the same as me, when I was a baby. Identical in fact. I had unearthed so many secrets. Secrets that I needed answers to, but who could I ask? These were the sort of questions I needed to ask mum. Suddenly I had a strange feeling in my tummy. Perhaps the reason the man in the photo looked familiar was that I looked a little like him. The hair was different, but his eyes and the gap between his front teeth were like mine. I couldn’t explain why but somehow I felt like I knew this man, that he was somehow connected with me. Then I had a shocking thought. Perhaps the man in the photo was my father. But where was he now? What happened to him? Why was mum not still married to him? My life was somehow not going to be the same. Who am I? I was jolted out of my daydream by the phone ringing.

  “Hello. Mum? Gosh how are you?” I spluttered down the phone. She was the last person I thought would phone.

  “Hello, it’s us. We’re in Sydney. Just thought we’d phone to find out how everything is?”

  Huh. What did she think? I had three questions to ask her just to start with. Who did you marry before dad, who is my father and why are there two babies that look like me? But it’s not easy to ask when she was ten thousand miles away.

  “We are fine. I’m having a lovely time. Aunty M and I are getting on really well.”

  “I hope you’re behaving yourself. I don’t want to hear you’ve been trouble Florence, if this works well, I’m sure Aunty M will have you again and it sounds like you like it there.”

  “Yes I do, and I do want to stay again and I am being good.”

  “Good. Well, better say goodbye. See you when we get back.”

  “How’s dad?” But all I heard was the click and the dial tone.

  I turned to see Aunty M coming into the kitchen. Her hair was tied up in a floral scarf; tied up in the front like the ladies in the old black and white films in the war.

  “That was mum on the phone,” I said with a lump in my throat. I stared at the shelf of jams and pickles and tried to pretend I was interested in them even though I wasn’t. I didn’t want Aunty M to realise I was so disappointed that mum could
n’t even think of anything to say to me, like she missed me.

  “Oh, how are they?” she asked and I could feel her eyes penetrating through my clothes into my back willing me to turn around.

  “Mum didn’t say much about what they are doing. She just wanted to remind me to be good,” I replied feeling a terrible sadness overwhelm me.

  “Well at least she phoned sweetcake. She doesn’t mean to be so sharp. I think she just doesn’t think.”

  “Would it be Ok if I took Biggles for a walk along the beach?” I asked wiping my runny nose on the back of my hand.

  “That would be such a help Florence. I must get this picture finished and it would mean I could carry on.”

  “Walkies Biggles, come on.”

  Biggles and I walked to the end of the garden. He ran ahead of me down the wooden steps to the sand. As I walked along, I tried to clear my head but I couldn’t. My life was not the same at all any more. It looked like my dad was not my dad and who was the other baby in the photo?

  It was only drizzling now and Biggles jumped in and out of the waves. I threw a stick in for him and he charged in for it, but as he dived in, a wave caught him and tossed him under. He bobbed up to the surface only to be knocked down again. He started paddling furiously but made little progress towards the beach. I realised he was struggling and that I had to help him and with that, I found myself plunging into the waves.

  The water was icy cold and the waves bigger than I thought, but it did not matter; I had to save Biggles. I trod water but the sea heaved me up and tossed me down. As I bobbed up I saw a flash of yellow. Biggles was swimming towards me rising and falling on the swell. As the next wave rose and fell, I reached for his collar but the wave he was on went back out again. Then a wave caught me and tossed me under. I didn’t know whether I was up or down. Then I bobbed up and shouted,“Biggles, swim, swim,” I screeched but the wind caught my voice and carried it away. I could feel myself being dragged further and further out.