A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,69

neared the other side of the square, a short plump woman accosted them. She was dressed in sensible black trousers and a grey anorak, but her reddened, wrinkled face was framed by the yellow beak of a bird’s head, clumsily made from papier mâché. She thrust a leaflet at Duncan, and he gave a little cat-like skip backwards in real or perhaps simulated alarm. Ginny glanced over Alice’s head at Piers, and her lips began to quiver. Alice heard Piers give a muffled snort of laughter, and she looked away in mortification. The woman was Mrs Parsons, who used to babysit Alice. It would be so embarrassing if she said anything to her. But at the moment, her attention was with Duncan.

‘I’d like you to take this leaflet, young man,’ she said. She tried to put a leaflet in his hand, and he firmly put his hands behind his back.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said politely, ‘but I’m allergic to leaflets.’ He peered at the leaflet. ‘And I’m terribly environmentally unfriendly. Let it all go to pieces, that’s what I say.’ He beamed at her. ‘So it’s probably not worth wasting your precious paper on me.’

‘Duncan!’ exclaimed Ginny. ‘He doesn’t mean . . .’ But the woman was glaring at Duncan.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’ she trumpeted. ‘The environment is only on loan to us. We’ve got a duty to look after it. What would you say to your children if the rainforests disappeared?’ She fixed him with a triumphant stare. Duncan appeared to give the matter some thought.

‘I’d say, “There used to be rainforests,” ’ he said eventually. The woman glared at him angrily. Alice turned away, trying to hide her face behind her scarf.

‘Let me have a leaflet,’ put in Ginny, in mollifying tones. ‘Thank you very much. Duncan!’ she hissed angrily as the woman stomped off. ‘That was awful!’

‘I know,’ said Duncan, wrinkling his brow, ‘I shouldn’t be like that . . . but I mean, honestly! Just look at them! They look like extras from The Muppet Show.’ Ginny looked at the milling, jostling crowd in bird costumes and masks and, in spite of herself, gave a little giggle.

‘They’re well-meaning people,’ she said sternly. ‘I bet you’ve never given up your Saturday in aid of a good cause.’

‘I don’t call dressing up a good cause,’ retorted Duncan. ‘I call it work. And anyone who dresses up without being paid for it has got to be a sad, hopeless character. I bet all these people dress up in medieval clothes when they’re not being birds,’ he continued, looking around at the crowd. ‘They go off to some gloomy old castle, and spend the weekend curtseying and saying Begad and thinking they’re being cultured.’

Alice listened with an unbearable mixture of embarrassment and indignation. What Duncan was saying sounded all witty and clever, and made her want to laugh. But it wasn’t true about her father. He didn’t really like the dressing up, he’d always said that. And he’d never ever dressed up in medieval clothes. She stood perfectly still, feeling her cheeks burning, hoping desperately he wouldn’t come along; hoping that Duncan would soon get bored with the parade and drag them all off for coffee like he usually did. But he was still watching it avidly.

And then it happened.

‘Hello, Alice!’ Whipping round to the right, Alice felt her heart plunge downwards in a fiery trail of mortification. Her father was standing in front of her, wearing a duck mask on top of his head, smiling benevolently at her and holding out one of his leaflets. ‘Have your friends all got one of these?’ he said, and smiled at Duncan. Alice felt paralysed with embarrassment. She didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t risk speaking in case she giggled, or even worse, burst into tears.

Ginny glanced at Alice’s scarlet face, and came to her rescue.

‘Hello,’ she said brightly, extending a leather-gloved hand. ‘You must be Mr Chambers. I’m Ginny Prentice, your tenant. And this is my husband, Piers. And this is our friend, Duncan.’

‘Hello, Mr Chambers,’ said Piers. His voice resonated confidently round the square and he gave Jonathan a practised, charming smile.

‘Hello,’ said Duncan, in a strangely subdued voice.

‘Hello, all of you,’ said Jonathan heartily. ‘Do call me Jonathan.’ He glanced at Alice and she turned her head away, deliberately avoiding his eye. His smile faded, and there was a short, awkward pause. ‘Well, I’ll let you get on with your shopping,’ he said eventually. ‘I hope the