Imelda

This is the start of a novel for older children , which I began when
I was 13 and have been working on ever since.

* 1 *

The Fight

This story began in 1930, in a girl's playroom.

The room hummed with silence.

In one corner there was a large, rosewood
bookshelf, with rich-looking picture books displayed next to a large,
formidable bible. An elegant rocking horse stood beside it, painted in
the brightest colours, looking out of place in the gloom.
A single ivory doll, face ghostly white, stared outwards, abandoned,
for now, and a selection of wooden puppets, with false, fixed grins,
were hung neatly from hooks in the wall.

A velvet curtained window looked out onto a busy London street, and
sitting gazing out of the window was a girl. She looked twelve, or
thereabouts, and had dark hair, tied with a white ribbon, and large,
brown, brooding eyes that were framed by a delicate, slightly olive
face. A formal black dress covered a slender body.

She stared out at the view, totally still. Her name was Imelda, and she
was miserable, though she didn't even know it.

Imelda stirred, she got up from her cold seat slowly, and walked over
to the rocking horse. It was a cheerful object to look at, carved by
hand.

She traced around its eyes, its nose, its well defined cheekbones with
her finger.

Her voice echoed softly as she sang to herself.

All alone.

* * *

Imelda tiptoed slowly down the vast staircase. She wasn't supposed to
go downstairs until dinnertime, but she barely ever waited that long.
She was going to eavesdrop.

Imelda was good at eavesdropping. She had long ago realised that to
find out anything in this house, she had to find it out for herself,
because her father was of the impression that children should be seen
and not heard. She felt that in her case she was doing him a favor. She
was neither seen nor heard! She could crouch into a dark corner and
make herself really small and quiet and imagine that she was merging
into the wall, and nobody would even know she was there.

She knew everything that went on in that house, and she knew the
personal lives of everybody in it. She knew that the cook had five
children, and that the eldest had already turned to the drink like his
father, poor lad. She knew that the butler beat his wife, and had a
terrible temper, because the other servants talked about it practically
none-stop. She knew that Sophie the chamber-maid was engaged to be
married to somebody she hardly knew. And as for her parents?

Well, that was who she would be listening to today.

Imelda crept along the dark hallway, keeping to the shadows, until she
reached the door of her father's study. She could hear angry voices
coming from inside. Her parents were fighting again.

Imelda crouched down beside the door to listen. She leaned against the
wall as still as still. When Elsie the maid went past, she didn't even
see her.

Imelda put her ear against the door, and jumped slightly when she heard
her name.

"-provided for her, have I not?? done what any responsible father ?I
have clothed her?" her father's voice faded slightly, Imelda strained
to hear. "?educated her ? ? French, English? Sciences? I? exactly the
same with Rose," Rose was Imelda's three year old sister. "What more do
you want?"

Imelda couldn't hear what her mother said. She sounded furious. Then
one sentence came clear.
"Where are her friends? Where is her happiness? doesn't that matter to
you?"

"Imelda is happy! ? sings ? reads, studies. ? has friends? arranged all
that ? Alicia Winsford."

"Alicia Winsford is a rat!" Imelda grinned at this. She didn't like
Alicia very much. "? looks down her nose? Imelda? frankly disgusting?
couldn't have chosen ?worse friend ?filthiest slums in London!"

Imelda frowned as she tried to make sense of the last part. Her mother
started talking again and she strained her ears.

"?children? choose own friends? part of growing up."

Silence.

Then Bianca shouted angrily. Imelda heard every word.

"You aren't even listening to me are you? I think you're an awful
parent and a dreadful husband! I hate you! I think you're absolutely-
absolutely beastly!"

George roared the next sentence at the top of his voice. Imelda
jumped.

"GET OUT! how dare you come in here and tell me how to run this family?
OUT! NOW!"

Imelda shuffled away from the door quickly. She knew her mother would
come storming out any second.

Bianca murmured something that Imelda couldn't hear. Imelda nodded. Her
mother always liked to have last word.

The door opened. Bianca walked briskly past, slamming it behind her.
Imelda got a glimpse of her face and was shocked to see tears streaming
down it.

* * *

Alicia would be coming. Imelda wasn't sure whether she should be happy
or sad. She wasn't particularly fond of her, but Alicia was the only
interesting thing that would happen today, so at least Imelda wouldn't
get bored.

Imelda sighed. Alicia seemed to have a much more exciting life than she
did. She was always talking about it. All the parties that she'd been
to, and the dancing that went on there. Imelda enjoyed dancing, when
she got the chance. But the gramophone was downstairs, and that was
strictly out of bounds until dinner time.

