Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
One: Rosalind Bakes a Cake
Two: The Blue Letter
Three: Bedtime Stories
Four: Tempers Lost
Five: The First Date
Six: The Save-Daddy Plan
Seven: A Skating Coach and an Orange Cat
Eight: Funty and the Bug Man
Nine: Passes and Pizzas
Ten: Reversals
Eleven: Clues
Twelve: Jane’s Grand Gesture
Thirteen: Nyet!
Fourteen: Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
Fifteen: Batty’s Spying Mission
Sixteen: In Between the Stars
Seventeen: Halloween
Eighteen: Sisters and Sacrifice
Nineteen: All Secrets Revealed
Twenty: The New Save-Daddy Plan
Twenty-one: A Very Long Night
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Jeanne Birdsall
Copyright
THE PENDERWICKS
For David, Amy and Tim
Their mother had been here in the hospital with the new baby for almost a week. Though the three little Penderwick girls had been to visit her every day – sometimes twice a day – it wasn’t enough. They wanted her to come home.
‘When, Mommy?’ asked Jane, the youngest of the three.
‘You’ve asked her five times already, and she doesn’t know.’ Rosalind was the oldest and felt the responsibility of it deeply, though she was only eight. ‘May I hold Batty, Aunt Claire?’
Aunt Claire, their father’s sister, carefully handed the baby over to Rosalind, who thought that holding babies was one of the great joys of life, even when the baby was asleep and didn’t know she was being held.
‘Mommy, can you at least come home for a visit? You don’t need to bring the baby with you.’ Skye was the sister between Rosalind and Jane, and the only one who had inherited their mother’s blonde hair and blue eyes. The other two had their father’s – and Aunt Claire’s – dark curls and brown eyes. And while the baby so far had only fuzz, it looked like she was going to be dark, too.
‘When I come home, honey, I’m afraid Batty’s coming with me,’ said their mother, laughing. Then she stopped laughing and pressed her hands to her side.
‘The gift shop!’ said Aunt Claire, jumping out of her chair. ‘Why don’t you three go to the gift shop and get yourselves treats?’
‘We don’t have any money,’ said Jane.
‘I’ll give you money.’ Aunt Claire pulled a note from her wallet and handed it to Skye. ‘Rosalind, better leave Batty here. She’s still too young for the gift shop.’
‘Maybe we can get her a present, anyway.’ Rosalind reluctantly laid the baby in the white cot beside her mother’s bed.
‘There’s not enough money for her, too,’ said Skye.
‘Manners!’ said her mother.
But Aunt Claire smiled and handed several more notes to Skye. ‘Now get going, my greedy pirates!’
Aunt Claire was that most perfect kind of relative – she loved and understood children but had none of her own to take attention away from nieces. So the sisters didn’t mind when she called them names. Indeed, Skye seemed proud of being called a pirate, heading off to the gift shop with a bold, seafaring strut. Rosalind took Jane’s hand and followed less boisterously, saying hello along the way to the many nurses they’d befriended during the week.
The shop was just up the hall and round the corner – the girls knew the way, for they’d been there many times, but never with so much money. Aunt Claire had been generous. There was enough for each girl to get at least a small treasure. Skye went straight to the watches, for she’d been yearning for a black one. Jane looked at everything – she always did – then ended up at the dolls, just as she always did. Rosalind picked out a stuffed black dog for Batty, then headed over to the jewellery case. Her best friend, Anna, had just got a new turquoise ring, and Rosalind thought nothing would be better than to have one like it.
When she got to the jewellery, her eye was drawn not to the rings, though, but to a delicate gold necklace with five dangling hearts – the largest one in the middle, with two smaller hearts on either side. She looked at the price, did a quick calculation on her fingers, did it again to make sure, then called her sisters over.
‘We should buy that necklace for Mommy,’ she said.
‘It would take up all the money we have.’ Skye had already strapped a black watch onto her wrist.
‘I know, but Mommy would love it. The big heart is her, and the four little ones are us three and the baby.’
‘This one’s me,’ said Jane, pointing to one of the small hearts. ‘Rosalind, is Mommy still sick?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because of Batty?’
