Cherububble

Oh, Very Young

 

 

Polly did one final lap of the big lawn before creeping in

 

through the French windows left open to catch the morning breeze,

 

pausing only to wipe her feet carefully on the mat

 

as she had seen the others do.

 

She slipped into the dining-room and took her place beside Grandpa.

 

Gramps was her special friend and wouldn’t tell on her even if he

 

noticed she’d been out early.

 

He leaned down to whisper.

 

“Don’t worry! She’s doing the crossword

 

and he’s into his sport.”

 

 

Picking up his paper and unfolding it

 

with a flourish,

 

he shielded them as he handed her a

 

piece of his toast.

 

She had her own breakfast, of course,

 

but it was always much more fun to share.

 

Polly was glad Simon was away for the

 

weekend; he usually delighted in getting them into trouble.

 

She peered up at Gramps, gave him a slow, deliberate wink, then

 

looked round the table. He was quite right.

 

There sat Mum, frowning slightly at a difficult clue, chewing the end

 

of her pen. Dad grunted from behind his paper, reaching for his coffee

 

without looking up. They hadn’t even noticed her. That was good.

 

Oh, yes, she liked them to pay her attention but only for the best

 

reasons.

 

 

Polly moved closer to Grandpa as she remembered the awful scene

 

 last week. She wished she could forget it. She had often watched

 

Mum sort the washing,

 

putting it into neat piles ready for its turn in

 

the machine. Polly hated the evil beast.

 

It growled menacingly and seemed to

 

eat the clothes; she didn’t trust it one bit.

 

Still, everything always came out smelling fresh

 

and clean even if it was all wet and crumpled.

 

The sorting part looked easy enough and

 

had proved terrific fun; more of a game, really.

 

Polly had set to work eagerly and been more than a little

 

surprised when she had found herself in a hopeless tangle.

 

Three socks had somehow come unravelled,

 

a favourite jumper was missing a sleeve and one shirt

 

seemed to have lost half its collar.

 

She’d only been trying to help.

 

It was then that Mum had come back.

 

Polly had never seen anyone so angry and hoped

 

she never would again.

 

 There had been screams, horrible threats and then the broom.

 

Mum had snatched it up and Polly had been sure she was 

 

about to be beaten when Simon had saved her.

 

 

He hadn’t meant to, she was sure of that,

 

but he had got the giggles

 

and Mum had chased him to his room instead,

 

yelling that he would stay there until breakfast time;

 

no supper and definitely no cartoons.

 

Polly had melted into the background,

 

staying out of sight until

 

Mum was safely in the garden.

 

She had felt almost sorry for sulky Simon that night,

 

missing chocolate pudding and his favourite television programme.

 

She had sidled into his room and curled up beside him on the bed,

 

hoping he knew she was sorry.

 

 They must have drifted off to sleep and were both startled when

 

Gramps crept in with a cheese-and-chutney sandwich.

 

Polly had dived beneath the bed but either the dust or Simon’s smelly

 

football boots had made her sneeze.

 

She had banged her head and yelped but darling Gramps

 

had pretended not to notice.

 

Funny but Simon hadn’t teased her since then.

 

 

Polly shook her head to clear the memory did and realized that people

 

were on the move.

 

This wasn’t like the days when they were all going out together,

 

when everyone ran about finding the things they needed

 

and she and Simon tumbled through the door,

 

racing to be first to reach the car.

 

No, Dad was dressed ready to be umpire at the Saturday

 

morning cricket, (Funny word, that, “Umpire”; Polly wondered what

 

it meant; obviously something very serious), even as he stacked the

 

dishwasher.

 

 Mum was dressed for her weekend surgery.

 

She went every few Saturdays.

 

Soon the house was quiet again.

 

Grandpa picked up his cup of coffee and a cushion,

 

beckoning Polly to follow with his newspaper.

 

Oh, good. They were going to sit in the garden.

 

Polly picked up the paper with great care and followed him outside;

 

she paused to peer into the fishpond, wondering if her friend the fat

 

 frog might be there; she couldn’t see him but this was no time to sit

 

and watch.

 

 

“Come on then, Poll-Doll!” Gramps was already settled in his chair,

 

 patting his knee for her to join him.

 

“Come and sit with the old man while you still can.” 

 

Polly squirmed onto his lap and snuggled down behind the paper.

 

She knew what he meant. 

 

Soon she would be too big to fit on his lap but today was fine.

 

Today she was still only a puppy with floppy ears and a twist in her tail.

 

                                  © Elaine Harris 2009