Layla Queen of Hearts Read online

  Once the unfamiliar words on her report had been clearly explained and the excellence of the funeral lamingtons had been established, Layla felt encouraged to tackle her other problem.

  But first the afternoon tea dishes had to be dealt with. It was Layla’s turn to wash. She put on Nell’s long green dishwashing gloves with the red fingernails painted on them. Nell believed in dressing for the occasion. But just as Layla plunged her gloved hands into the sudsy water, Zeus began to squawk loudly and flap his wings.

  ‘He can hear the school bus,’ said Griffin, putting his tea towel down. ‘I’ll let him out.’

  The Rainbow Girls had arrived and, as usual, they would all be ravenous and very noisy. So Layla knew that she would have to wait for a quiet interlude before she could talk to Griffin about finding someone special to take to Senior Citizens’ Day.

  3. Birds’ Nests & Breakfast

  In large families, quiet interludes are as rare as hen’s teeth. They sometimes occur at the strangest times in the most unlikely places and must be taken advantage of immediately, before they are stolen away by someone else. It was almost unheard of to find one on a Friday evening in the Kingdom of Silk. But one was found, and it was Layla and Griffin who found it. This is how it happened.

  After dinner, preparations began for Saturday’s breakfast. In the Kingdom of Silk, breakfast on Saturday was regarded as an occasion, with capital letters. Griffin had explained to Layla that when you said a word and then added the phrase ‘in capital letters’ it was like underlining something you had written on paper or saying a word in a very loud voice.

  On this particular Saturday it was Griffin’s turn to set the table; a task that was seen as an honour and required advance preparations. Secrecy was of utmost importance.

  Layla felt Griffin take her hand and he led her to his bedroom. He shut the door behind them. Darkness and quiet closed around them as soft and silken as a cocoon.

  ‘It’s under the bed,’ Griffin whispered and flicked his torch on.

  ‘What is?’ Layla whispered back.

  ‘You’ll see. Lie down on your stomach. I don’t want to pull it out in case someone comes.’

  Layla lay down beside Griffin. Somewhere on the other side of the door, the floorboards creaked.

  ‘Griffin, where are you?’ The door handle rattled. The torchlight died. Layla and Griffin slithered quickly under the bed. A light clicked on, ‘Griff?’ and off again. The door shut and Layla breathed out in a rush of relief.

  Griffin turned his torch on for the second time, pulled a shoebox towards them and took the lid off. It was full of tiny birds’ nests. Wrens’ nests and Silvereyes’, woven from twigs and grasses, lined with moss and thistledown and bound together with strands of spiders’ silk and horses’ hair.

  ‘Oh, Griff, are they real?’ breathed Layla, gently touching one of them.

  ‘Seven of them are,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been saving them up for ages now. Sometimes after there’s been a storm or when it’s been really windy I find them on the ground. Nell said that the birds build new ones once that happens. But it takes a long time to get ten, so Nell helped me to make the extra ones. They’re to put the eggs in.’

  ‘Which eggs?’

  ‘Ginger’s eggs, goose eggs, you know, tomorrow for breakfast.’

  ‘Oh, Griff, what a great idea! They’re so beautiful. You could never tell which ones you made and which ones the birds made.’

  ‘Honest?’

  ‘Cross my heart!’ Then they heard Violet calling, still looking for Griffin.

  ‘C’mon, we’ll have to go,’ whispered Griffin, as he put the lid back on the box. And Layla knew that this was the end of the quiet interlude that she and Griffin had found under his bed in the Kingdom of Silk on a Friday evening. She would have to be content to wait until the next day to make her plans.

  When the weather was fine on Saturdays, the Silks ate breakfast outside. Ben was always the first to get up. He lit a fire in the dome-shaped outdoor oven to bake the bread dough that he and Annie had made the day before. The first batch was almost cooked when Layla and Griffin appeared around the corner of the house in pyjamas, gumboots and parkas.

  The sun shone, the dewy ground glistened, and the aroma of baking bread filled the Kingdom of Silk. Nell was cooking pancakes on the barbecue hotplate and Annie was toasting leftover bits of last week’s bread on a bed of coals. Blue was sitting very close beside her with a practised look of hope and good behaviour on his face.

