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Tidying up
 “Then
we ought to get on with it.”
I said nothing. I hated it when a girl tried to order me
about. And, being a girl, I couldn’t give her a clout when I
got tired of hearing her voice. It was, of course, her aunt’s
idea that our room should be tidied up, not hers, so there was
no need for her to get all uppity about it.
“I’ll put the coloring books and pencils away,” she
decided in her most important voice, “and you can shift the
toy box and sweep behind it.”
I gave her a disgusted look, which she ignored. I didn’t
like sweeping much, but it had to be done, for her aunt was
bound to look to make sure it had been done properly. She was
real sneaky like that. I dragged the box forward, hoping she
would notice the businesslike way my muscles flexed when I did
so. There was lots of nice fluffy stuff between the box and the
wall. Just the sort of stuff to ram down the neck of her shirt.
That would make her wriggle. It would be nice and tickly. I
sighed, copying the way she did it when she was exasperated -
which was most of the time - deciding not to succumb to
temptation. Her aunt wasn’t in a particularly good mood this
morning, and if I got told on, then I knew I would cop it.
“Make sure it’s done properly,” she said, her head
inside the cupboard that stored her dolls.
I didn’t bother to stick my tongue out at her. It would be
a wasted effort. She wouldn’t be able to see me, so I pulled
an ugly face instead.
I decided the mat the box was standing on would be better off
for a shake, so I grabbed hold of it and held it out of the
window by two of its corners so that I could give it a good
waggle, just as I’d seen her aunt do several times.
Unfortunately, it was heavier than I thought it would be and I
let go of it . . .
. . . just as someone stepped up to the front door.
I watched it sail slowly downwards, opening out like one of
those magic mats people traveled about on in story books of
foreign places, and descend gracefully on the Vicar’s head. He
must have been off balance, reaching out to ring the front door
bell or something, as it neatly bore him to the ground.
I couldn’t help laughing. There was the rug on the path
leading to the front door, with a great bump in it - the Vicar.
And he was a struggling Vicar. He clearly wanted to get out
from under this magic mat which had descended from the heavens
to trap him in such a undignifying manner.
And he was a swearing Vicar. For he was saying some quite
naughty words - words which I would have been whacked for, had I
used them.
“What have you done now?” She pushed me away from the
window and looked down. “Who’s under there?” she wanted to
know.
“The Vicar,” I replied. “And he seems to be rather
unhappy about it.”
“Do you think I ought to go down and help him?” she asked
brightly.
I bent down and, grabbing her by her ankles, unended her and
made as if I was going to drop her out of the window too.
It was her scream that brought her aunt running to see what
was happening. She opened the front door, stepped out and fell
headlong over the rug, clearly not expecting our bedroom rug to
be on the path up to the door. She lost her balance and fell
forward, on top of the Vicar’s head, which he’d only just
managed to free from the enveloping confines of the rug.
He mumbled a couple more rather naughty words. Rather, they
sounded mumbled as he was uttering them into her aunt’s
middle, and into her apron which appeared to have wrapped itself
around his face.
Not to be outdone, her aunt scrambled to her feet. But in
doing so, she managed to stand on the Vicar’s hand.
He said an extremely naughty word which made us both giggle.
I didn’t know Vicars even knew such words.
“Now, see what you’ve done,” she grumbled, as I let go
of her ankles and tried to convince her that I wasn’t really
going to tip her out of the window.
Her aunt and the Vicar were now on their feet and were
brushing themselves down so I stepped back away from the window
before they saw us looking down on them and sat down heavily in
the open toy box.
She burst out laughing to see me sitting in the toy box with
my legs up in the air.
Her aunt naturally thought she was laughing at her, and
loudly demanded that we come down and explain ourselves.
When we arrived downstairs, the Vicar was still trying to
remove the bits of fluff which had stuck all over his nice black
suit. I was glad now that I hadn’t stuffed it down her shirt,
as it looked much better adorning the Vicar. There were some
bits adorning his hair. And there was one small bit stuck on the
end of his nose. In all, I thought it was quite an improvement.
Her aunt started asking all sorts of difficult questions,
whilst the Vicar looked very sour indeed.
“The rug fell out of the window,” I explained.
“You mean to say that it jumped off the floor on its own
and sailed out of the window?” her aunt asked nastily.
I shook my head. “I was going to shake it,” I started to
explain.
“But you were told to sweep it,” her aunt pointed out.
The Vicar looked at me as though he didn’t like me very
much. Which was a pity as I liked people to like me.
“Then you ought to apologize?” her aunt said, looking me
straight in the eye.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. Though I couldn’t imagine
what I was saying I was sorry for and I had quite enjoyed it all
- other than ending up in the toy box as I’d have a nasty
bruise where I’d sat down heavily on a wooden fire engine.
“Then you ought to finish tidying up whilst I discuss
something with the Vicar,” her aunt said. “Leave the mat
where it is. I’ll bring it up when I come to inspect your
handiwork.”
We disappeared upstairs again, freed from the
unpleasant atmosphere downstairs.
“Do you think we could drop the toy box on his head when he
leaves?” she asked, giving me a look that suggested she
thought I was something of a hero.
“It might be a nice idea,” I agreed, “but I think it
would be too heavy for us.”
She nodded. “Then what about a couple of cushions?”
I thought not. We’d survived the rug episode. That was an
accident. A couple of cushions might not look like an accident.
- Warren Roff-Marsh
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