2.05pm SATURDAY
‘Uncle Franklin!’ gasped Joe, trying to keep his voice down as they fell up the stairs. ‘Uncle Franklin!’ cried Gertie as they tore across the lab. ‘Not in the flower bed,’ squawked Franklin, as they propelled him up the turret stair. ‘You’re one of the family now!’
Eight hours and two dozen bin bags later the den was restored, if not to its former glory, at least to a state of law and order. The east wing had lost a bed, a chest of drawers, several blankets, a pillow and a rather nice pair of curtains, which now hung in the turret window, framing a dusky sky and a crescent moon.
Tea had been eaten (by those who ate tea), Gertie and Joe had been whisked away to wherever it was they went at this time of day and Franklin was alone – alone with his new bed.
First he tested the mattress. Then he buried his face in the pillows. Finally he slipped between the sheets. Luxury. ‘And me a bishop’s niece,’ he sighed. Ah the bliss of being tucked up in bed with a torch and a good book. The shortlived bliss.
9.26pm SATURDAY
Bristling with flashlights, jumpers askew over pyjamas, in burst Gertie and Joe.
‘Bed, Jogert,’ said Franklin, by way of a greeting. He patted his pillow and pointed to the picture on page 2 of his book. ‘Jogert bed?’ he queried and yawned widely. But they weren’t taking the hint.
They threw themselves down on top of his feet and squirmed about in that purposeless way people do after too much excitement and not enough sleep.
Gertie had a telescope which she trained on various objects around the room. Joe rummaged through his knapsack. They were both looking for something to do.
Finally, ‘Where shall we go tonight?’ Gertie asked.
Joe grunted and tipped the contents of his knapsack on to the floor.
There was a long silence, at the end of which Joe found what he was looking for on his wrist.
9.30pm SATURDAY
He said: ‘Do you realise it’s exactly 48 hours since we first found Franklin?’
‘No, I didn’t realise,’ said Gertie, stifling a yawn. ‘That means we’ve only known him two days. Amazing really. It seems like a lifetime.’
‘Are you tired?’ she added suddenly, directing the telescope at her brother’s nose.
Joe rubbed his face. ‘Not very,’ he said. ‘Why? are you?’
‘Not very,’ said Gertie guardedly. She pointed her telescope at Franklin’s book and slowly brought the rosy red apple on its cover into focus.
‘I know,’ she said and twirled the telescope like a baton. ‘Let’s go and raid Daisy’s apple tree. Franklin will love that.’
‘OK,’ Joe said. He swung his legs off the bed and stretched hugely. ‘Come on Franklin. Stir your stumps.’
But Franklin never answered. Behind the apple-decked covers of his favourite book, somewhere between the umbrella and the violin, he had fallen fast asleep.
Mij Kelly October 1992