‘Because of the cancer,’ answered Rosalind. She hated that word, ‘cancer’. ‘Remember how Daddy explained it to us? But she’s going to get better soon.’
‘Of course she is,’ said Skye fiercely. ‘Daddy said the doctors are doing everything they can, and they’re the best doctors in the universe.’
‘All right,’ said Jane. ‘I vote we buy Mommy the necklace.’
‘Rats.’ Skye disappeared, then came back without the watch and with a saleslady, who put the necklace in a box with a bow on top.
Rosalind was now anxious to get back to her mother and Batty. Skye and Jane, though, had spotted their favourite nurse, Ruben, who always had time to give them a wheelchair ride. Knowing they’d be safe with Ruben, Rosalind hurried back down the hall, slowing down only when she got to the right room. But instead of going in, she hung back, for she could hear her mother and aunt murmuring together – and it sounded like one of those conversations grown-ups had when children weren’t supposed to be around. It wasn’t bad manners to listen, Rosalind knew, because the murmuring was too low to be understood. But then the two women raised their voices, and Rosalind couldn’t help understanding every word.
‘No, Lizzy, no,’ Aunt Claire was saying. ‘It’s too soon to talk about this. It sounds like you’ve given up.’
‘You know I’ll never give up until there’s no hope left, Claire. Please just promise me that if I don’t make it, you’ll give Martin my letter in three or four years. You know he’s too shy to start dating without encouragement, and I just can’t bear to think of him being lonely.’
‘He’ll have the girls.’
‘And someday they’ll grow up and—’
The sentence was broken off, for Ruben had arrived with Skye and Jane squashed into a wheelchair, squealing and giggling. They tumbled out and ran into the room while Rosalind followed more slowly, trying to puzzle out what she’d heard. What did her mother mean about not making it? And why would her father be dating? She felt so cold inside she was shivering, which only got worse as she saw Aunt Claire sliding a blue envelope into her pocket. Was that the letter her mother had mentioned?
Skye and Jane were so noisily excited about the wheelchair ride and about handing over the necklace, and then their mother was so pleased with the necklace and looked so lovely wearing it, that no one noticed that Rosalind was off to one side, pale and quiet. And then, too soon, a nurse arrived with a frightening-looking trolley and made it clear that mother and baby both needed their rest. Reluctantly, the girls kissed their mother goodbye.
Rosalind took her turn last. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Mommy,’ she whispered. Maybe by then she’d have the right questions to ask – about hope, about Daddy being lonely, and about that scary blue letter.
But Rosalind never got to ask her questions, and soon they’d been pushed aside and forgotten, for when tomorrow came, her mother was suddenly getting weaker instead of stronger. Despite the best efforts by the best doctors, within a week hope ran out altogether. Elizabeth Penderwick had enough time to say goodbye to her husband and girls one unbearable evening, but only just enough. She died before dawn the next morning, with baby Batty nestled, calm and quiet, in her arms.
The Penderwick sisters are back on Gardam Street and ready for an adventure!
But the adventure they get isn’t quite what they had in mind. Mr Penderwick’s sister has decided it’s time for him to start dating – which can only mean one thing: disaster.
Enter the Save Daddy Plan – a plot so brilliant, so bold, so funny, that only the Penderwick girls could have come up with it.
Jeanne lives in Massachusetts, USA, with her husband, four cats, two rabbits, a pet snail and a dog called Cagney.
Seven months later
The sisters had decided together what they would wear on that most important day. Jane had asked for dresses with full skirts. Rosalind had picked out the colour – a mysterious blue-green, the colour of the sea just before sunset. Batty, with some guidance, had selected shoes with low heels and thin ankle straps. As for Skye, all she wanted was not to wear a hat with bows, or anything else on her head, for that matter. But when Iantha had asked if they would tuck yellow roses into their hair to match the yellow roses in her bouquet, Skye had agreed without a murmur, though she did tell Jane later that she would have drawn the line at pink roses, even for Iantha.
Now, on the day itself, the four were gathered in Rosalind’s room, finishing their transformation from regular Penderwicks into bridesmaids.
‘Hold still, Batty,’ said Rosalind. ‘Your rose keeps slipping.’
