I for Isobel Read Free Page A

bed and read. Bed time came at last and was wonderful; Margaret went to sleep straight away, so she put her clothes on the floor in front of the crack at the bottom of the door and read until she was nearly asleep and could just stay awake long enough to put out the light.
    She woke early and thought at once, with tightened heart, ‘Don’t look. It isn’t any use.’ Then she remembered the tree ceremony, which she had better perform before anyone else was up. Quickly she put on yesterday’s clothes and ran outside to the fig tree, but when she reached it she saw a pair of legs dangling and there was Caroline, sitting on a low branch looking down at her.
    â€˜You’re up early.’
    Isobel wanted to say, ‘So are you,’ but other words were too pressing on her tongue. She said instead, ‘Can I tell you a secret? You’re not to tell anyone else.’
    Caroline’s eyes lit with interest. ‘Sure. Go on.’
    â€˜It’s my birthday today.’
    â€˜That’s not a secret.’ Caroline was disappointed and resentful. ‘Birthdays aren’t secrets. Not ever.’
    â€˜Well, mine is. How do you know, anyhow? Plenty of people might have secret birthdays and you don’t know because they are secret.’
    â€˜I don’t see why.’ Caroline buttoned her lips and shook her head firmly, so that her fat fair plaits swung wide.
    â€˜Well, people have secret weddings, I know that much. In books they have them often. And if you were a baby and you weren’t supposed to be born, so you were smuggled away to somebody else, then nobody would know your birthday, so it would be a secret, wouldn’t it? What about Moses? I bet nobody knew his birthday.’
    Caroline didn’t intend to tangle with Moses. She knew less about the content of books than Isobel, but she knew the world better. She said with authority, ‘Somebody always knows.’ Then she dropped down from the branch, saying, ‘I think I’ll go and see if Joanne’s awake. See you later, alligator.’ Sauntering across the grass, she turned her head and called, recklessly loud, ‘Many happy returns!’
    Isobel would have done better to tell the tree.
    She went back to fetch her book, having another celebration in mind—a mean, private one. She was going to hide from her parents until breakfast time, so that if they wanted to wish her a happy birthday they could do it in front of everyone. Or if they liked, they could forget it. All the better if they did—she hated the way they searched her face for signs of sulking, so that they could laugh and say, ‘What a long face on your birthday!’ ‘Frown on your birthday, frown all year!’, knowing perfectly well that she was miserable because she hadn’t got a present.
    She felt sure they would be ashamed not to mention her birthday at all. There was going to be a little fun in this, if it worked.
    Margaret had not stirred. Isobel took her book and crept out. With unusual forethought she washed her face and hands and even combed her hair, so there wouldn’t be any trouble about that. Then she went to her hideyhole, the big old chair on the back verandah. The chair wasn’t meant for sitting on; it faced the wall, there was stuffing coming out of it that prickled against her legs and it was lopsided because one leg was broken, but she could manage to curl up in it and be out of sight.
    She read until the breakfast bell sounded, then waited a little longer before she sneaked through the kitchen. That was forbidden ground, but Mrs Terry and Irene, the waitress, were too busy to notice her.
    The Mansells, father and mother and Caroline and Joanne, were there already, and Miss Halwood and old Mrs Halwood were coming in, so she was sitting calmly eating her Weetbix under powerful protection when her parents arrived.
    â€˜Well, there you are!’ said her mother in a gentle, reasonable