At Home with the Templetons Page 7
‘You’re a mind reader,’ she said, settling down into the worn armchair.
‘Am I? Why?’ It was another of the school mums. ‘Did you see the newspaper this morning? That Templeton girl’s crash? It has to be a publicity stunt, don’t you think?’
Nina had to stop herself laughing. She bit back all she wanted to say and put on a bright, casual voice instead. ‘A crash? Really? What happened?’
CHAPTER FOUR
The next time they met at the yabby dam, Spencer told Tom all about Gracie’s crash.
‘She was driving down the main street at a hundred kilometres an hour and she went into a skid and the car rolled four times and her arm nearly got torn off. The policeman had to carry her into our house and after he left the entire floor was covered in blood.’
‘Is it still there?’
‘A bit of it. Mum cleaned up the rest. Do you want to see it?’ Spencer asked eagerly.
Tom remembered his mother saying he wasn’t allowed to go beyond the boundary fence. He remembered her saying she didn’t want him going to Templeton Hall again. He just couldn’t remember why not. ‘What about the yabbies?’
Spencer shrugged. ‘They’ll be there tomorrow, won’t they?’
Thirty minutes later, Tom couldn’t believe all he was seeing. He’d done a tour of the Hall the day of that fete, but he didn’t remember it being anything like this. How come he’d never been back here before now? It was fantastic. Better than fantastic.
Spencer showed him through every room, upstairs and downstairs, into the dining room, the living room, the morning room. Tom hadn’t known rooms could have so many names. He saw the big kitchen, the pantry, the three bathrooms, with enormous baths that could easily hold three people each. Eight bedrooms – eight of them! Spencer also proudly showed him the blood on the hallway floor. Tom thought it looked more like a speck of paint, but Spencer insisted it was blood. His mother must have done even more cleaning up that morning, he said.
Tom met some of Spencer’s family too. Spencer had told him to prepare himself: that his three sisters were revolting, especially the two home on holiday from boarding school. But Tom thought they were all nice, even if they looked a bit surprised to see him.
‘Did your parents leave you behind after the weekend tour?’ one of the older ones, Charlie, Tom thought her name was, asked him.
‘He’s a local,’ Spencer said, in a voice that made local sound like something unpleasant. ‘We met at the dam.’
‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,’ the other sister said, which made the one called Charlie laugh loudly. Tom didn’t get the joke but smiled anyway.
The sister around his age called Gracie, the one who’d been in the crash, was much more friendly and normal. She was in the drawing room. Tom wanted to ask if they did their drawing in there, but something stopped him. He was surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a sling on her nearly torn-off arm but decided not to ask about it. She was polishing a row of silver jugs. Spencer picked one up and pulled a face into it, showing Tom his distorted reflection, urging Tom to try it. So he did. Then Gracie did it too and it was funny, all three of them poking their tongues at the jugs.
Spencer’s dad came in then. ‘Welcome to Templeton Hall, boy-from-that-house-a-few-paddocks-away,’ he said, when Spencer introduced him as that. He left again, before Tom had a chance to say anything more than hello.
‘His name’s Tom,’ Spencer called after his father. ‘Come on, Tom, let’s go upstairs. See you, Gracie. Happy polishing.’
‘See you, Gracie,’ Tom echoed.
‘Lovely to meet you, Tom,’ she said, giving him a very nice smile.
For the next hour, he and Spencer took turns sliding down the long polished staircase banister. It was more fun than any adventure park Tom had ever visited. He forgot the time, forgot about his dinner, forgot about the whistle, forgot everything, as they slid, ran to the top again, slid, ran to the top, again and again, without anyone telling them off.
‘You’re actually allowed to do this?’ he asked.
‘I’m allowed to do whatever I want,’ Spencer said.
Tom had just completed a particularly fast slide down the banister to a loud cheer from Spencer, when the telephone started to ring and a knock sounded at the front door.
‘Hide, quick,’ Spencer whispered.
‘Why?’
‘Just do it,’ Spencer said. ‘Here, quick.’
Tom followed Spencer across the hall, into a big room with sofas and tables and in behind a screen in front of the fireplace, decorated with a picture of a deer.
‘I hid here for two hours once,’ Spencer whispered as they both crouched down. ‘You can hear everything.’
Spencer was right, Tom discovered. From their hiding place he was able to hear a man at the door identify himself as a policeman, hear his own name mentioned, hear ‘his mother is frantic’, ‘missing for more than two hours’, ‘we’ve checked all the dams’, ‘you haven’t by any chance seen —’
‘A twelve-year-old boy?’ It was Mr Templeton speaking. ‘Dark hair? Yes, he’s here.’
‘He’s here?’ the policeman answered. ‘Here? Can I use your phone?’
‘I’d better go out there,’ Tom said, standing up.
‘Not yet,’ Spencer whispered, grabbing him. ‘Wait until they find us. Or until they get really desperate. Whichever happens first.’
