Home > The Silent Stars Go By(2)

The Silent Stars Go By(2)
Author: Sally Nicholls

 Or perhaps she had just grown up.

 As a child, she had often wondered if she were a foundling, or perhaps swapped at birth. It would be just like her father to take on a villager’s child in need of a home. Except of course, Margot’s mother wouldn’t be a villager really – she would be an earl’s daughter fleeing disgrace. Meeting her father by chance on her desperate flight, she had been so struck by his goodness, she’d sworn him to secrecy. And now her brothers had all been killed, and the family were coming to find their one true heir...

 It was a childish enough story, and of course, she had known it wasn’t really true. She had the look of her grandmother anyway, and the same fair hair as Stephen and Ernest (Jocelyn and Ruth tended more to mouse). But she could still remember the awfulness of feeling so out of favour, so odd one out. Margot supposed that her mother loved her. But she had never been entirely sure that she liked her.

 At least her mother liked James. Margot was grateful for that every... well, every time she reminded herself to be, which was less often than she ought. Her mother loved James. Though how anyone could do anything but love him!

 ‘How’s James?’ she said abruptly to Jocelyn.

 Jocelyn, who had been waiting for this, gave a private grimace.

 ‘He’s well. You’ll see – we’re to join them for nursery tea. He’s talking so much more than when you saw him at half term!’

 ‘And he’s...’ Margot knew she was being a dope, but she said it anyway, as she always did. ‘. . . he’s happy?’

 ‘Yes, he’s happy.’ Jocelyn looked at her sister. ‘He’s a very happy child, Margot. Mother and Father treat him just the same as they do Ruth and Ernest. You don’t need me to tell you that.’

 Margot stiffened.

 ‘I do though, don’t I?’ she said. ‘That’s the whole problem.’

 

 

James

 Margot! Margot’s home!’

 Ruth and Ernest came clattering down the stairs and flung themselves on their sister with an enthusiasm that Margot knew would not last the evening. Eleven-year-old Ruth had shot up since half term – her thin, mousy plaits bounced around her face as she capered in the hallway. Ernest looked taller too and somehow older than his eight years, impossibly neat in his grey flannel suit.

 He said, ‘Hullo, Margot.’ A perfect little stolid Englishman.

 ‘Did you get my letter?’ said Ruth. ‘I’ve decided what I’m going to be when I grow up.’ She hopped up and down. ‘I’m going to be a detective inspector and solve crimes. Women can be policemen now, did you know? Ernest and I are going to practise this hols, only we haven’t got a mystery to solve yet. You don’t know one, do you?’

 ‘That would be telling,’ said Margot. There was, of course, a mystery – well, not a mystery exactly, but a family secret hiding right under Ruth’s nose. But Margot had no intention of telling her about it.

 ‘Hullo, darling,’ said Margot’s mother, kissing her. She looked tired, Margot thought. She wore an overall over a limp brown dress which had definitely seen better days. Her greyish hair was beginning to tumble out of its hairpins. ‘How was the journey? Not too tiring?’

 ‘Not a bit.’ Margot tried to be pleased to see her, but she could already feel the familiar tensing in her stomach. There was no use denying it, she was jealous of her mother.

 ‘Where’s James?’ she said.

 ‘Upstairs. He’s just woken up from his nap. Shall we go and say “hullo”?’

 ‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,’ said Margot stiffly. She felt obscurely criticised, as she often did at home, though the rational part of her mind could see that she had no reason to. She was also annoyed that James wasn’t downstairs to meet her. All week, she had been counting down the hours and then the minutes until she saw him. Was he being deliberately kept out of her way? No, surely not. She could feel the nerves buzzing in her arms and stomach. She must remember not to assume the worst of everybody.

 James was sitting at his little table by the nursery fire, a plate of bread and milk and stewed plums on the table in front of him. Margot’s heart gave a leap. He was pushing a wooden horse across the table and humming to himself – a small, solemn-looking boy of two, with fair hair falling into his eyes, looking very much as she’d done as a child. The nursemaid, Doris, was sitting with her feet up on the nursery fender reading what looked like a penny novelette. She started when they came in and thrust the book hastily to one side.

 Margot’s mother said, ‘Perhaps not on duty, Doris, do you think?’ and Doris said, ‘No, ma’am, sorry, ma’am,’ confusedly.

 James looked up as they came in and flushed pink with pleasure. ‘Mummy!’ he said – but not to Margot, of course, to her mother. He pushed aside the chair and ran over to her. Margot’s mother picked him up.

 ‘Hullo, darling. Look who’s here!’

 At this, James went suddenly shy and whispered, ‘Ernest ’n’ Margot.’

 ‘Aren’t you going to go and say hullo?’ said Doris, and he buried his head in Margot’s mother’s shoulder.

 Margot scowled. She was hurt by James’s shyness, and hurt that he hadn’t seemed pleased to see her. The glimpse of Doris with the novelette alarmed her too. She’d never been sure about Doris, who was sixteen, and the daughter of one of the local farmhands. Should Mother have hired someone so young? Of course, their own Nana was too poorly now with with rheumatics and had gone back to live with her married daughter, and Margot knew servants were hard to find, but still – couldn’t Mother have found someone more suitable now that the War was over, and everyone was coming out of the services?

 And then there was James himself. He looked so much older! How was it possible that a child could change so much in a few short months? What sort of mother was she, to stay away from him for so long?

 She cleared her throat and said, ‘Hullo, James.’

 James wriggled and buried his head further into her mother’s collarbone.

 Ernest fumbled in his pocket. ‘I bought you a present, Jamie-o.’

 James’s head lifted in interest. Margot felt another squirm of jealousy – why hadn’t she thought of that?

 ‘Look, James – see what your brother’s bought you,’ said Doris.

 Margot felt a flash of hatred.

 Ernest brought out a piece of barley-sugar on a string, somewhat covered in pocket-fluff and what looked like biscuit-crumbs.

 Margot’s mother said, ‘Really, Ernest!’

 ‘Look, it’s a sweetie!’ Doris said. Then, as James still tended to shyness, ‘Go on then, pet – you take it.’

 James ventured far enough out to grab the string, and retreated again.

 Doris, clearly trying to make up for the novelette, asked, ‘What do you say?’ and he mumbled, ‘Tank you,’ into the barley-sugar.

 With a glance at Margot, her mother said, ‘He’ll soon open up. Shall we ring for tea?’

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