Too excited to hold still, Batty was jumping up and down, trying for glimpses of herself in the mirror over the chest of drawers. ‘I look beautiful, Hound,’ she said in between jumps, though Hound was ignoring her, being too busy trying to bite off the yellow bow around his neck. ‘Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.’
‘As do we all.’ Jane put her hands on Batty’s shoulders and held her down, letting Rosalind pin the errant flower firmly in place.
‘I think that will hold,’ Rosalind said, then turned to Skye, who was almost as green as she’d been the night of Sisters and Sacrifice. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ve forgotten my speech again.’ Skye plucked at the skirt of her dress and wondered if there was time to escape to the roof for some solitude. But from the roof, she’d be able to see into Iantha’s garden, where there was a flowered arch and an altar and dozens of chairs set in rows, and, worse, the already arriving guests. That would make her more nervous.
‘It’s not actually a speech,’ said Rosalind, not for the first time.
‘Just a line,’ said Jane, who’d written this part of the ceremony. ‘Rosalind says: For a long time we didn’t know what we wanted. Then Skye, you say: And when we finally knew, we realized that what we wanted was right next door. And then I say, Her name was Iantha, and magically, she wanted us, too. Then Batty says—’
‘And so did Ben,’ finished Batty.
‘And when we finally knew,’ muttered Skye. ‘And when we finally knew, and when we finally knew—’
Now Aunt Claire was calling them from downstairs. ‘Girls! The ushers are here!’
All worries about roses and speeches vanished as the girls flew out of the room and down the stairs. Aunt Claire was at the bottom, flushed with excitement and lovely in dusky lavender. She gave them each a quick inspection and a quicker hug, then shooed them into the living room to greet the ushers.
There were three, splendid in dark suits. The tallest had a big smile and eyes only for Rosalind. She was across the room and hanging on his arm in a flash, certain that Tommy looked more grown up and handsome than ever, and she may have been right, though she’d been thinking the same thing every day for the last seven months. The second boy, with freckles and green eyes, was not as tall but just as handsome, and was joyously attacked by Skye and Jane almost before he knew they were in the room. Batty and Hound, too, needed to show their great devotion to this boy, for, after all, he’d been far away in Boston for months and months.
‘Jeffrey, I love you so!’ Batty cried, flinging herself at his knees, while Hound barked in agreement.
‘I love you, too, Battikins,’ he said, picking her up in a fierce hug.
The third usher was quite short, and his red hair was combed and flattened to within an inch of its life. Bewildered by the unfamiliar clothes and all the noise, he was thinking about crying, but before he could get started, Skye had torn herself away from Jeffrey and was kneeling beside him.
‘Hey, Ben.’ Though she still didn’t like babies, she’d decided to make an exception for this one. ‘How are you?’
‘Not good.’
‘Me neither, but it’ll all be over soon and then we’ll have cake. OK?’
This reminder of cake cheered him greatly, and he was now happy to quietly pluck at Hound’s yellow bow until it came undone, earning him even more love from Hound than he already had.
In the middle of all that, Aunt Claire had melted away, but she came back now, and with her was—
‘Oh, Daddy,’ said Rosalind. ‘You look – you look—’
‘Gorgeous,’ said Jane.
‘Nonsense,’ protested Skye, though her breath, too, had been taken away.
It wasn’t the suit, of course, or the starched white shirt, or even the tie that didn’t clash with anything. It was the happiness that had settled in every part of him, the pure and solid happiness that he’d longed for and deserved, and now was his.
‘My princesses,’ he said, and all four rushed to him and hugged him until he gently pulled away to pick up Ben for a hug of his own. Then he nodded to the other two, man to men. ‘Tommy, Jeffrey, thanks for being here.’
They nodded back, suddenly serious and adult, until Jane tickled Tommy, and Skye tickled Jeffrey, and everyone became themselves again.
Now there was a knock on the front door. It was Nick and Anna, come to say that it was time to go next door.
‘She’s ready?’ asked Mr Penderwick, and no one had to ask whom he meant.
‘Yes, she is, Mr Pen,’ said Nick. ‘And the minister.’
‘And all the guests are here,’ said Anna gleefully, for she loved weddings when they weren’t her own father’s.
Mr Penderwick handed Ben over to Aunt Claire, then gave each of his daughters one last hug. ‘Well, girls, are we ready to get married?’
