Cicada Summer

  Eloise shook her head. She didn’t want to go anywhere with that woman, especially not to the house. Eloise and her dad’s girlfriends usually didn’t think much of each other, and she could already see this Lorelei Swan would be no exception.

  ‘I’d better drive, don’t you think?’ Lorelei Swan plucked the car keys from Dad’s hand.

  Eloise had seen the big polished midnight-blue four-wheel drive parked out in the street, though she hadn’t realised it was Dad’s. Maybe it belonged to Lorelei Swan. She wondered what had happened to the little red sports car.

  ‘—drop our bags at the hotel,’ Dad was saying. ‘Hey, Mo!’ he yelled. ‘Not expecting us back here for dinner, are you?’

  Mo poked her head from the study. She must have been hiding in there all the time. ‘How could I be?’ she said sharply. ‘Since I wasn’t warned that you were coming, let alone bringing a guest.’ She glared at Lorelei Swan.

  ‘’s all right, ’s all right.’ Dad raised his hands placatingly. ‘S’posed to be a good restaurant in Bungaree, might try that tonight. What do you think, Lorelei?’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’ Lorelei Swan held out her hand to Mo. ‘Lovely to meet you, Mrs McCredie.’

  ‘Delighted,’ said Mo, not shaking.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, too, Eloise.’ Lorelei Swan smiled her tight smile. ‘I just know we’re going to be the best of friends.’

  Eloise didn’t smile back. She and Mo moved together to the doorway and watched Dad and Lorelei Swan climb into the big blue four-wheel drive.

  Mo called out, ‘What about Christmas? You expecting Christmas dinner?’

  Dad’s window slid down. ‘Course we are! Brought Lorelei all this way for a family Christmas, didn’t I?’

  Lorelei Swan said something inaudible, and Dad roared with laughter. The window slid up and the four-wheel drive blasted down the quiet street like a jet taking off.

  ‘Your son?’ came the gentle voice of Tommy’s father. Eloise hadn’t noticed him kneeling in the front garden, trowel in hand.

  Mo snorted. ‘My son and his latest floozy. And now he’s gone and bloody invited her for Christmas dinner, what am I supposed to do about that?’

  Tommy’s father sat back on his heels and considered them both. ‘Perhaps . . . I know Christmas is an important ritual, and I know how you dislike cooking. Perhaps my family could invite ourselves – if we might take such a liberty – and assist you in preparing the meal. But if you would prefer to spend the day in the company of your own family, naturally we would understand.’

  Mo sniffed. ‘Kind of you,’ she said gruffly. ‘Do hate cooking. Love you to come, actually, if you don’t mind.’

  Tommy’s father’s eyes twinkled. ‘It would be an honour to share your holy day.’

  ‘Not much holy about it these days. Just an excuse for spending money. But you’ll be welcome. You’ll be welcome.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It occurred to Eloise, as she arranged her papers and pencils on her bed, that the Durranis really were very nice to Mo. She might do a picture for them, too.

  But not for Lorelei Swan; she wasn’t going to get a present. Eloise wondered if Anna had seen the addition to the summerhouse painting, or if she was still forbidden to go there. She felt bad about running away from Anna like that; next time she’d say sorry. She wouldn’t be able to go to the house tomorrow; she’d have to work on her Christmas presents. Maybe she could take Anna a little present, too . . .

  ‘Eloise.’

  Eloise jumped. Mo was standing in the doorway. ‘I was just going to say – you can use the table, you know. Kitchen, dining room, whatever. Spread yourself out. You don’t have to stay locked away in here. This is your home, too.’

  Eloise gazed up at her and nodded slightly.

  ‘Good,’ said Mo. ‘Just as long as that’s clear.’

  She marched away and Eloise heard the study door slam.

  Christmas Day dawned warm and muggy, with thunder in the air. The doorbell rang so early that Mo and Eloise were still in bed. When Mo opened the door, pulling her old tartan dressing-gown around her, the Durranis poured into the house in a warm and noisy flood. Bearing pots and dishes and boxes of food, they proceeded to take over the kitchen.

  ‘Flaming invasion,’ grumbled Mo. ‘How am I supposed to make myself a cup of tea? Happy Christmas. Happy Christmas, Eloise,’ she added, seeing her granddaughter peep round the doorway. ‘Don’t hover. You get on my nerves. Good luck reaching your Weetbix through this lot.’

