In this chapter I am going into a daydream and St. John reads my mind.  Having seen me place the unicorn on the bench, St. John is prompted to recall other toys that were special to him and convey his awareness that Claude and Patch were eventually returned to us in a box from Berlin. To access previous chapters, visit Jacqueline Townsend’s author page.

Chapter 4.

Toys, St. John

As I watch my mother sitting pensively on my bench in Culford School, I home into her thoughts. She is aware of my presence, and it is as if we create and share a film.

A four-year-old boy is standing in the hallway of a house, waiting for his mother. The walls are clean, white and high. Next to him is a pretty vase of flowers standing upon a small, square table. The ticking of a large, brown clock on the wall lulls and comforts him. He beams as he sees his mother stepping down the stairs on the red carpet. When he sees that she is holding a bag, he knows that they are going out somewhere – just the two of them. His baby brother is fast asleep in the front room, and his grandma is looking after him. Mother and son smile at each other and instinctively clasp hands. He pauses to take a longer look at her face. He thinks she looks young and pretty and he likes her pink lipstick.

‘Where are we going, Mummy?’ asks the boy excitedly.

‘You’ll have to wait and see,’ she replies playfully.

They leave the house, heading towards an alleyway immediately opposite. He lets go of his mother’s hand and skips along. A sense of pride tingles through him; he feels clever because he knows every little twist and turn. Not only that: the alleyway has brought him to a very familiar, small parade of shops. His vision widens. Next to that is a park with a playground which he knows and loves so well. Nevertheless, he cannot help but refocus upon the tiny parade. There is a toy shop and sometimes his mum takes him inside to choose a toy. To his delight, she does this very thing today.

‘Well, you’d better start choosing,’ she tells him warmly. He is immediately drawn to an enormous red tractor which he might sit in and drive.

‘Mummy, I want this!’ he declares.

‘Mmmm,’ is the only noise his mother can make in reply. ‘We’re not exactly going to be able to take that to the park with us, are we?’

He opens his arms and his eyes glisten. ‘A cuddly toy! I want a cuddly toy!’ He knows exactly where they are and he darts towards them. He is drawn to a 4 by 4-inch sized crab from the TY ‘Beanie Babies’ collection and carefully picks it up. He studies the label and deciphers the writing on it, sounding out the letters. ‘Mummy. Is his name Claude?’ he enquires.

‘Well done you!’ she exclaims. ‘Yes, this is Claude,’ she tells him as she gently takes the toy from his hands and heads towards the checkout. The delighted little boy jumps his way forward behind her, thudding his feet two at a time.

The boy, of course, is me and the scenario is provoked by recollections of precious times when Mum used to impulsively decide to treat me.

After the film has finished, I refocus upon Mum sitting on my memorial bench at Culford School. I know that she can feel my hand upon hers as we guide my new-found toy, a 4 cm. high plastic unicorn, through a hippity-hoppity canter across the slats. I know that she will keep her promise to look after it for me. Mum places the unicorn in her bag and sits still for a while. As she closes her eyes, I can feel that she has immersed herself in nostalgia. I join her in contemplating upon how certain toys become so significant.

I cast my mind back to that special day when Mum bought Claude. I treasured him all the way through my life, not only because I wanted him at the time, but mostly because of the love that emanated between Mum and I on that day. Even as an adult, I would place him under my pillow and sometimes reach out, clasp him and hold him close to my body.