Married. Was it possible? But yes, astoundingly, miraculously, all the Penderwicks were absolutely, positively, indisputably, and without a shadow of a doubt – ready to get married.
And so they did.
FOUR YEARS AND four months later
Rosalind was happy. Not the kind of passionate, thrilling happy that can quickly turn into disappointment, but the calm happy that comes when life is steadily going along just the way it should. Three weeks earlier, she’d started seventh grade at the middle school, which was turning out not to be as overwhelming as rumoured, mostly because she and her best friend, Anna, shared all the same classes. And it was late September, and the leaves were on the verge of bursting into wild colours – Rosalind adored autumn. And it was a Friday afternoon, and although school was all right, who doesn’t like weekends better?
On top of all that, Aunt Claire was coming to visit for the weekend. Beloved Aunt Claire, whose only flaw was that she lived two hours away from the Penderwicks’ home in Cameron, Massachusetts. But she tried to make up for it by visiting often, and now she was arriving this evening. Rosalind had so many things to tell her, mostly about the family’s summer vacation, three wonderful weeks at a place called Arundel in the Berkshires. There had been many adventures with a boy named Jeffrey, and for a while Rosalind had thought that she might be in love with another boy – an older one – named Cagney, but that had come to nothing. Now Rosalind was determined to stay away from love and its confusions for many years, but still she wanted to talk it all over with her aunt.
There was lots to get done before Aunt Claire arrived – clean sheets on the bed, clean towels in the bathroom, and Rosalind wanted to bake a cake – but first she had to pick up her little sister Batty at Goldie’s Day Care. She did so every day on the walk home from school, and even that was part of her happiness. For this was the first year her father had given her the responsibility for her sisters after school and until he came home. Before now, there had always been a babysitter, one or another of the beautiful Bosna sisters, who lived down the street from the Penderwicks. And though the Bosnas had been good babysitters as well as beautiful, Rosalind considered herself much too old now – twelve years and eight months – for a babysitter.
The walk from Cameron Middle School to Goldie’s took ten minutes, and Rosalind was on her last minute now. She could see on the corner ahead of her the grey clapboard house, with its wide porch full of toys. And now she could see – she picked up her pace – a small girl alone on the steps. She had dark curls and was wearing a red sweater, and Rosalind ran the last several yards, scolding as she went.
‘Batty, you’re supposed to stay inside until I get here,’ she said. ‘You know that’s the rule.’
Batty threw her arms around Rosalind. ‘It’s OK, because Goldie’s watching me through the window.’
Rosalind looked up, and it was true. Goldie was at the window, waving and smiling. ‘Even so, I want you to stay inside from now on.’
‘All right. But’ – Batty held up a finger swathed in Band-Aids – ‘I just was dying to show you this. I cut myself during crafts.’
Rosalind caught up the finger and kissed it. ‘Did it hurt terribly?’
‘Yes,’ said Batty proudly. ‘I bled all over the clay and the other kids screamed.’
‘That sounds exciting.’ Rosalind helped Batty into her little blue rucksack. ‘Now let’s go home and get ready for Aunt Claire.’
Most days the two sisters would linger on their walk home from Goldie’s – at the sassafras tree, with leaves shaped like mittens, and at the storm drain that flooded just the right amount when it rained, so you could splash through without getting water in your boots. Then there was the spotted dog who barked furiously but only wanted to be petted, and the cracks in the pavement that Batty had to jump over, and the brown house with flower gardens all around, and the telephone poles that sometimes had posters about missing cats and dogs. Batty always studied these carefully, wondering why people didn’t take better care of their pets.
But today, because of Aunt Claire’s visit, they hurried along, stopping only for Batty to move to safety a worm that had unwisely strayed onto the pavement, and soon they were turning the corner onto Gardam Street, where they lived. It was a quiet street, with only five houses on each side, and a cul-de-sac at the end. The Penderwick sisters had always lived there, and they knew and loved every inch of it, from one end to the other. Even when Rosalind was in a hurry, like today, she noted with satisfaction the tall maples that marched along the street – one in every front garden – and the rambling houses that were not so young any more, but still comfortable and well cared for. And there was always someone waving hello. Today it was Mr Corkhill, mowing his lawn, and Mrs Geiger, driving by with a car full of groceries – and then Rosalind stopped waving back, for Batty had broken into a run.