  ‘Happy Saturday, Nell and Annie and Ben!’ called Layla, and if her words had been visible they would have sparkled.

  ‘C’mon,’ said Griffin, ‘let’s set the table before the girls get up.’ Layla was carrying the box with the nests in it and Griffin had a large brown-paper bag. ‘These are instead of place mats,’ he said.

  ‘Leaves! Oh, Griff, you are clever! This is going to be the best breakfast ever!’

  ‘They’re maple leaves,’ said Griffin, placing one large leaf at each place around the long wooden table. ‘Now we can put the nests down.’ Together they arranged a nest in the centre of each of the leaves. ‘I’ve got another surprise too,’ said Griffin.

  He turned to Nell, who was coming to the table with the saucepan in her hand. ‘Nell, can we … you know?’

  ‘Yes, in a minute,’ she said, ‘but be careful, the eggs will be hot.’

  Annie called out, ‘Shall I wake the girls now?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Griffin. ‘We’re nearly ready.’

  Carefully Nell spooned a boiled goose egg into each nest and then took something from her pocket. ‘Here they are.’

  ‘Look!’ cried Griffin, holding out his hands, ‘Nell’s knitted beanies for the eggs.’ Sure enough there were ten egg-sized striped hats, complete with pompoms, to keep the eggs warm. As she helped Griffin put the hats on, Layla noticed that the eggs had faces drawn on them. She could see at once that the faces belonged to the members of the Silk family. ‘Who drew the faces?’ she asked.

  ‘Indigo, she’s the best drawer. But I coloured them in,’ answered Griffin, ‘and Indigo let me use her good pencils. You know, the ones in the tin.’

  Breakfast began when the Rainbow Girls arrived. Annie’s bread made the best toast; crisp on the outside with a layer of softness, like the mist that hung over the dam, sandwiched inside it. Nell cut the toast into fingers for dipping into the rich orange yolks of Ginger’s eggs. There was a mountain of pancakes, so many that even Blue and Zeus were allowed one each, and steaming slices of oven-fresh bread drizzled with honey from Nell’s bees.

  ‘What are these for?’ asked Layla, pointing to the small dishes piled high with broken chocolate.

  ‘It’s to make hot chocolate,’ Griffin explained. ‘You just put some chocolate in a mug and then pour in hot milk. But you’ve got to keep stirring all the time, so the chocolate melts properly.’

  Breakfast took a long time, but no one seemed to mind. Nell looked up at the sun.

  ‘It’s almost midday,’ she said.

  ‘So it is,’ said Ben. ‘But making memories can’t be hurried.’

  This reminded Layla of her daddy and his philosophising, and she wondered if he and Griffin’s daddy weren’t so different after all.

  4. A List of Likely Candidates

  ‘What are you two going to do this afternoon?’ Nell asked Layla and Griffin as they carried the empty dishes back to the house. Griffin shrugged his shoulders and looked at Layla.

  ‘I thought we might make a plan,’ she said.

  ‘What sort of a plan?’ asked Nell.

  ‘I need to find an old person to take to school.’

  ‘Oh, you mean for Senior Citizens’ Day?’ said Nell. ‘I saw the note on the back of your report.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Layla.

  ‘I told Layla you wouldn’t mind if we shared you, Nell,’ said Griffin.

  ‘Of course I wouldn’t mind,’ said Nell. ‘And I dare say there are probably lots of other people
who’d like the opportunity to go with Layla, too.’

  She set down a higgledy-piggledy stack of plates and saucers on the silver ripples at the end of the sink. Then she turned and looked past the bright braveness of Layla’s eyes, to a place deep down where memories are kept. And when she had given Layla a thorough looking-at she said, ‘But, on special occasions like this, it’s nice to have someone special of your very own.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was thinking,’ said Layla happily. ‘I thought we could make a list and interview people.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Nell.

  ‘What about Mr Jenkins?’ suggested Griffin’s daddy who had followed them into the house with a tray of hot bread. ‘He’s a nice old chap and I don’t think he has any grandchildren.’

  Scarlet was a keen list-maker and when she heard about Layla’s idea she suggested a name.

