‘Louise!’ she cried throwing her arms wide and casting her eyes up as though Mother were some divine apparition. ‘Louise and Gerald! You have come!’
Mother and I were kissed and embraced heartily. This was not the feathery, petal-soft embrace of Cousin Prue. This was a hearty, rib-cracking embrace and a firm kiss that left your lips feeling bruised.
‘I am so sorry we weren’t here to greet you, Louise dear,’ said Prue, ‘but we weren’t sure when you were arriving and we had the dogs to feed.’
‘What dogs?’ asked Mother.
‘Why, my Bedlington puppies, of course,’ said Prue. ‘Didn’t you know? Mummy and I have become dog-breeders.’ She gave a coy, tinkling laugh.
‘But you had something else last time,’ said Mother. ‘Goats or something, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh, we’ve still got those,’ said Aunt Fan. ‘And my bees and the chickens. But Prudence here thought it would be a good thing to start dog-breeding. She’s got such a head for business.’
‘I really think it’s a paying concern, Louise dear,’ said Prue earnestly. ‘I bought Tinkerbell and then Lucybell…’
‘And then Tinybell,’ interrupted Aunt Fan.
‘And Tinybell,’ said Prue.
‘And Lucybell,’ said Aunt Fan.
‘Oh, Mummy, do be quiet. I’ve already said Lucybell.’
‘And there’s Tinkerbell too,’ said Aunt Fan.
‘Mummy is a little hard of hearing,’ said Prue unnecessarily, ‘and they have all had puppies. I brought them up to London to sell and at the same time we have been keeping an eye on Margo.’
‘Yes, where is Margo?’ asked Mother.
Prue tiptoed over to the door and closed it softly.
‘She’s at a meeting, dear,’ she said.
‘I know, but what sort of meeting?’ asked Mother.
Prue glanced round nervously.
‘A spiritualist meeting,’ she hissed.
‘And then there’s Lucybell,’ said Aunt Fan.
‘Oh, Mummy, do be quiet.’
‘Spiritualist meeting?’ said Mother. ‘What on earth’s she gone to a spiritualist meeting for?’
‘To cure her fatness and her acne,’ said Prue. ‘But mark my words, no good will come of it. It’s an evil power.’
I could see Mother beginning to get alarmed.
‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I sent Margo home to see that doctor, what’s his name?’
‘I know you did, dear,’ said Prue. ‘Then, after she came to this hotel, she fell into the grasp of that evil woman.’
‘What evil woman?’ said Mother, now considerably alarmed.
‘The goats are well too,’ said Aunt Fan, ‘but their milk yield is down a little this year.’
‘Oh, Mummy, do shut up,’ hissed Prue. ‘I mean that evil woman, Mrs Haddock.’
‘Haddock, haddock,’ said Mother, bewildered. Her train of thought was always liable to be interrupted if anything culinary was mentioned.
‘She’s a medium, my dear,’ said Prue, ‘and she’s got her hooks on Margo. She’s told Margo that she’s got a guide.’
‘A guide?’ said Mother feebly. ‘What sort of guide?’
I could see, in her distraught condition, that she was now beginning to think Margo had taken up mountaineering or some similar occupation.
‘A spirit guide,’ said Prue. ‘It’s called Mawake. He’s supposed to be a Red Indian.’
‘I have ten hives now,’ said Aunt Fan proudly. ‘We get twice as much honey.’
‘Mother, be quiet,’ said Prue.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Mother plaintively. ‘Why isn’t she still going to the doctor for her injections?’
‘Because Mawake told her not to,’ said Prue triumphantly. ‘Three séances ago, he said – according to Margo, and of course the whole thing comes through Mrs Haddock so you can’t trust it for a moment – according to Margo, Mawake said she was to have no more punctures.’
‘Punctures?’ said Mother.
‘Well, I suppose it’s Red Indian for injections,’ said Prue.
‘It is nice to see you again, Louise,’ said Aunt Fan. ‘I think we ought to have a cup of tea.’
‘That’s a very good idea,’ said Mother faintly.
‘I’m not going down there to order tea, Mummy,’ said Prue, glancing at the door as if, behind it, were all the fiends of Hell. ‘Not when they’re having a meeting.’
‘Why, what happens?’ asked Mother.