‘Come on, Rosalind!’ cried Batty over her shoulder. ‘I hear him!’
This, too, was part of their everyday routine. Hound, the Penderwicks’ dog, always knew when Batty was almost home, and set up such a clamour he could be heard all up and down Gardam Street. So now both sisters were running, and in a moment Rosalind was unlocking their front door, and Hound was throwing himself at Batty as though she’d been away for centuries instead of just the day.
Rosalind dragged Hound back into the house, with Batty dancing alongside in an ecstasy of reunion. Down the hall they all went, through the living room and into the kitchen – where Rosalind opened the back door and shoved the joyful tangle of child and dog into the back garden. She shut the door behind them and leaned against it to catch her breath. Soon Batty would need her afternoon snack, but for now Rosalind had a moment to herself. She could start on the cake, which she’d decided should be a pineapple upside-down one.
Humming happily, she took the family cookbook from its shelf. It had been a wedding gift to her parents, and was full of her mother’s pencilled notes. Rosalind knew all the notes by heart, and even had her favourites, like the one next to candied sweet potatoes – An insult to potatoes everywhere. There was no note next to pineapple upside-down cake. Maybe if it was a great success, Rosalind would add her own. She did that sometimes.
‘Melt quarter of a cup of butter,’ she read, then put a frying pan on the stove, lit the burner under it, and dropped in a knob of butter. Almost right away the butter started to melt, crackling a little, and filling the kitchen with a delicious bakery-ish smell.
‘Add a cup of brown sugar.’ She measured the sugar and dumped it into the pan. ‘Stir butter and sugar mixture until dissolved.’
The sugar all melted into the butter, Rosalind took the pan off the heat, opened a tin of pineapple slices, and arranged the slices atop the sugar mixture. She stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘Looks magnificent, Rosy. What a fabulous cook you are.’
She went back to the cookbook, humming again, and then noticed a suspicious lack of noise in the garden. With a glance out the door, she understood why. Batty and Hound were crouched in the forsythia border, peeping into the next-door neighbours’ back garden. And not the neighbours to the right, the Tuttles, who’d lived there for ever and wouldn’t have cared if Batty and Hound watched through the kitchen window while they ate. No, they were spying on the neighbours to the left, the Aaronsons, who’d just moved in. There had been great hopes for these new neighbours. A large family would have been perfect, for there can never be too many children in a neighbourhood. The Aaronsons, however, turned out to be a small family indeed – a mother and a little boy just learning to toddle around, but no father, for he’d died before the boy was born. Both the mother and boy had red hair, which was good, as there were no other redheads on the street, but an interesting hair colour only goes so far. Mr Penderwick already knew Ms Aaronson slightly. They were both professors at Cameron University – he was a botanist and she an astrophysicist – but the rest of the family had not yet been introduced.
Rosalind didn’t think that spying should come before introductions.
‘Batty!’ she called out the door. ‘Come here!’
Batty and Hound wriggled out of the forsythia and dragged themselves reluctantly to the house. ‘We’re only playing secret agents.’
‘Play something else, then. The neighbours might not like to be spied on.’
‘They weren’t in their garden, so they wouldn’t know. Anyway, we were actually looking for the cat.’
‘I didn’t know the Aaronsons had a cat.’
‘Oh, yes, a large orange cat. He usually sits in the window, and Hound loves him already.’
Though Hound thumped his tail in agreement, Rosalind had her doubts that love was what he had in mind. She’d never seen him with a cat, but she knew how he felt about squirrels, as did all the squirrels that tried to make their home on Gardam Street. There was, however, no point in arguing with Batty about Hound’s innermost feelings, so she changed the subject.
‘How about your afternoon snack?’
Batty was never one to turn down a snack, especially when it was cheese, pretzel sticks and grape juice, and when, like today, Rosalind let her eat it under the kitchen table, which happened to make an excellent hideout for secret agents.
With Batty settled, Rosalind went back to her cooking. ‘Sift a cup of flour—’ But once more she was interrupted, this time by her other two sisters arriving home from school and storming into the kitchen.