  ‘Quick, quick, Mrs Mo needs a cup of tea or she’ll faint,’ teased Tommy.

  Eloise watched as Tommy’s mother filled the kettle at the sink. She wore gold-rimmed spectacles and a purple headscarf. She was so slightly built that she seemed hardly bigger than Eloise, but her hands were strong. Eloise had only seen her once before, that brief glimpse in the street when she’d nearly run her and Tommy down.

  ‘There’s a present for you in the living room, Eloise,’ said Mo. ‘Yours will be coming later,’ she told the bustling Durranis. ‘If my son’s managed to do as he’s told for once in his life.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Mo, that’s not necessary.’ Tommy’s father waved a spoon in the air.

  ‘Do you mind?’ said Mo, but she was only pretending to be annoyed. Eloise could tell that underneath she was having a wonderful time.

  In the living room, Eloise found an enormous parcel labelled with her name. Inside was a huge box filled with all kinds of paints: watercolours, tubes of oil, bottles of bright acrylic. She flew back to the kitchen and threw herself at Mo.

  ‘Watch it, I’m an old lady you know,’ Mo complained, but she hugged Eloise back. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t be thanking me; it was this lot who did the shopping.’

  ‘We didn’t know what sort of paint you wanted,’ said Tommy. ‘So we went to the art shop in Bungaree and asked for one of everything.’

  ‘No need to thank us,’ said Tommy’s mother softly. ‘We can see that you like it.’

  Shyly Eloise brought out her own presents: the copy of the swimming girl picture that she’d drawn for Mo, and the surprise present for the Durranis: a portrait of Tommy, which she handed to Tommy’s mother, wishing Tommy wasn’t there. She hadn’t been able to think of any other picture they might like, but it was awkward to give it to them with Tommy standing right there.

  The Durranis unwrapped the picture with cries of delight. Eloise had found some black cardboard at the back of Mo’s linen cupboard to glue the drawings on, so they looked quite professional.

  ‘It’s wonderful, wonderful,’ said Tommy’s mother, and she gave Eloise such a warm smile that Eloise couldn’t help smiling back.

  ‘Thank you very much, Miss Eloise,’ said Tommy’s father solemnly.

  ‘Made him look almost handsome.’ Mo peered over their shoulders. ‘You sure it’s Tommy?’

  Tommy made an embarrassed growling noise, which set off a fresh round of teasing. Eloise didn’t dare look at him, but later in the day, when no one was watching, she saw him pick up the portrait and study it, and she thought he looked quite pleased.

  ‘Good heavens,’ said Mo when she’d pulled the wrapping off the swimming girl picture. She swapped her glasses and peered intently at the drawing. ‘Good heavens,’ she repeated softly, almost absently. ‘It’s the house, isn’t it – inside the house? But that’s the garden . . . Almost like Chagall, with that floating girl . . . You did this yourself, Eloise? Extraordinary.’

  ‘She has a gift,’ said Tommy’s father. ‘No doubt of it.’

  They all looked at Eloise, even Tommy.

  Then Tommy’s mother laughed gently and put her arm around Eloise’s shoulders. ‘Enough! We are embarrassing the poor girl. Go, go.’ She propelled Eloise toward the door. ‘Wash and dress and we will have a beautiful breakfast waiting for you.’

  ‘Breakfast as well!’ cried Mo. ‘Why don’t you just go ahead and move in?’

  Breakfast was delicious: warm bread with cherry jam, eggs and
hot sweet tea. The Durranis laughed and joked and teased Mo, who grumbled and humphed, but laughed as much as they did. Eloise ate slice after slice of bread and jam and thought that she’d never seen Mo enjoy herself like this.

  Even after breakfast was finished, the kitchen overflowed with noise and banter. Tommy’s father unpacked his boxes of ingredients. Mo washed the dishes while Eloise and Tommy’s mother dried. Tommy rocketed around the kitchen pulling out anything he thought might be useful later on.

  They’d almost forgotten about Dad and Lorelei Swan. When they came in, the merriment stopped.

  Dad was wearing a joke Santa hat. Lorelei Swan wore a red suit and a string of fat pearls.

  Mo cleared her throat. ‘Merry Christmas.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ cried Dad. His voice sounded loud and false in the sudden quiet. ‘A Middle Eastern feast on the birthday of Our Lord? What would the Pope say?’

  Lorelei Swan tittered.

  Tommy’s father smiled. ‘The Pope might remember that Jesus was Middle Eastern. Though not, I admit, Afghani. I hope you don’t mind that we have invited ourselves for Christmas?’

