he day my sister Cora went away for a fortnight, a friend of Dadâs called Angus Flint rang up out of the blue. He said his wife had just left him, so could he come and see us to cheer himself up? I donât know how my father came to have a friend like Angus Flint. They met at college. One of them must have been different.
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Anyway, Dad was pleased Angus Flint had not forgotten him, so he said âYes,â and then told Mum. Mum said âOh,â in the blank sort of way I do when I find my brothers have pinched all my chocolate. Then she said, âI suppose he can have Coraâs room.â Imagine the way an Ancient Roman might say, âI suppose the lions can have my best friend,â and youâll know how she said it.
That ought to have been a warning because Mum can like people no sane person can stand, but I was doing my piano practice, so I didnât pay attention. Miss Hawksmoore had given me an old childrenâs song to work on called Elfin Dance , and I wasnât very good at playing it. It sounds like two very glum medium-sized elephants trying to waltz. And the next number in my book is another old song called The Fairies Party . I only carry on because I like our piano so much. Itâs a great, black, grand piano that Mum bought for £100, cheap at £1,000 to our minds.
Pip canât decide what heâs a genius at , but, a little while ago, he thought he might be a genius at playing the piano. He was doing his practice when Angus Flint arrived. But before that, Pip and Tony â Tonyâs the brother between me and Pip â had been so glad that Cora was not around to henpeck them that they had celebrated by eating â well, they wouldnât say what they had eaten, but Tony had come out in spots and been sick. Tony has the art of looking bland and vague when any misdeed happens. Mum thought he really was ill. When Angus Flint breezed in, Tony was in a chair in the sitting-room with a bowl on his knees, and Mum was fussing.
Now this shows you what Angus Flint was like. Mum went to shake hands, saying she was sorry we were at sixes and sevens. And she explained that Tony had been taken ill.
Angus Flint said, âThen open the window. I donât want to get it.â Those were his first words. He was square and stumpy, and he had a blank sort of face with pouty lips. His voice was loud and jolly.
Mum looked rather taken aback, but she slid the big window open a little and told Tony to go to bed. Dad asked Angus Flint to sit down. Angus Flint looked critically at the chairs and then sat in the best one. Dad had just begun to ask him where he was living these days, when he bounced up again.
âThis is a horribly uncomfortable chair. Itâs not fit to sit in,â he said.
We hadnât done anything to it â though I wish we had now â it was just that the chair is one of Mumâs bargains. All our furniture are bargains that Mum has found in second-hand shops. But Pip looked at me meaningfully and grinned, because I was shuddering. I canât bear anyone to insult a piece of furniture to its face. No matter how ugly or uncomfortable a chair or a table is, I donât think it should be told. It canât help it, poor thing. I know most of our furniture is hideous, and most of the chairs hurt you sooner or later, but thereâs no need to say so. But I donât think furniture can read, so I donât mind writing it.
Meanwhile, Dad had got out of the chair Tony had been sitting in and suggested Angus Flint sat there. âNot that one,â Angus Flint said. âThatâs infested with germs.â He ignored all the other chairs and marched over to mine. âI want to sit down,â he told me.
âLet Angus have your chair, Candida,â Mum said.
I was furious, but I got up. People seem to think children have no rights. Pip made his sad face at me out of sympathy. Then he spun round on the piano-stool,
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