‘Something smells good.’ This was Skye, her blonde hair crammed messily into a camouflage hat. She stuck her finger into the pan and scooped out a blob of the sugar mixture.
Rosalind tried to wave her off, but Skye dodged around, laughing and licking her finger.
‘Call Daddy,’ said Rosalind. ‘You’re the last one in.’
That was the rule after school. While Rosalind was picking up Batty at Goldie’s, Skye and Jane were walking home together from Wildwood Elementary School, where they were in sixth and fifth grades, respectively. Whoever was the last to arrive at the house called Mr Penderwick at the university to let him know all was well.
‘Jane, call Daddy,’ said Skye.
‘I’m too distraught about English class,’ said Jane.
This was unlike Jane, who loved English more than anything, even soccer, which she adored. Rosalind turned away from the cookbook and looked hard at the third Penderwick sister. She did look upset. There were even traces of tears.
‘What happened?’ asked Rosalind.
‘Miss Bunda gave her a C for her essay,’ answered Skye, reaching under the table and swiping some of Batty’s cheese.
‘My humiliation is complete,’ said Jane. ‘I’ll never be a real writer.’
‘I told you Miss Bunda wouldn’t like it.’
‘Let me see the essay,’ said Rosalind.
Jane pulled several crumpled balls of paper out of her pocket and tossed them onto the kitchen table. ‘I have no profession now. I’ll have to be a vagrant.’
Rosalind smoothed out the pieces of paper, found page one, and read, ‘Famous Women in Massachusetts History, by Jane Letitia Penderwick. Of all the women that come to mind when you think of Massachusetts, one stands out: Sabrina Starr.’ She stopped reading. ‘You put Sabrina Starr in your essay?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Jane.
Sabrina Starr was the heroine of five books, all of them written by Jane. Each was about an amazing rescue. So far, Sabrina had saved a cricket, a baby sparrow, a turtle, a groundhog, and a boy. This last, Sabrina Starr Rescues a Boy, had been written during the summer vacation at Arundel. Jane considered it her best.
‘But your assignment was to write about a Massachusetts woman who was actually once alive.’
‘Just what I told her. Ouch!’ Skye jumped away from the table, for Batty had just pinched her ankle as revenge for the stolen cheese.
‘I explained all that,’ said Jane. ‘Look at the last page.’
Rosalind found the last page. ‘Of course, Sabrina Starr is not a real Massachusetts woman, but I wrote about her because she’s more fascinating than old Susan B. Anthony and Clara Barton,’ she read. ‘Oh, Jane, no wonder Miss Bunda gave you a C.’
‘I got a C because she has no imagination. Who cares about writing essays, anyway, when you can write stories?’
The phone rang and Skye raced for it. ‘Hi, Daddy, yes, we’re all here and we were just about to call you . . . We’re fine, except Jane’s upset because she got a C for her essay . . . Really?’ Skye turned to Jane. ‘Daddy says remember that Leo Tolstoy flunked out of college and went on to write War and Peace.’
‘Tell him I’ll never even get into college at this rate.’
Skye spoke into the phone again. ‘She said she’ll never get into college . . . What? Tell me again . . . OK, got it. Goodbye.’
‘What did he say?’ said Jane.
‘That you don’t have to worry because you have tantum amorem scribendi.’ Skye said the last three words slowly and carefully, for they were Latin.
Jane looked hopefully at Rosalind. ‘Do you know tantum am— whatever it is?’
‘Sorry, our class hasn’t got much past agricola, agricolae,’ answered Rosalind. She had just that year started studying Latin in a desperate attempt to understand her father, who was always tossing out phrases in that ancient language. ‘So far, I’ll only know if Daddy says something about being a farmer.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Skye. ‘Since he’s a professor.’
‘How old do I have to be to read War and Peace?’ asked Jane. ‘It would soothe my wounds to find a kindred spirit in Mr Tolstoy.’
‘Older than ten, that’s for sure,’ said Skye. Unwilling to be pinched in the ankle again, she headed back for the sugar mixture in the pan, but this time Rosalind was ready with a body block.
‘No more,’ she said. ‘I’m making a pineapple upside-down cake for Aunt Claire, and you’re ruining it.’