Imelda got up and wandered over to the shelves. After much thought, she
picked up a picture book that she had read many times before, sat on
the stool and opened it.

It was at that moment that her mother walked briskly in.

Imelda looked up in surprise; her mother hardly ever came up to the
nursery, and Bianca's eyes were still red from crying. She looked
around for another stool. There was none, so she sat on the dusty floor
in front of her daughter. Imelda watched in slight amusement as her
mother awkwardly crossed her legs. It struck her that this was all
something to do with the fight earlier that day.

"Good morning mother. I hope you are well."

"I'm fine, thanks," answered Bianca dryly, "but you could look a little
more pleased to see me."

A slight smile touched the corners of her mouth, and she looked up at
Imelda, meeting her eyes seriously. She held her daughter's hands in
her own.

"Imelda, are you happy here?"

It took Imelda by surprise. She was about to shrug, but remembered that
it was rude.

"I- I really couldn't say... I've never thought about it before."

"Wouldn't you like to live somewhere else, somewhere in the country,
where you can have friends?" asked Bianca quickly.

"I don't quite understand you."

"Would you like to live in the countryside, and have lots of friends?"
repeated Bianca, slowly.

A slight frown creased Imelda's brow.

"There is always Alicia?"

"Do you like Alicia?" asked her mother abruptly.

"Not really?"
"Are you happy, Imelda?" Bianca clutched her hand tightly, looking
pleadingly into her face.

Imelda sighed frustratedly.
"You've already asked me that. I told you, I don't know."

"Well, think harder then. I want to know."

Silence. Imelda's frown deepened.

Bianca began to feel awkward, it was, after all, a very strange
question to ask.

"Alicia is coming soon," said Imelda, deliberately changing the
subject. Bianca stirred, feeling very embarrassed.

"Oh... well. I'd better get going, hadn't I?" she muttered
nervously.

"Yes... It's been a pleasure talking to you mother. I hope we shall do
this again sometime."

Bianca waved a hand dismissively. "You needn't worry about etiquette.
It gets on my nerves."

Imelda smiled and shrugged.

"Oh, and Imelda?" called her mother from the door.

"Yes?"
"You do know I love you, don't you?"

Imelda looked shocked. "Um... yes."

"Good!"

Imelda listened to her mother's footsteps as they faded down the
stairs.

"Now what on Earth was all that about?" she murmured.

* 2 *

Family and Friends

She was a tall girl, with innocent-looking blue eyes and golden locks
that tumbled about a fair, rosy-cheeked face. A darling child. She did
her family proud.

But there was an arch to her eyebrows, a slight downward curve to her
lips.

This butterfly could bite.

Alicia Winsford stepped delicately out of the car in blue,
hand-tailored shoes, and tilted her blue, hand-tailored hat slightly to
one side as she held it on her head against the wind. Her blue,
hand-tailored dress rustled lightly, and she breezed up the steps
towards the front door, leaving her chauffeur behind her.

Imelda watched her from an upper window, and heaved a sigh. She wished
she had worn more impressive clothes.

* * *

"So, what did you do yesterday?" yawned Alicia, she popped a grape into
her mouth with elegant, manicured fingers.

Inwardly Imelda groaned. She knew where this conversation was
going.

"I studied, and entertained myself, and then I went down for dinner.
Rose spilt her juice and father was very annoyed because it was a new
table cloth. He shouted at her. I don't think that's fair because Rose
is only three, and she's not very good at holding a wine glass," she
mumbled resignedly.

"Really?" said Alicia, "how incredibly dull. I went to a party."

"Oh."

"Have you ever been to a party?"

"No," said Imelda- though she had told Alicia that many times
before.

Alicia laughed. "My dear girl, you really have to go out more. Charles
Goodly was there, he's the son of a lord. You know, he's only a year
older than me, I think he rather liked me."

Imelda sighed, she had not met many boys, her father tried to keep her
away from them as much as possible, for some reason. She had met one or
two occasionally, but only in very formal circumstances. A handshake
and a nod. A brief hello and an even briefer goodbye.

"What do you think Imelda?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you not been listening to a word I'm saying?"

"Yes, of course I have!" lied Imelda.

"Well, what do you think?"

Imelda stared at her dumbly.

"About Charles Goodly."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he is very nice."

"Do you think father would let him marry me?"

Imelda blinked.

"Pardon?"

"Well, obviously not now, when I am older, when he proposes to
me."