  ‘Mind?’ said Dad. ‘Why should I mind?’ There was a pause.

  ‘Not up to you. It’s my house, not yours,’ said Mo. ‘And look, they’re doing all the cooking.’

  ‘Perfect Christmas, waited on hand and foot,’ said Dad heartily, then realised that hadn’t quite come out right. ‘Not that you’re servants, of course – didn’t mean to suggest . . . How about a drop of bubbly?’

  ‘Not for us, thank you,’ said Tommy’s mother politely. ‘Our religion.’

  ‘Oh, right – seriously? You’re not allowed to? Right, okay, well. All the more for us, eh, Lorelei?

  And Mo – you won’t say no to a drop, will you?’

  ‘Just a drop,’ said Mo. ‘Did you bring those things I asked for, Stephen?’

  Dad looked blank. ‘Oh, sh— Sorry. You know, it completely went out of my head. Meant to put a reminder thingy on the whatsit.’

  Mo closed her eyes briefly. ‘I apologise,’ she said to Tommy’s mother. ‘Your gifts will have to wait.’

  ‘Really, it’s not necessary.’ Tommy’s mother patted Mo’s hand. ‘After all, we have no gifts for you.’

  ‘You just being here – all this food – if that’s not a gift . . .’ Mo blinked fiercely.

  Dad handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Well, you know, Mo, if you went out and did your own flaming shopping . . . I don’t see that it’s my fault.’

  ‘Excuse me!’ said Tommy’s father suddenly. ‘Everybody out of the kitchen, please. I need room to cook. Osman and Miss Eloise, you stay and help.’

  Dad clapped his hand to his head, spilling his champagne. ‘Can’t believe I nearly forgot! Elimination Round, here’s your present, sweetheart. It’s from me and Lorelei.’

  ‘I chose it,’ said Lorelei Swan.

  Eloise unwrapped a bright pink leather skirt and matching jacket. They were much too large, and anyway, they were clothes she’d never wear in a million, trillion years. If they were the last clothes on earth, she’d rather go naked than put them on. She heard a smothered laugh behind her as Tommy turned away.

  Eloise smiled a tight, brief smile at Lorelei Swan, then hugged her dad. It wasn’t his fault. But she did think he could have chosen something for her himself. She wondered how he had described her, that Lorelei could have thought this was the perfect present.

  ‘Very nice,’ said Dad uncertainly. Eloise had the feeling it was the first time he’d seen them, too. ‘Thanks, Lorelei. Lovely.’

  ‘You’ll grow into them,’ said Lorelei Swan. ‘Or I could exchange them for a smaller size. We could go together, Eloise. That’d be fun, wouldn’t it?’

  Eloise brought out her dad’s present and gave it to him, pointedly ignoring Lorelei Swan.

  ‘What’s this, El Greco? Let me guess. A book? A DVD? Or is it . . . don’t tell me . . . one of your drawings?’ He winked at Mo. ‘’Cause I need another one of those.’

  Lorelei Swan laughed. ‘Children’s drawings are so cute,’ she said to no one in particular, and sipped her champagne.

  ‘I think you will find Eloise is an accomplished artist,’ said Tommy’s mother quietly, and suddenly Eloise felt like crying. Why couldn’t Dad have said something nice like that?

  Dad tore off the wrapping paper and held up the picture. It was a drawing of the house – not the way it looked now, all shabby and half-drowned, but as it looked in Anna’s time: fresh and alert, inhabited and inviting, windows and doors open, chairs on the terrace and the garden lush and flowering.

  There was a strange silence as Dad and Lorelei Swan stared at the picture. ‘That’s lovely, Elbow Room,’ said Dad at last. ‘That’s the house, is it?’

  ‘It’ll make a gorgeous memento,’ said Lorelei brightly. ‘When we build the new convention centre, you can hang it in your office to remind you of what used to be there.’

  ‘Used to be there?’ said Mo.

  ‘You know we’ll have to knock the old place down,’ said Dad, his eyes still fixed on the picture.

  Eloise heard someone gasp. Her heart thudded in her ears.

  ‘Knock it down?’ said Mo. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The site is wonderful,’ said Lorelei Swan coolly. ‘But the building is a mess. It’s not worth trying to save it. The cost of converting it would be astronomical. The plumbing alone—’

  ‘But it’s beautiful,’ said Tommy. His eyes and Eloise’s met across the kitchen. ‘And it’s so old.’