‘Aunt Claire is visiting!’ Jane’s face lit up. ‘In my agony, I’d forgotten. She will soothe my wounds.’
‘And while I’m finishing the cake, you two can get the guest room ready for her.’
‘Homework . . .’ muttered Skye, drifting towards the door.
‘You never do homework on Fridays,’ Rosalind said briskly. ‘Go.’
Despite Skye’s attempt to avoid helping, she was an excellent worker, and the next hour at the Penderwick house went smoothly. The clean sheets and towels were taken care of, the living room was straightened up, and, as a special touch, Batty and Hound were both brushed. Just as Rosalind pulled the finished cake out of the oven, Jane’s joyful yell rang through the house.
‘Aunt Claire’s here!’
THIS VISIT OF Aunt Claire’s started out like her visits always did. There was the usual tussle to see who could hug her first, and she had dog biscuits in one pocket for Hound – just like she always did – and in the other pocket, chocolate caramels for everyone else. And when Mr Penderwick came home she sat on the kitchen worktop, just like always, while he made dinner – aubergine parmigiana – getting in his way and teasing him every time he mislaid a cooking spoon, or his glasses, or the salt, which was every two minutes. All through dinner she continued to be the same old Aunt Claire – telling funny stories about her job and peppering the girls with questions about school. It wasn’t until everyone had stuffed themselves with aubergine and the table had been cleared that the visit started to turn odd. Rosalind was just bringing out the pineapple upside-down cake when Aunt Claire abruptly pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘I think—’ She sat down again. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Maybe not what?’ asked Jane.
Aunt Claire stood up again. ‘I mean, I guess this would be as good a time as any. Though, actually, later would be better.’
She sat down yet again, and smiled at everyone. They would have smiled back if it hadn’t been obvious that her smile was a guilty one, though the idea of Aunt Claire being guilty of anything was beyond imagination.
Mr Penderwick frowned. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘I’m fine. Just ignore me,’ she said gaily. ‘The cake looks delicious, Rosalind. Aren’t you going to cut it?’
Rosalind picked up the cake knife, but before she could make a cut, Aunt Claire was back on her feet.
‘No, no, definitely best to get it over with. I’ll go and get the presents from my car.’ And she rushed out of the room.
‘What presents?’ Skye asked, but no one knew. It wasn’t Christmas or a birthday.
‘Is Aunt Claire going crazy?’ This was Batty, and no one could answer her, either. If Aunt Claire wasn’t going crazy, she was doing a good job of acting like she was.
Then she was back, pulling a shiny new red truck full of interestingly shaped packages and talking very quickly. ‘The truck is for Batty, of course. Sorry I couldn’t wrap it, dear, but it’s too big and bulky. The wrapped packages are for the other three girls.’
‘All right, Claire,’ said Mr Penderwick. ‘What is all this about?’
‘Can’t I bring gifts without a reason?’
‘You never have before,’ said Rosalind. Aunt Claire was making her nervous.
‘You’re hiding something, Claire,’ said Mr Penderwick. ‘You know that never works. Remember my submarine?’
‘What submarine?’ asked Skye.
‘Your aunt destroyed my favourite model submarine and blamed it on our dog, Ozzie. But I knew it was her.’
‘It’s nothing like your submarine this time!’ cried Aunt Claire.
‘Then what is it?’ Rosalind burst out – she couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Are you sick, Aunt Claire?’ asked Jane, looking suddenly pale and sickly herself.
‘No, no, I’m not sick. It’s— I mean, I should have started all this with your father later, in private. Not that it’s anything so terrible. I just— Oh, Martin!’
Mr Penderwick took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sleeve. ‘Girls, give me a few minutes alone with your aunt, will you?’
‘Can’t they open the presents first?’ pleaded Aunt Claire. ‘Or at least take them with them?’
‘They may take them.’
It was a miserable group that filed into the living room, with Rosalind dragging the red truck, and Skye dragging Hound, who would have preferred to stay in the vicinity of the pineapple upside-down cake. No one was in the mood for presents.
‘It would be ungrateful not to open them,’ said Jane after a few moments of gloomy silence. She still wasn’t in the mood for presents, but she’d noticed that the package with JANE on it was the right size and shape to be books.