Imelda blinked again.

"Why would he propose to you?"

"Really! Sometimes you know, Imelda, you can be very stupid. I told you
I thought he rather liked me."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Then why on Earth would he not want to marry me? I am, after all,
completely desirable. What is there not to like?" Alicia tossed her
head, the golden curls bounced.

"Oh, nothing," muttered Imelda.

The sarcasm was lost on her companion.

"You see. I expect Charles Goodly will get lots of competition, I think
I shall have men falling at my feet. Of course, with you, it's
different, I think you'll be lucky if you ever find a husband."

"Why?" Imelda was truly stung by the remark, Alicia didn't seem to
notice.

"You are too small and quiet and boring," she sighed. "Men will never
notice you."

Imelda glared at her.

Alicia picked up another grape.

* * *

Imelda looked down at the Latin text book, and tried saying a few
phrases, but it was no good, she couldn't concentrate. Maybe Alicia was
right, maybe she was small and quiet and boring. Would she be doomed to
sit forever learning Latin from this book? Maybe she should go out
more.

Imelda's mind turned to the question her mother had asked her.

Are you happy Imelda?

The question had been left hanging awkwardly in the air. Imelda still
hadn't found the answer.

Do you like Alicia?

Imelda wasn't sure.

In the country, where she could have friends...
That was what her mother had said.

Friends...

In the country?

Imelda frowned. What was her mother up to?

* * *

She looked down at the vegetable mousse in the centre of her plate. She
prodded it with the end of her fork.

It wobbled.

"Imelda, do not play with your food." Her father glared at her.

"Yes, father."

She plucked a globule from it with her fork, and put it in her mouth.
Everyone was looking at her. There was a stiff silence. Imelda dabbed
at her mouth with her serviette.

"That is better," said her father coldly.

Imelda looked over at Rose, who was timidly, cautiously raising
forkfuls to her mouth. Every now and then Rose gave her father a
fearful glance. She got shouted at often when she displayed 'bad table
manners' which included dropping her food accidentally on the expensive
table cloth. Imelda smiled at her sister, Rose just stared back at her
for a moment, then carried on eating.

Imelda turned her gaze to her father's end of the table. He was wearing
his usual stiff white collar and black suit. His mouth was set in its
usual strict line, his large brown eyes glared fiercely from under
black eyebrows, and his forehead was creased in thought. Imelda
wondered briefly what sort of a man he was, and why her mother had
fallen in love with him. Imelda didn't really know her father, she just
knew his strictness, and his explosive temper.

The only time the family were together was at dinner. And then there
was a void of uncomfortable silence that was supposed to be left well
alone. Imelda was fed up, fed up of listening and never talking.
Listening and never talking was what made her small and quiet and
boring.

Well, that was what Alicia said anyway. In fact, Imelda was fed up with
Alicia. Why couldn't she have somebody else to talk to?

Imelda looked at her father again. Dare she ask?

She finished her mousse, and placed her fork neatly in the centre of
her plate, then dabbed at her mouth again with her serviette. Imelda
watched her father as he ate his last forkful. He glanced over at her
and she immediately lowered her eyes.

He put the fork down with a low clink that resonated through the room,
then pushed the empty plate away.

They waited in silence for the main course.

"Father-" Imelda began, but just then something happened.

Rose watched in horror as her hand brushed against her mother's empty
wine glass, it teetered, fell onto its side, rolled towards the edge of
the polished mahogany table, Bianca looked around, reached out a hand
to stop it, but was too late.

The wine glass paused for the tiniest moment on the edge, and then it
fell, spinning, glinting in the dim light. There was a loud smash, and
it exploded into sharp glittering pieces on the oak floor.

Everyone looked at George. There was a bearly audible intake of
breath.

His eyes glowed, his knuckles were white on the edge of the
table.

He glared at Rose. Her young, round face was worried.

"I-" she whispered.

"Get out!"

"George-" said Bianca, but quailed under his gaze. Rose looked at him
fearfully.

"OUT! Go on!"

Rose's face scrunched up. Her lip trembled. A single tear rolled down
her cheek.

She ran from the room, her small footsteps echoing on the stairs as she
fled.

George looked at Bianca, then at the mess.

"Pick it up," he said.

Bianca stared at him with strange, empty eyes.

"Why?" she asked.

"BECAUSE I SAY SO!" exploded George.

Bianca just gave him another empty stare, and walked briskly out of the
door. Imelda took one look at her fuming father and ran after
her.

She didn't dare.