Tom felt strange, as if he’d been turned into two versions of himself. There was the Tom who did what his mother asked, who carried the whistle, who felt sad when she worried about him. But the other, new version of himself – the Tom he was at that moment – felt different. A policeman was looking for him! He’d spent the afternoon running wild in this big house! It felt bad, but it also felt good. Exciting. Adventurous. There was trouble ahead, he knew without a doubt. But he also realised something else. It was going to be worth it.
‘Spencer? Tom? Spencer?’ There were three voices calling their names now, and one of them was getting closer.
‘We come out now,’ Spencer said firmly. He stepped out from behind the fireguard. ‘Sorry. Have you been looking for us? Here we are.’
Tom stepped out beside Spencer, feeling that strange combination of defiance and excitement again.
‘Here we are,’ he echoed.
Two hours later, Tom’s arm hurt from where his mother had gripped it, his back hurt from where she’d hugged him too tightly, his eyes hurt from blinking back his own tears after she’d started crying, and he was still shocked by the severity of his punishment.
‘You’re grounded for a month, Tom. Do you understand that? Completely grounded. We had a deal but you disobeyed everything I’ve ever asked you. I’ve never been so worried. I thought you were dead, drowned, kidnapped. You’re grounded for a month and no pocket money either. You can leave this house or this yard to go to school or to cricket practice but that’s it. Do you understand? No outings, no treats, nothing.’
‘But Spencer invited me back tomorrow. He —’
‘Forget Spencer. Forget that whole family and that whole house. You’re never going back there again.’
‘But he’s lonely too. He hasn’t got any friends around here either.’
She stopped shouting then. ‘You’ve got plenty of friends, at school, in the cricket team …’
Tom didn’t say anything.
Her voice softened even more. ‘I’m only doing this because I love you, Tom. I thought something terrible had happened to you today. I couldn’t bear it if it had.’
‘But it didn’t happen. We were just having fun.’
‘I know that’s how it looks to you, but you’re still grounded. Goodnight. I love you.’
He knew he should have said ‘I love you too’. He did love his mother. But he kept thinking about that huge house, the staircase, Spencer and his family… . It felt awful to think it, even for a minute, but a tiny part of him was wishing that was his house, his family, not this small house, with just h
im and his mother.
‘Tom?’ She was beside him again, hugging him, kissing his head. She hadn’t stopped touching him since the policeman had brought him back home. ‘I love you very much.’
‘I love you too,’ he said, finally.
A week after the incident with the-boy-from-that-house-a-few-paddocks-away, as Tom had become known by the family, Henry was disturbed at his attempts to do the accounts (though he’d long put them away and was browsing through an antiques catalogue) by a knock at the office door.
‘Come in,’ he called.
First Charlotte appeared, then Audrey, followed by Gracie and Spencer.
‘A delegation,’ he said, pushing the magazine aside and looking up with a cheerful expression. ‘Just what I’m in the mood for. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
The three youngest looked to Charlotte, who was wearing a defiant expression. ‘We’ve come to hand in our resignation.’
‘Resignation? From what exactly?’
‘From our jobs here. From working for you and Mum. We don’t want to do it any more.’
Henry stood up, leaned both arms on his desk and sighed. ‘There are days when we’re all unhappy with our lot, Charlotte. When we wish we could be anywhere but where we are. When we wish fate had dealt us a different hand. But resign from your family? I’m sorry, but there’s the little matter of all of us being related to each other. You can’t leave.’
‘We’re not leaving the family. We’re resigning from Templeton Hall.’
‘And moving where? Out to the chicken coop? Into Castlemaine? Or are you planning on living full-time at the boarding school? You’ll love it there, Spencer. You can be everyone’s little boy-pet.’
‘We’re serious, Dad,’ Audrey said. She was wearing full make-up, her hair elaborately styled.
Gracie said nothing, but looked as if she was about to cry. Spencer just looked cross.
‘I see,’ Henry said. ‘Then your mother should be here too. Excuse me for a moment.’
The four Templeton children stood motionless as their father walked out into the hallway. They heard him calling their mother’s name.
‘He won’t accept it. I told you he wouldn’t,’ Audrey hissed. ‘We should have done this my way.’
‘Gone on a hunger strike?’ Charlotte hissed back. ‘Forget it. Anyway, he has to accept it. What’s he going to do, force us into the costumes? Put guns to our heads as we lead groups around?’
Gracie looked even more tearful. ‘Maybe we should have discussed it with him first, not just come in and resigned.’
The sound of their parents returning halted the conversation. The four children stood up straight, staring ahead.
Henry spoke first. ‘Here are our children, Eleanor, standing strangely and saying all sorts of peculiar things. Start again, Charlotte. Perhaps it will make more sense the second time around.’
This time Charlotte directed her comments to her mother. ‘We’re resigning. We don’t want to be guides here any more.’
‘Or dress up,’ Audrey added.
‘Or have people coming into our house looking at us as if we were performing pigs.’
‘It’s seals, Charlotte, not pigs,’ Audrey said.
‘Shut up, Audrey. We mean it, Mum. We’re going on strike. You’ll have to find someone else to do the tours.’