  ‘That’s exactly why it’s so impractical,’ explained Lorelei with a patronising smile. ‘Much simpler to clear it away and start all over again.’

  ‘Such a shame,’ said Tommy’s father quietly. ‘Is there no value in age?’

  ‘Apparently not,’ said Mo. Her eyes flashed. ‘Stephen, when I gave you the house, there was no question of demolishing it. You said—’

  ‘Plans change, Mo.’ Dad laid Eloise’s drawing on the table. ‘It’s called flexibility. You have to go with the flow.’

  Lorelei Swan linked her arm with Dad’s. She said to Mo, ‘I understand how you feel. You have an attachment.’ She made it sound like a disease. ‘But now we’ll always have Eloise’s lovely picture to remind us.’ She raised her glass of champagne. ‘Happy Christmas, everyone!’

  13

  The Durranis prepared a delicious meal, fragrant with spices, but Eloise barely picked at her food. She heard Dad’s jokes and Lorelei’s titters and Mo’s sarcastic remarks as if through a fog. She stirred her dessert with a spoon and couldn’t eat a mouthful. And all the time she felt as if something inside her chest were screaming and hammering to get out.

  But part of her still couldn’t believe that it was really going to happen: that Dad was going to knock down the house. She kept expecting him to wink at her and say, just kidding! It was the kind of thing Dad would do.

  But he didn’t.

  Once he leaned across to Eloise and said in a low voice, ‘That was an amazing picture you drew, El Niño. I can’t believe you drew that just from memory, from that one day we went there . . .’ He was thinking it out as he spoke. ‘You can’t have been back to the house. You couldn’t have gone with Mo.’ He laid down his spoon and looked at her intently. ‘You haven’t gone back there by yourself, have you?’

  Eloise stared at her plate. Conversation around the rest of the table died away into silence, and suddenly everyone was watching her. Eloise tried to hold herself tightly, to not give anything away. But Dad knew.

  ‘Elephant Ride, you mustn’t do that. You can’t go roaming around on your own. How many times have you been there? More than once?’

  Lorelei Swan pressed her hand to her bosom. ‘You can’t let them out on their own,’ she told Mo and the Durranis. ‘It’s not safe.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Mo. ‘The streets aren’t any more dangerous now than when I was a child.’

  ‘How would you know?’ Dad
narrowed his eyes.

  ‘When was the last time you were out on the streets? If they’re dangerous enough to keep you inside, how much more dangerous is it for a twelve-year-old girl?’

  ‘I can’t keep her locked up, Stephen. What did you expect when you left her here? If you wanted her watched twenty-four hours a day, you should have kept her with you.’

  ‘All I’m asking for is a little common sense, a few sensible precautions—’ Tommy’s father cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps we should go home now.’

  Dad’s hand flung out. ‘Stay there, stay there. No need to ruin the party just because I’m having a discussion with my mother.’

  ‘She isn’t on the streets,’ said Tommy suddenly.

  Everyone’s heads swung round. Eloise’s eyes flicked to him, then down again.

  ‘Osman,’ murmured Tommy’s mother.

  ‘She isn’t on the streets,’ said Tommy again, ‘if she’s at the old house.’

  ‘Well, that’s even worse!’ said Lorelei shrilly. ‘Hanging around that old dump! There could be vagrants, rats, falling plaster. It’s just irresponsible, that’s what it is.’

  ‘I’ll handle this, Lorelei.’

  ‘We really must be leaving now,’ said Tommy’s father firmly. He pushed back his chair and gave Mo a little bow. ‘Thank you so much for allowing us to share this family day.’

  Tommy’s mother kissed Mo on the cheek, and then, unexpectedly, she kissed Eloise too. ‘Thank you for our wonderful gift,’ she said softly, smiling into Eloise’s eyes. Then the Durranis left.

  ‘Those people,’ Mo pointed after them with a knife. ‘Those people know what danger is. They’ve been through war, bombs, refugee camps, detention centres. And you dare give them lectures about rats and falling plaster?’

  ‘I think the real point, Mrs McCredie, is that Stephen left Eloise in your care. Allowing her to roam around without any supervision is neglect. If Child Services heard about this . . .’

  Mo clenched her jaw. ‘Ho-ho! Is that a threat, Miss Swan? Because I’m sure the National Trust would love to hear about a pristine Art Deco building that someone’s planning to demolish.’