Gracious Living by Andrea Goldsmith Page B

decided she was an unnecessary child; certainly, after the others had taken their allotted shares there was precious little left for her. Although there was something unnerving about Kate when Mrs Marley bothered to notice her at all. She was too eager to please, too pliant, seemingly satisfied with anything; it was as if she had no needs of her own. And yet she was bright, very bright, but even that was not without its difficulties. The mother seemed irritated by the child’s watchful gaze, by the mousy head buried in a book; but at the same time, it was on those occasions when Kate excelled at school that Mrs Marley appeared to be proud. Indeed, these were the only times when Kate won the attention she so desperately wanted, mistaking it for love – which she wanted most of all.
    When you are older childhood becomes explicable, but at the time you will try anything. Kate would study Robyn, analyse how she made her demands, and then privately practise the same lines. And yet in reality, to ask, to demand, eluded her – except in illness with its routine requests. Jean was an attentive, gentle nurse and Kate would have liked to be sick more often; but she was a robust child and a hopeless liar.
    It was a matter of self-protection, she decided later; asking revealed too much. Kate served herself up tightly: she constructed a pleasant manner, became known as a good listener, was kind and obliging if a little bland. It was only as a young woman, having realised how selectively love is given and how truly monastic had been her childhood, that she began to change, discovering her self as a far more interesting topic than the selves of others. But as a child she thought that listening and niceness were the avenues to love; that, and excelling at her school work. All of which were quite easy; only asking remained difficult.
    When Kate was five she began to learn ballet and at nine she dreamed of becoming a famous ballerina. One Saturday afternoona few weeks before Christmas when the family were all together, Jean asked everyone what they wanted for Christmas. Graham wanted a meccano set, Faith wanted clothes, Robyn wanted her own bedroom even when Faith was home from boarding-school, and Kate wanted a ballerina’s dress.
    Robyn, Faith and Graham made their requests and then it was Kate’s turn. She desperately wanted a tutu, she desperately wanted to be a ballerina, but she did not want anyone to know. The tears began, the inevitable, stubborn tears. To cry was as bad as making the request, to cry was to reveal that something important was happening. Kate excused herself, her sobs now audible, and ran to her room. Jean followed, demanding to know what was the matter. Eventually Kate told her she wanted a tutu. ‘Well then, why all the fuss? Why didn’t you say so?’
    On Christmas morning the tutu was duly there, but the dream and the dress had spoiled. Once or twice Kate donned the costume to give a self-conscious performance for the family; but often in private, when the others were out, she would try on the ballerina’s dress, sit on the bed stroking the tulle, the satin bodice, her own bare shoulders, not looking and not even thinking, because she knew she would never be a ballerina.
    The following Christmas when Mrs Marley asked what each of them wanted, Kate, determined never again to expose herself as she had done a year earlier, said she wanted clothes, any clothes, whatever her mother thought she needed. That year Graham received a farm set, and the girls were each given a pair of Speedos. Kate hated hers, none of her friends wore such things and she did not like to be different. For the first time in her life she refused her mother – Robyn did it all the time but this was Kate’s first time. And how she regretted it. When it was all over Kate felt mean and ungrateful and even worse than she had twelve months earlier over the tutu.
    She was relieved when it was time to begin boarding-school, and the fact of her