are we to do?” wailed Astrid. “I did so need this break.”
“I detest cancelling bookings,” agreed Aunt Dot.
“Oh, there’s no real problem,” said Cousin Ronald. David agreed with him. To his mind, there was no problem at all, and his heart warmed to Cousin Ronald. He thought he must certainly get Cousin Ronald to himself after lunch and tell him about those wickets at last. Cousin Ronald had the right ideas. “Look at some of these,” said Cousin Ronald, passing his papers round. “It’s not easy to find something at such short notice that doesn’t involve considerable outlay, but I think it can be done. The one you’ve got, for instance, Mother.”
“T. W. Scrum MA,” read Aunt Dot off her paper. “Holiday Tutorials in Elementary Mathematics. Starting next Tuesday, I see. Quite reasonably priced, but it says board and lodging extra, dear.”
“And no doubt a terrible bill for books,” quavered Uncle Bernard, frail at the mere thought, scanning the paper he held. “This Cruise doesn’t start till next month.”
“Here’s a Camp that might do,” said Astrid. “Oh no. It says for under tens. David’s older than that, isn’t he?”
“Of course I am,” said David. No one seemed to hear.
“I think Scrum’s our best bet,” Cousin Ronald said jovially, and Aunt Dot agreed with him.
In growing outrage and dismay, David listened to them planning – just as if he were not in the room – to get rid of him by sending him to do maths with Mr Scrum until the end of August. Cousin Ronald had gone into it very thoroughly. He assured them that Mr Scrum was the best and cheapest way of disposing of David. David revised his opinion of Cousin Ronald. As for the others, he had no opinion of them to revise. He bore it until he heard Uncle Bernard say, “Yes, I think so too. David’s mathematics are very weak.”
“They are not!” David said indignantly. Then, realising that it would not do to annoy anyone any further, he said as politely as he could, “I’m quite good at maths, Uncle Bernard. I came third in my form this term.”
“Ah, but why didn’t you come first?” said Cousin Ronald. “We’ll settle for Scrum, then, shall we?”
“Let it be Scrum,” said Aunt Dot decidedly.
David saw his fate being sealed and became frantic. “No, you needn’t,” he said loudly. Everyone turned angrily towards him. David made an effort to sound polite and reasonable, but he had to try so hard that his voice came out as loud and careful as a radio announcer’s. “It’s quite simple really,” he said. “Why don’t you all go to Scarborough and just leave me here?”
“Oh indeed?” said Uncle Bernard. “And what do you propose doing in our absence?”
“Fill the house with compost and marmalade, I expect,” said Astrid.
“No,” said David. “That was a mistake. I’d be very careful, and I’d be out all day playing cricket.” An idea came to him as he spoke. It struck him as a brilliant one. “I tell you what – you could buy me a bicycle.”
“You’ll be asking for your own car next,” said Astrid. “Will you want a Rolls, or could you make do with a Mini?”
“Out of the question,” pronounced Aunt Dot.
“No, it isn’t,” David said eagerly. “A bicycle would cost much less than going to Mr Scrum. I thought you’d leap at the idea, really. It’s three miles to the recreation ground, you see.”
“Get this clear, David,” said Cousin Ronald. “You are going to Mr Scrum for your own good, and not to any recreation ground on any kind of conveyance.”
“I don’t want to go to Mr Scrum!” David said desperately.
“Why not?” Astrid said, laughing. “He may be very nice.”
“How do you know?” said David. “How would you like to go to Mr Scrum?” Astrid’s mouth came open. Before she or anyone else could speak, David plunged on, again trying so hard to be polite that his voice came out like an announcer’s. “It’s like this, you see. I hate being with you and you don’t want me, so the best thing is just to leave me here. You don’t have to spend lots of money on Mr Scrum to get rid of me. I’ll be quite all right here.”
There was a long and terrible silence. One of the shiny green flies buzzed maddeningly three times up and down the table before anyone so much as moved. At last, Cousin Ronald, red right up to the bald part of his head, pushed back his chair with a scrape that made David jump, and stood up.
“Get out,” he said, with fearful calmness. “Leave this room, you ungrateful brat, leave your lunch and don’t dare come back until you can speak more politely. Go on. Get out.”
David stood up. He walked to the door, which had somehow moved several miles off since he last came through it, and when he finally reached it, he turned and looked at them all. Three of them were sitting like statues of themselves. Cousin Ronald was still standing up, glaring at him. David saw that he really was the same height as Cousin Ronald, and that made him feel much less frightened of him, but much more miserable.
“I took five wickets against Radley House last week,” he said to Cousin Ronald. “You couldn’t do that.”
“Get out,” said Cousin Ronald.
“And I bowled our games master. Middle stump,” said David.
“Get out!” said Cousin Ronald.
“First ball,” said David, and he went out and shut the door very carefully and quietly behind him, much as he would have liked to slam it. Mrs Thirsk was coming up the passage from the kitchen, perhaps to bring the pudding, but more likely because she had heard something interesting going on. “Thin grey pudding!” David said loudly. But he could not meet Mrs Thirsk face to face because there were now tears in his eyes. He slipped out of the side-door instead and went running up the garden with great strides, until he reached the private space between the wall and the compost heap.
It was baking hot there. The air quivered off the compost. David stripped off the ballet-skirt sweater – which served to dry his face – and squatted down anyhow in the middle of the gravel. He could not remember having been so angry or so miserable before. For a while, he was too angry and miserable even to think.
His first real thought was to wonder why he had not seen before that all his relations wanted was to get rid of him whenever they could. He supposed that was why they made such a point of his being grateful – because they looked after him when they did not want him in the least. And he wondered why he had not realised before.
His second thought was to wish he could go away and live on a desert island. Knowing that was impossible made him so miserable that he had to walk about and scrub his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he thought he would like to have the law on his relations. But they had not done anything he could have the law on them for. The judge would say they had treated him well and he ought to be grateful.
“Oh, I hate being grateful!” David said. And he wished his relations were wicked, instead of just ordinary people, so that he could do something awful to them.
Then
