Once upon a Princess

Extract

When I hear a satisfied chuckling coming from the sitting room, it is half-past nine according to the clock. In a flash, I have an idea. Immediately, I let the spoon go and a few steps away from the sitting room door I wrench it open and what do I see but my loved ones sitting there in trusting harmony next to each other on the grey leather sofa? In their pyjamas, bound together in the act of watching TV, they have forgotten the world around them. Surging up inside me is a mixture of emotion - envy, and anger. I’m jealous that they are sitting, amusing themselves with Bob the Builder. I would also rather be snuggling up with the children, lazing around. Finally, anger gets the upper hand. What on earth is Max thinking? He is supposed to be dressing the children and helping me.
"I thought you would be in the bathroom, getting the kids ready." My voice is razor-sharp, and I sense that it’s only with difficulty that I can contain my anger. Of course, the children don’t react at all. Max tries a counter attack.
"Don’t panic. What do you want? The children are almost ready. I’ve got things under control." He too scarcely takes his eyes away from the screen.
"Please all go and get dressed," I insist. Anger makes my heart beat faster, and rises to my throat. All of a sudden, the pain in my back gets more intense.
I slam the door shut and decide to numb the pain with a small chemical cudgel, so that I can somehow cope with the day. While the drops drizzle onto the teaspoon, I wonder what is really getting on my nerves, sciatic or otherwise. There are so many small things. Nothing really big robs me of my sleep at night – we are, thank God, healthy – apart from the normal rounds of kindergarten maladies, we have a nice little row house with a conservatory in a cosy little suburb on the eastern outskirts of Munich. Despite mortgage rates, we can still afford two cars, child friendly holidays, and a canary. Not to mention the luxury of my not having to work (which Max likes to go on about), but instead being able to devote myself completely to housework and the children. Basically, not having to do anything demanding, and certainly nothing stressful.
But it is stressful and demanding! I think to myself, as I bang the painkiller bottle on the worktop.
For the last month, I have been working two days a week for the diet magazine, Half Portions. Chance led me into the editorial office in which I act work enthusiastically as a kind of secretary and have to compose simple articles. The senior secretary is the sister of the head of the kindergarten, and Cecilia, the aforementioned head of the kindergarten, had pinned a note on the notice board saying, ‘Editing help on an hourly basis sought at Half Portions’. I called right away and got the job.
The drops taste as horrible as hinted at in the detailed advice given on the package insert. They make me shudder. A few minutes later, I finish taking the good crockery off the shelf, and can already feel the numbing effect of the medicine. From the shrill blubbering coming from beyond the kitchen door, I assume that Max is herding the children in the direction of the bathroom.
The clock reads a quarter past ten and I have invited the grannies for eleven o' clock. I decide to lay the table in the conservatory and open the doors onto the terrace.
The doorbell rings, and outside stands a black feather hat: Mathilda, my mother-in-law.
"Good Morning, Anna!" she purrs as she swishes past me into the hall. A great wave of lily of the valley envelopes her small frame. She holds out a box of chocolates. "For you, and thank you for the invitation. I am a little early, as you can see. I thought to myself that perhaps I could lend a hand. After all, you have so much to do with the children. Where are they exactly? And how are you? You look so pale."
She stops briefly to take a breath, and I try to use this opportunity to answer her, "Thank you, that really wasn’t necessary. I’ve almost finished the preparations. The children are upstairs. Max too. May I take your coat?"
Mathilda hands me her black poplin coat, smoothes down her sea-blue lamb’s wool skirt, and tugs at the top of the sleeves of her cream-coloured silk blouse, and, as she does so, the balls on her string of pearls dance on her ample bosom. Although she is only five feet tall, she possesses the aura of energy and love of life of one much taller. Her sleek, neck-length hair is completely grey and receives a soft purple rinse at strict six-weekly intervals.
Just as Mathilda opens her mouth to say something, an ear-numbing, blood-curdling scream comes from the first floor. It even drowns out Mathilda's voice. "MUMMEE!"