  ‘You could call it Layla’s List of Likely Candidates,’ she said.

  ‘It does have a certain ring to it,’ said Nell. Layla thought so too. Scarlet spelt the words and Layla wrote them down on a lovely clean sheet of paper that Indigo had torn out of her drawing book. Indigo had even let her choose a pencil from her tin box that had seventy-two colours, including seven shades of blue and five shades of green.

  Layla looked at the gold writing on the pencils and chose one called Madder Lake because she liked the name. She had to concentrate very hard on keeping the letters from going uphill, because the paper had no lines on it. Then she wrote Mr Jenkins’ name under the heading. While she and Griffin were trying to think of some other people to add to the list, Scarlet had another good idea.

  ‘Why don’t you make another list as well and call it The Main Contenders list?’

  ‘What would I write on it?’ asked Layla.

  ‘Well, after you interview all the likely candidates you could write down the best ones.’

  ‘What for?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘Layla might want to interview them again before she makes her final choice.’

  ‘I’ll write the heading if you like,’ offered Indigo. ‘And you can start on the interviews.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Layla. ‘We can put some more names on the list later,’ she said to Griffin, anxious to get started.

  Mr Jenkins was the unofficial caretaker of the Cameron’s Creek District Cemetery. He took pride in keeping the cemetery neat and was careful to preserve its calm and quiet atmosphere. The well-oiled lawnmower that he used once a week to trim the lawn section was almost as old as Mr Jenkins himself. It was operated by person-power. As Mr Jenkins trod purposefully and carefully between the graves in his crepe-soled sneakers, its shining blades whirred quietly, tossing out snippets of grass like green confetti.

  Blue went with Layla and Griffin. He was the only dog in Cameron’s Creek to have Mr Jenkins’ blessing to enter his cemetery. The first time Blue had gone with Layla and Griffin, Mr Jenkins refused to let him past the curly iron gates. Griffin had been about to walk all the way home again with Blue. But even then, before she knew she had it, Layla’s determination had come to the rescue.

  ‘But, Mr Jenkins,’ she said, ‘Blue’s part of the family. He’s walked all the way down from the Kingdom of Silk to visit Tishkin’s grave. He wouldn’t have any wee left by now, and besides, he’s very well mannered. He’s not the sort of dog that goes around weeing on things of sentimental value.’ Layla had no idea where she’d heard the phrase, ‘things of sentimental value’, but when Mr Jenkins grudgingly agreed to let Blue into his cemetery, she guessed that she had used it in the proper way. To her relief, Blue behaved in a very dignified manner while she and Griffin watered the rose bush planted on Tishkin’s grave and picked posies of yellow daisies to put on graves that had no flowers. Blue and Mr Jenkins had since become firm friends.

  But, when Layla, Griffin and Blue arrived on that particular Saturday, Mr Jenkins was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘We’ll just do a bit of tidying till he comes. Okay, Griff?’

  ‘Okay,’ Griffin answered. If Mr Jenkins was at home in his cottage beside the curly gates and granite piers, it wouldn’t be long before he came out. His kitchen window overlooked the cemetery and nothing that happened within its grounds escaped him. He gave guided tours to strangers at short notice, whether or not they wanted one, and even tea and biscuits if they had travelled a long way. Nell said that this was on account of his loneliness. While they waited for Mr Jenkins, Layla and Griffin shared the plastic flowers from the graves that had plenty with those that had none. But when they had finished, Mr Jenkins still had not come.

  ‘He might be sick,’ said Layla. ‘Let’s knock on his door.’

  But when they stopped outside the caretaker’s cottage, Griffin said, ‘Maybe we should just go on to the next person on your list. If he’s sick he might be in bed.’

  ‘But I haven’t thought of anyone else yet,’ said Layla. Then the door of Mr Jenkins’ house opened and a scowling, middle-aged man wearing a dirty blue tracksuit looked out.

  ‘What do you two want?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ve come to see Mr Jenkins,’ said Layla, poking her List of Likely Candidates towards him.

  ‘What’s this? I can’t read it. I haven’t got me glasses.’

  ‘We want to interview him to see if he’d like to come to Seniors’ Day at St Benedict’s.’