‘And some toast would be nice,’ said Aunt Fan.
‘Oh, Mummy, do be quiet,’ said Prue. ‘You have no idea what happens at these meetings, Louise. Mrs Haddock goes into a trance, then becomes covered with ectoplasm.’
‘Ectoplasm?’ said Mother. ‘What’s ectoplasm?’
‘I’ve got a pot of my own honey in my room,’ said Aunt Fan. ‘I’m sure you will enjoy it, Louise. So much purer than these synthetic things you buy now.’
‘It’s a sort of stuff that mediums produce,’ said Prue. ‘It looks like… Well, it looks like, sort of like – I’ve never actually seen it, but I’m told that it looks like brains. Then they make trumpets fly about and things. I tell you, my dear, I never go into the lower regions of the hotel when they are holding a meeting.’
Fascinated though I was by the conversation, I felt the chance of seeing a woman called Mrs Haddock covered with brains, with a couple of trumpets floating about, was too good to miss, so I volunteered to go down and order tea.
However, to my disappointment, I saw nothing in the lower regions of the hotel to resemble remotely Cousin Prudence’s description, but I did manage to get a tray of tea brought up by the Irish porter. We were sipping this, and I was endeavouring to explain to Aunt Fan what ectoplasm was, when Margo arrived, carrying a large cabbage under one arm, accompanied by a dumpy little woman with protruding blue eyes and wispy hair.
‘Mother!’ said Margo dramatically. ‘You’ve come!’
‘Yes, dear,’ said Mother grimly. ‘And not a moment too soon, apparently.’
‘This is Mrs Haddock,’ said Margo. ‘She’s absolutely marvellous.’
It became immediately apparent that Mrs Haddock suffered from a strange affliction. For some obscure reason she seemed to be incapable of breathing while talking. The result was that she would gabble, all her words latched together like a daisy chain and would then, when her breath ran out, pause and suck it in, making a noise that sounded like ‘Whaaaha.’
Now she said to Mother, ‘I am delighted to meet you Mrs Durrell. Of course, my spirit guide informed me of your coming. I do hope you had a comfortable journey… Whaaaha.’
Mother, who had been intending to give Mrs Haddock a very frigid and dignified greeting, was somewhat put off by this strange delivery.
‘Oh, yes. Did we?’ she said nervously, straining her ears to understand what Mrs Haddock was saying.
‘Mrs Haddock is a spiritualist, Mother,’ said Margo proudly, as though she were introducing Leonardo da Vinci or the inventor of the first aeroplane.
‘Really, dear?’ said Mother, smiling frostily. ‘How very interesting.’
‘It gives one great comfort to know that hose who have gone before are still in touch with one… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock earnestly. ‘So many people are unaware… Whaa… aha… ofthe spirit world that lies so close.’
‘You should have seen the puppies tonight, Margo,’ observed Aunt Fan. ‘The little tinkers had torn up all their bedding.’
‘Mummy, do be quiet,’ said Prue, eyeing Mrs Haddock as though she expected her to grow horns and a tail at any moment.
‘Your daughter is very lucky in as much as she has… Whaa… aha… managed to obtain one of the better guides,’ said Mrs Haddock, rather as though Margaret had riffled through the Debrett before settling on her spirit counsellor.
‘He’s called Mawake,’ said Margo. ‘He’s absolutely marvellous!’
‘He doesn’t appear to have done you much good so far
,’ said Mother tartly.
‘But he has,’ said Margo indignantly. ‘I’ve lost three ounces.’
‘It takes time and patience and implicit belief in the future life… Whaaaha… my dear Mrs Durrell,’ said Mrs Haddock, smiling at Mother with sickly sweetness.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Mother, ‘but I really would prefer it if Margo were under a medical practitioner one could see.’
‘I don’t think they meant it,’ said Aunt Fan. ‘I think they’re teething. Their gums get sore, you know.’
‘Mummy, we are not talking about the puppies,’ said Prue. ‘We are talking about Margo’s guide.’
‘That will be nice for her,’ said Aunt Fan, beaming fondly at Margo.
‘The spirit world is so much wiser than any earthly being… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock. ‘You couldn’t have your daughter in better hands. Mawake was a great medicine man in his own tribe. One of the most knowledgeable in the whole of North America… Whaaah.’