‘Someone else?’ Henry said, his voice mild. ‘Four other children who will have a much better sense of family loyalty, who will recognise that working together like this is the only way we can keep Templeton Hall running?’
‘That’s enough, Henry,’ Eleanor’s voice was calm, her expression composed. ‘I presume you all have your reasons? Perhaps we could hear them, discuss them?’
Charlotte crossed her arms. ‘Our position is non-negotiable.’
‘The only certain things in life are death and taxes,’ Henry said cheerfully. ‘Everything else is negotiable. Charlotte, I can see you’re the ringleader here, though you seem to have some strong thoughts as well, Audrey. As for you, Spencer, you look like you’d rather be out catching pigeons. But, Gracie, my little Gracie, do you seriously mean it? You don’t want to be part of our family fun any more?’
A pinch from Charlotte provoked a squeaky response from Gracie. ‘No. No, I don’t.’
‘And why is that?’
Gracie glanced at Charlotte again, who gave her a fierce nod. ‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘Dressing up in colonial clothes and sharing your heritage and the history of this great country with eager tourists is embarrassing? Why is that?’
Another pinch from Charlotte. ‘We look silly,’ Gracie said in a small voice.
‘I’m sure the tens of thousands of little girls and boys and their parents who wore these clothes in the 1860s didn’t feel they looked silly. In fact, in my opinion, it’s the people who visit us in their modern gear who look silly, all tank tops and T-shirts with slogans and ill-fitting shorts. But point taken. Audrey, your reason?’
‘We never get any time to ourselves. Every weekend we have to do this. All our friends at school have normal lives.’
‘Normal lives? What is a normal life?’
‘They watch TV, go shopping, play sport.’
‘And do they earn money doing that?’
‘Well, no. They get pocket money.’
‘Are they gaining valuable work skills for the outside world watching TV, going shopping and playing sport?’
‘Well, no, but —’
‘Are they amassing a fund of unique childhood memories that will give them food for hundreds of dinner party conversations in years to come?’
Audrey just shrugged.
‘Do they make their parents as proud as you make your mother and I every weekend, when we see you all being so charming, so articulate, helping us get Templeton Hall on its feet? Making not just us proud, but surely your ancestors as well, from the distant great-uncle who built this beautiful property to all the family members involved over the years, each of us strengthening the bonds between England and Australia? Do they?’
Audrey, Gracie and Spencer looked a bit lost. Charlotte stood her ground.
‘It’s slave labour, Dad. Is that really something to be proud of?’
‘I’m hardly forcing you to hand-weave twenty carpets per day.’
‘You take us for granted. You just tell us to do things, you never ask us.’
‘I say please, don’t I?’
‘No,’ all four children chorused.
‘Don’t I, Eleanor?’
‘No,’ five voices chorused that time.
‘This strike is about me not saying please?’
Charlotte nodded. ‘That’s one of our concerns. We’d also like to discuss our wage agreement.’
‘We don’t have a wage agreement.’
‘Exactly,’ Audrey and Charlotte said. Gracie was now biting her lip. Spencer was sitting on the floor, tying his shoelaces together.
‘You’ll trip over, Spencer,’ Eleanor said.
Spencer kept tying.
‘So this strike action, you’re serious about it?’ Henry asked.
‘Unless you come back to us with fair and just working agreements,’ Charlotte said, ‘you and Mum are on your own.’
‘You and Mum and Hope,’ Gracie corrected.
Charlotte bit back a smile. ‘Of course. How silly of me. I forgot Hope. Helpful Hope. Happy Hope. Hiccuppy Hope.’
‘That’s enough, Charlotte,’ Eleanor warned.
‘So let me see your demands, Charlotte.’ Henry said. ‘I presume that’s the paper you’re holding. It’s obviously not your homework, if your last report is anything to go by.’
‘That’s not funny, Dad. I’ve told you, my teachers have serious attitude problems.’
‘How strange it is always the teachers’ fault. Wouldn’t you think that just once, Charlotte, your bad marks might have something to do with your bad behaviour?’
‘We’re not talking about my schoolwork.’
‘We all want what we don’t have sometimes. I know I do. Shall I be honest? Charlotte, I would prefer it if you justified the high fees we’re paying for your boarding school by working hard and making something of yourself, rather than wasting your substantial brain finding new ways to blame others for your own failings. Audrey, yes, I can see a career as an actress would be far more appealing than a career as a chemist, but I wish you would listen to our experience, gain a degree in something that will guarantee you employment and then look into acting. Gracie, we love you, you know that, we love all four of you, but it really doesn’t matter sometimes if every curtain in the house isn’t drawn to exactly the same width, or if the forks on the dining room table aren’t perfectly aligned with the equator. We’d like you to learn to relax a little. And, Spencer —’
They all looked at Spencer. He seemed eager for his turn.
‘You’re ten years old,’ Henry said. ‘Keep doing whatever you’re doing. We’ll get on to you when you turn eleven.’ He gazed at his children again. ‘So there we have it. We all wish it was different, but it isn’t. So what are we going to do about it? More money, is that really what this is about?’
‘That would help,’ Charlotte said in a small voice.