The Pink House at Appleton by Jonathan Braham Page B

sun-touched hair, and wore a lilac gingham dress. As he watched, the maid let the bicycle go. After an awkward moment, during which everyone stood braced for action, the bicycle circled the poinciana tree in the centre of the garden and vanished round the corner of the house in a wink of pink. Mr and Mrs Mitchison and the maid followed, half-running. Boyd waited in his spot under the trees, unblinking. But she did not reappear. A sudden wind blew up from the valley, rustling the trees, sprinkling a potpourri of new scents which appeared in sad and exciting colour. And he went into himself, deep down where thoughts originated. Something had shifted in his firmament. Poppy was frantic at his feet, prancing, tail whipping about, breathing furiously, tongue lashing. His thoughts racing, redolent in hibiscus-pink, Boyd felt fascination of a kind he had never known. He couldn’t wait to see the pink girl again.
    That night at dinner, Yvonne said, ‘Mama, there’s a little white girl next door. I saw her peeping over the fence.’
    â€˜That will be the Mitchison’s daughter, Susan,’ Papa told them.
    Boyd trembled when he heard this. What a name.
Susan
. It had music and heartbeat and the scent of evening primrose. And it was pink like the Appleton sunsets.
    That night he stayed up late listening to the radio and the pretty songs, “Don’t Forbid Me”, “Moonlight Gambler” and “The Green Door.” The peeny-waalies flew by the window and away into the night. And he was warm and dying, dying with gladness. No one knew. He just listened to the radio, the crackling Mullard radio, and through the whizz and the buzz and the miaow, heard the pretty songs from the distant place and thought of the people who had just arrived at the house down the road. The door to their house was “The Green Door”
(
one more night without sleeping, watching till the morning comes creeping). He couldn’t sleep and longed for the next day when the figure on the bicycle would appear with the sun and the sugar smell of Appleton.

CHAPTER 9

    One more night without sleeping,
    watching till the morning comes creeping.

    She did not appear at all the next morning, and not in the afternoon, the girl on the bicycle.
Susan
. That wonderful name. He repeated it over and over again until it became more than a name. And he was waiting for her the following day too, sheltered among the green things, the binoculars clamped to his eyes. When at last he was about to give up, she appeared from the side of the house with the sun behind her. She did not see him. Waves of warm air, in shimmering streams, separated the two of them. She continued walking towards the periwinkle fence on her side of the private road and seemed to be looking for something in the bushes. Boyd left the shadow of the trees. He saw her hair ablaze in the sun. She was pink against the green. Breathlessly he put the binoculars down.
    Birds flew up out of the hedge and across the road. Instantly her head jerked back. She watched as the small yellow birds flew in a smooth, undulating motion and alighted on the fence opposite, where a small boy and a dog stood looking into the sky. She drew closer to the fence, surprised, not expecting to see anyone there. The boy was not looking into the sky but over her shoulder. His head was inclined obliquely. She saw him see her in that split-hazy moment. But before their eyes met, he quickly looked down, as if shy. Then he moved backwards into the trees. She stood on tiptoe to try to see over the hedge, but the boy, about her age, did not reappear. Through the sunshine-yellow haze she saw the pink house looming through the trees like a picture in a book. All was quiet. Susan Mitchison stood still. She heard the musical voices whispering
hush, hushh
,
hushhh
, and in her quietness was overcome with unspeakable joy.
It was just as she imagined it when Rosalind came upon Orlando in the Forest of Arden!
The