‘And he’s given me such good advice, Mother,’ said Margo. ‘Hasn’t he, Mrs Haddock?’
‘Nomorepunctures. The white girl must have no more punctures… Whaaaha,’ intoned Mrs Haddock.
‘There you are,’ hissed Prue triumphantly, ‘I told you.’
‘Have some honey,’ said Aunt Fan companionably. ‘It’s not like that synthetic stuff you buy in the shops nowadays.’
‘Mummy, be quiet.’
‘I still feel, Mrs Haddock, that I would prefer my daughter to have sensible medical attention rather than this Mawake.’
‘Oh, Mother, you’re so narrow-minded and Victorian,’ said Margo in exasperation.
‘My dear Mrs Durrell you must learn to trust he great influences of the spirit world that are after all only trying to help and guideus… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock. ‘I feel that if you came to one of our meetings you would be convinced of the great powers of good that our spiritguides have… Whaaaha.’
‘I prefer to be guided by my own spirit, thank you very much,’ said Mother, with dignity.
‘Honey isn’t what it used to be,’ said Aunt Fan, who had been giving the matter some thought.
‘You are just prejudiced, Mother,’ said Margo. ‘You’re condemning a thing without even trying.’
‘I feel sure that if you could persuadey our Mother to attend one of our meetings… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock, ‘she would find a whole new world opening up before her.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ said Margo, ‘you must come to a meeting. I’m sure you’d be convinced. The things you see and hear! After all, there are no bricks without fire.’
I could see that Mother was suffering an inward struggle. For many years she had been deeply interested in superstitions, folk magic, witchcraft, and similar subjects, and now the temptation to accept Mrs Haddock’s offer was very great. I waited breathlessly, hoping that she would accept. There was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to see Mrs Haddock covered with brains and with trumpets flying round her head.
‘Well,’ said Mother, undecided, ‘we’ll see. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’
‘I’m sure that once we break through the barrier for you we’ll be able to give you a lot of help and guidance… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Margo. ‘Mawake’s simply wonderful!’
One would have thought she was talking about her favourite film star.
‘We are having another meeting tomorrow evening here in the hotel… Whaaaha,’ said Mrs Haddock, ‘and I do hope that both you and Margo will attend… Whaaaha.’
She gave us a pallid smile as though reluctantly forgiving us our sins, patted Margo on the cheek, and left.
‘Really, Margo,’ said Mother as the door closed behind Mrs Haddock, ‘you do make me cross.’
‘Oh, Mother, you are so old-fashioned,’ said Margo. ‘That doctor wasn’t doing me any good with his injections, anyway, and Mawake is working miracles.’
‘Miracles,’ snorted Mother scornfully. ‘You still look exactly the same size to me.’
‘Clover,’ said Aunt Fan, through a mouthful of toast, ‘is supposed to be the best, although I prefer heather myself.’
‘I tell you, dear,’ said Prue, ‘this woman’s got a grip on you. She’s malignant. Be warned before it’s too late.’
‘All I ask is that you just simply come to a meeting and see,’ said Margo.
‘Never,’ said Prue, shuddering. ‘My nerves wouldn’t stand it.’
‘It’s interesting, too, that they have to have bumble-bees to fertilize the clover,’ observed Aunt Fan.
‘Well,’ said Mother, ‘I’m much too tired to discuss it now. We will discuss it in the morning.’
‘Can you help me with my cabbage?’ asked Margo.
‘Do what?’ inquired Mother.
‘Help me with my cabbage,’ said Margo.
‘I have often wondered whether one could not cultivate bumble-bees,’ said Aunt Fan, thoughtfully.
‘What do you do with your cabbage?’ inquired Mother.
‘She puts it on her face,’ hissed Prue. ‘Ridiculous!’
‘It isn’t ridiculous,’ said Margo, angrily. ‘It’s done my acne a world of good.’
‘What? Do you mean you boil it or something?’ asked Mother.
‘No,’ said Margo, ‘I put the leaves on my face and you tie them on for me. Mawake advised it and it works wonders.’
‘It’s ridiculous, Louise dear. You should stop her,’ said Prue, bristling like a plump kitten. ‘It’s nothing more than witchcraft.’
‘Well, I’m too tired to argue about it,’ said Mother. ‘I don’t suppose it can do you any harm.’