  ‘Well, he ain’t here to ask and even if he was, he wouldn’t be going nowhere,’ said the man. ‘He’s in hospital. He’s broke ’is leg.’

  5. The Last Resort

  Layla considered having something in common with Blue a huge compliment, but just how useful the never-give-up part of her would be, she was yet to learn. Without it she might never have met Miss Amelie. After all, she wasn’t on the List of Likely Candidates, let alone on the Main Contenders list. So Layla could not have known that they would meet or that their relationship would outlast Senior Citizens’ Day, or that it would become, what Nell called, an affair of the heart. It seemed that not even Nell had predicted this, because she had put Miss Amelie on a list of her own. A list she called her Last Resort List.

  Nell didn’t mention her Last Resort List until it was almost time for Layla to go home. Mr Jenkins’ broken leg had been the first of many disappointments that weekend. By the time Sunday was over, the four names that Layla had listed as likely candidates all had lines drawn through them and there was nothing but the title on the page marked Main Contenders.

  But even four disappointments were no match for Layla’s determination. ‘I’m not giving up until I find someone who’d like to come to school with me,’ she said, and that was when Nell told them about her Last Resort List.

  When Layla arrived home that evening, her mother was slicing vegetables for dinner.

  ‘Hello, Layla,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good time? Now, where’s your report card? Patrick got his on Friday.’ Sometimes Mrs Elliott forgot to leave a space for the answer after she asked a question. Layla took her report card out, but first she directed her mother’s attention to the note about Senior Citizens’ Day.

  ‘I need to find an old person,’ she said. Mrs Elliott looked at the note and then at the calendar near the telephone.

  ‘You’ll have to take your father if you want someone to go with you,’ she said. ‘It’s the end of the month and I’ll be far too busy at work to take that day off.’

  Mr Elliott looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading. ‘Senior? I’m not a senior yet, am I?’ He ran his hand over his thinning hair.

  ‘I keep telling you to go and see the people at Hair Affair, Anthony. A transplant would take ten years off your looks.’ Mrs Elliott tossed some beef strips and onion rings into the electric wok and turned her attention to Layla’s report.

  ‘But, Mum, I need a really old person,’ explained Layla, ‘someone a bit like Nana would be nice.’

  When a person has a mother who has an answer at the ready for any question, one who is never at a loss for words, an awkw
ard silence is a thing to be noticed. Layla noticed. At first she thought it might have been because of the long words and loopy handwriting on her report, and prepared herself to do some explaining. Then she saw that her mother’s eyes were very watery and guessed that it must be on account of the onion rings, because her mother was one of the bravest people in the universe. Layla knew this for a fact because she’d never, ever seen her cry.

  ‘What about Griffin’s grandma?’ suggested Mr Elliott. He usually left these kinds of things to his wife to sort out, but he felt a bit uncomfortable about the awkward silence. ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being a stand-in grandparent for the day and I know how much you like her.’

  ‘Griffin’s already offered to share Nell, Daddy, but …’

  ‘Well, there you are then. Problem solved,’ said Mrs Elliott without looking up. But if she had looked up, she might have seen the signs of determination that she was pretending to read about on Layla’s report card.

  ‘But Mum, I want someone of my very own to take. Can I go with Nell tomorrow when she visits the Last Resort? Please, Mum, I’ve got to find a Main Contender!’ At last Mrs Elliott looked up from Layla’s report and her voice was crisp around the edges like the beef strips that she’d left for slightly too long.

  ‘What are you talking about, Layla? You can’t just go off to some resort in the middle of term!’

  Layla wished that her mother would come and sit with her in the philosophising chair. She found it much easier to explain things there. But Mrs Elliott was cooking dinner and reading her report, and the onions were making her eyes water. And Layla knew that it wasn’t a good time to invite her to sit down, even if it was to explain about The Last Resort.

  ‘But it’s not far, Mum, just around in Chapel Street.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The Last Resort. Nell’s going there tomorrow. She said I could go with her if it was okay with you.’

  Suddenly, Layla remembered the envelope that Nell had given her. ‘Oh, I forgot, she wrote you a note about it.’