So Rosalind handed out the packages. Jane’s was indeed books, six of them by Eva Ibbotson, one of her favourite authors. Skye got an impressive pair of binoculars, army issue and with night vision. And Rosalind’s gift was two sweaters, one white and one blue.
‘Two!’ she said. ‘Something is definitely wrong.’
‘And my books are all hardbacks, and two of them I haven’t read even once yet,’ added Jane. ‘These must be Aunt Claire’s dying gifts.’
‘She said she wasn’t sick. Besides, she looks perfectly healthy.’
‘People often look perfectly healthy right before they die.’
‘Then we could all die.’ Batty climbed into her new truck. Perhaps it was safer in there.
‘Nobody’s going to die,’ said Rosalind.
‘Shh,’ said Skye, and now everyone noticed that she was lurking near the door.
‘You’re eavesdropping!’ said Jane.
‘Eavesdropping isn’t honourable. I just happen to be standing here, that’s all,’ said Skye.
Her reasoning was so logical that her sisters decided to stand with her, and if they were quiet because there was nothing left to say, was that really the same as eavesdropping? Whether it was or not, it didn’t do them any good, for all they heard were bits and pieces. Aunt Claire was talking quickly, and their father said ‘NO’ once loudly, and then they went back and forth, and the girls heard their mother’s name – Elizabeth – several times. Then there was silence, until without warning the door flew open, almost hitting Skye in the nose.
It was their father, his hair rumpled and his glasses sliding down his nose. He was holding a piece of blue notepaper, holding it gently as though it were delicate and precious. At the sight of it, Rosalind suddenly felt cold inside, so cold she shivered, though none of it made sense – the letter, the cold, or the shivering.
‘It’s all right, girls. Not a tragedy. More of a comedy, or perhaps a tragicomedy. Come back in.’
They filed back into the kitchen, sat down and thanked Aunt Claire for their gifts. The pineapple upside-down cake sat, ignored, in the middle of the table.
‘You tell them, Claire,’ said Mr Penderwick. ‘This is your doing.’
‘I explained to you, Martin, it’s not my doing,’ she said.
‘Tell them,’ he said.
‘Well, girls . . .’ She paused, then hurried on. ‘What would you think of your father beginning to date?’
There was a shocked silence. Whatever anyone had imagined, it wasn’t this.
‘Dates? You mean, like films and dinner and romance?’ asked Jane finally.
‘Romance! Bah!’ said Mr Penderwick, his glasses falling off altogether and clattering to the floor.
Aunt Claire picked up the glasses and gave them back to him. ‘Films and dinner, yes, but there’s no rush for romance.’
Again, no one could think of what to say. The only sound was Hound’s snuffling search for crumbs on the floor.
‘I don’t think you’re the type for dating, Daddy,’ said Skye after a while. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he said. ‘I agree with you.’
Batty slipped off her chair and onto her father’s lap. ‘Why would you, Daddy?’
‘Your mother thought it best, honey,’ said Aunt Claire.
‘Mommy?’ This was Jane, whispering.
Rosalind was feeling dizzy. The kitchen now seemed too warm and the lights too bright. ‘No, I don’t believe it,’ she said. ‘There’s been a mistake.’
‘It’s true, Rosy. This was your mother’s idea,’ said Mr Penderwick, looking down at the blue paper he was still holding. ‘She was afraid I’d be lonely.’
‘But you have us,’ said Rosalind.
‘Grown-ups sometimes need the company of other grown-ups,’ said Aunt Claire. ‘No matter how wonderful their children are.’
‘I don’t understand why this is happening now,’ said Skye, picking up a fork and stabbing the table. ‘Is there someone you want to date, Daddy?’
‘No, there is not.’ Mr Penderwick looked like he wouldn’t mind doing some stabbing himself.
‘Your mother believed you girls would be old enough by now that Martin could expand his world a bit, and frankly, I don’t think she was wrong,’ said Aunt Claire. ‘So he and I have agreed upon a plan. Your father will jump into the dating pool, shall we say, and stay there for the next few months. During that time he’ll take out at least four different women.’
‘Four!’ Stab, stab, stab, stab went Skye’s fork.