So Margo sat in a chair and held to her face large crinkly cabbage leaves which Mother solemnly fixed to her head with lengths of red twine. I thought she looked like some curious vegetable mummy.
‘It’s paganism. That’s what it is,’ said Prue.
‘Nonsense, Prue, you do fuss,’ said Margo, her voice muffled by cabbage leaves.
‘I sometimes wonder,’ said Mother, tying the last knot, ‘whether my family’s all there.’
‘Is Margo going to a fancy-dress ball?’ inquired Aunt Fan, who had watched the procedure with interest.
‘No, Mummy,’ roared Prue, ‘it’s for her spots.’
Margo got up and groped her way to the door. ‘Well, I’m going to bed,’ she said.
‘If you meet anybody on the landing, you’ll give them a terrible shock,’ said Prue.
‘Have a good time,’ said Aunt Fan. ‘Don’t stay out till all hours. I know what you young things are like.’
After Margo had gone, Prue turned to Mother.
‘You see, Louise dear? I didn’t exaggerate,’ she said. ‘That woman is an evil influence. Margo’s behaving like a mad thing.’
‘Well,’ said Mother, whose maxim in life was always defend your young regardless of how much in the wrong they are, ‘I think she’s being a little unwise.’
‘Unwise!’ said Prue. ‘Cabbage leaves all over her face! Never doing anything that that Mawake doesn’t tell her to! It’s not healthy!’
‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if she didn’t win first prize,’ said Aunt Fan, chuckling. ‘I shouldn’t think there’d be other people there disguised as a cabbage.’
The argument waxed back and forth for a considerable time, interlaced with Aunt Fan’s reminiscences of fancy-dress balls she had been to in India. At length Prue and Aunt Fan left us and Mother and I prepared for bed.
‘I sometimes think,’ said Mother, as she pulled the clothes up and switched off the light, ‘I sometimes think that I’m the only sane member of the family.’
The following morning we decided to go shopping, since there were a great number of things unobtainable in Corfu that Mother wanted to purchase and take back with us. Prue said this would be an excellent plan, since she could drop her Bedlington puppies off with their new owner en route.
So at nine o’clock we assembled on the paveme
nt outside Balaklava Mansions, and we must have presented a somewhat curious sight to passers-by. Aunt Fan, presumably to celebrate our arrival, had put on a pixie hat with a large feather in it. She stood on the pavement entwined like a maypole by the leashes of the eight Bedlington puppies that romped and fought and urinated round her.
‘I think we’d better take a taxi,’ said Mother, viewing the gambolling puppies with alarm.
‘Oh, no, Louise,’ said Prue. ‘Think of the expense! We can go by tube.’
‘With all the puppies?’ asked Mother doubtfully.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Prue. ‘Mummy’s quite used to handling them.’
Aunt Fan, now bound almost immobile by the puppies’ leashes, had to be disentangled before we could walk down the road to the tube station.
‘Yeast and maple syrup,’ said Margo. ‘You mustn’t let me forget yeast and maple syrup, Mother; Mawake says they’re excellent for acne.’
‘If you mention that man once again I shall get seriously angry,’ said Mother.
Our progress to the tube station was slow, since the puppies circumnavigated any obstacle in their path in different ways, and we had to pause continually to unwind Aunt Fan from the lamp-posts, pillar-boxes, and occasional passers-by.
‘Little tinkers!’ she would exclaim breathlessly, after each encounter. ‘They don’t mean any harm.’
When we finally arrived at the ticket office, Prue had a prolonged and acrimonious argument over the price charged for the Bedlingtons.
‘But they’re only eight weeks old,’ she kept protesting. ‘You don’t charge for children under three.’
Eventually, however, the tickets were purchased and we made our way to the escalators to face a continuous warm blast of air from the bowels of the earth, which the puppies appeared to find invigorating. Yapping and snarling in a tangle of leads, they forged ahead, dragging Aunt Fan, like a massive galleon, behind them. It was only when they saw the escalators that they began to have misgivings about what, hitherto, had appeared to be an exciting adventure. They did not, it appeared, like to stand on things that move and they were unanimous in their decision. Before long we were all wedged in a tight knot at the top of the escalator, struggling with the screaming, hysterical puppies.
A queue formed behind us.