"My God, what’s happening?" Shocked, I drop Mathilda's coat on the floor and sprint up the stairs, two at a time. These are great painkillers. Mathilda hurries after me.
In Benjamin´s room, my loved ones stand in front of Rudi’s cage. Rudi is our canary. Considering the horror struck expressions on their faces, I fear the worst. Benjamin is screaming without breathing in. He has been training determinedly in this very discipline since before he was weaned. Max looks concerned. The first to enlighten me is Julia,"Mummy! Rudi... Rudi broken."
Rudi, our canary, has left us! Stretched out, the bird is lying there motionless on the floor of the cage, his eyes wide open.
Still bawling, Benjamin nestles into me. "Mummy, when I took off the cage cover, he was just lying there. Mummy, it wasn’t me, I didn’t do anything to him. I never put sherbet powder in his food again. Waaaa!"
The little guy nestles into me some more, out of despair, and I think of brave Rudi, who some three months ago had licked a batch of sherbet that bubbles and fizzes when it comes in contact with water. It’s not exactly ideal for any bird, when a strawberry explosion happens in the beak area. Rudi was fluttering around his cage in such a distressed manner, that Benjamin came running to me excitedly and swore that it was with the best of intentions that he had wanted to share his sherbet powder with Rudi. Emotionally, Rudi never quite recovered from Benjamin's special attention. Quite obviously, Benjamin still feels guilty.
"It’s okay, my little sparrow. No one is saying it’s your fault. Canaries are very delicate. Maybe he just went to sleep and is now in bird heaven." I draw Benjamin towards me to comfort him and noticing the stiff pose Rudi strikes, realise my doubts about a peaceful death have been confirmed. Of course, I do not voice these.
"Come to Granny. You’re so worked up, poor thing." Benjamin, who has just begun to calm down, starts bawling all over again, leaves my arms and sinks himself into Mathilda's large soft bosom.
"Rudi not in heaven!" exclaims Julia and puts her miniature hands on her hips. "Rudi there." She points to the cage with a wise, knowing expression on her cute face. Max gives me a look and we try to remain serious.
"Rudi’s soul is in heaven now," Max explains gently, but Julia does not understand him and bursts out crying, confused. Benjamin also laments Rudi loudly once more. I want to take Juliaa in my arms, but she holds out her hands for granny, who has room enough in her expansive bosom for her little angel, too.
"You know what, kids? We’ll bury Rudi in the garden at the back and plant some flowers on his grave. Then you can water it every day." Max seizes the cage and hurries out of the room.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings again.
"Hello, my darling," Mama kisses me. "Was that really Max in the garden? In his pyjamas?"
"Hello Mama! Yes, could be. Rudi is dead."
"Rudi? Oh, the poor children."
"Mathilda is comforting them nicely."
"Oh." A glimpse of disappointment flits across her face. Mathilda is quicker off the mark once again.
"That’s a pretty sweater. Is it new?" I distract her. The turquoise looks really good on her. Despite wearing make-up, she looks a little pale. Her ash-blonde hair sits layered in a neat egg-shaped, sporty-short hairstyle and lends visual support to her trim figure.
"Thank you, I found it recently at Chic & Chic," she says and rummages around in her black shoulder bag. "Look, I’ve brought you something. Something lightweight by Clare DeBoevilla."
Excited like a child, I grab the book. "Oh, super! Thank you, Mama. You really didn’t have to!"
"Hello Sylvia." Max is standing behind us, still in his pyjamas. "I’m sorry I can’t offer you my hand, because I’ve just disposed of Rudi."
"Morning, Max. Yes, that’s all right. Anna just told me."
"I’m going to shower, then," says Max.
"That is a good idea," I say in a low voice, almost growling. "Take your time."
Only half way up the stairs, Max turns round and gives me a withering look. Renewed screaming from one of the children’s bedrooms distracts us. As if operated by remote control, we hurry one after the other to the first floor - Max in front, then me, then Sylvia behind us.