As we left the toy shop, Mum put Claude safely into her bag. I slipped my hand into hers and we began the short walk to the park. It was a gloriously hot day. I remember tipping my head backwards, allowing the soothing breeze to tickle my face. The bright blue sky and radiant sun reminded me of the cheery pictures in some of my story books. I also recall that I kept my head in that position for a little longer, trusting that Mum would guide me safely towards the park. Always an inquisitive child, I was contemplating upon what is beyond the sky and whether the sun is really that close. Rather than ask Mum, I planned there and then to find out by myself; that would be my mission next time Mum took me to the library. As I lowered my head, I closed my eyes and imagined that I was an astronaut returning to Earth. At first, I was immersed in electric blue, and I could feel myself plummeting. Below, an amazing array of greens, browns and yellows appeared to be hurtling towards me. There was a thud. I opened my eyes and found myself and Mum overshadowed by a massive tree. As I looked upwards, I saw it as a magical creature. Within the tawny, muddy and ebony shades of the bark, I could make out the shapes of its slitty eyes, flaring nostrils and roaring mouth. Further above, its tentacles splayed menacingly. I ran my fingers across the bark, feeling the intricacies of the monster’s scales. It was time to go.

Now I was in charge, my mum’s protector. I tightened my grip on her hand and shouted, ‘Quick! Run to the witch’s hat!’

We had such fun in the park. Mum and I followed each other up and down the slide and then she came on the witch’s hat with me. I couldn’t stop giggling because she was being so silly and funny.

After that day, Claude became my special, secret friend. I would amuse myself by hiding him away, sometimes forgetting exactly where he was. Always, though, I would find him: usually above or under my pillow at bedtime. Mum and Grandma would pretend to be surprised but now, of course, I realise that they would always track him down and secretly deliver him.

Another toy which I treasured throughout my life was Patch, an adorable dog. When Mum, Dad, Xavier and I moved from London to Suffolk in 2001, Mum took on a job as an English Teacher and Head of Year at Thurleston High School in Ipswich. Mum was asked by the Head of the French Department if she would help in the supervision of pupils on a trip to Calais. He was kind enough to invite Xavier and I too. I was 9 and Xav was seven. Xav and I had such fun on that day and we loved the fact that Mum trusted a group of Year 8 girls to take care of us for some of the time. They were funny and kind – well, maybe except for one incident. The toilets were, of course, unisex, so when the girls went in with us, one of them pointed to a vending machine saying, ‘St. John, would you and your brother like some chewing gum?’

Ignoring the giggling, I replied, ‘No thank you. I don’t think we would like to chew condoms.’ I joined in as the girls roared with laughter whilst Xavier stood there looking bemused. I was always an attentive pupil, so had noted an explanation about condoms during a Sex Education lesson at school.

There was no malice intended and one of the girls gave Xav a hug and said, ‘Don’t worry, mate, you’ll learn all about this stuff later.’

Shortly afterwards, we all reassembled as a group and Mum and Mr. Bentley took registers. Satisfied that nobody was missing, the staff took us to a massive market in the middle of Calais town centre. To our delight, Xavier and I saw a stall with a compelling array of cuddly toys. Mum gave us one of those wry smiles again and said, ‘What are you waiting for then? Go and choose one each. After much contemplation, Xav chose Harvey, a grey terrier and I chose Patch, a floppy brown and white spaniel with a patch over one eye.

After I died, it was difficult for Dan and Mum to visit Berlin to empty my apartment. They trusted a kind group of my friends to sort through my possessions and send a box containing the most significant items to England. Mum and Dan told them to keep anything they wanted such as suits, furniture or electrical equipment. They also said that they could keep any money obtained from sales.

When she and Dan received the box, there were a few personal items such as letters and the engraved cuff links they gave me when I graduated from UCL. There was also a notebook, maybe more exactly a diary with writing on every page. When Dan opened it and started reading an excerpt aloud, Mum told him off and said that it was private and none of their business. She almost threw it away because she didn’t want to intrude into my personal life. After a little reflection, she changed her mind and placed it in a cupboard along with other items she can’t bear to part with. Still, though, she never opens it.  Also in the box were Claude and Patch. Mum cried when she realised that I had even taken them to Berlin. They now lie comfortably upon a chest of drawers in Mum and Dad’s bedroom.

As Mum winds down the visit to Culford School, she places the toy unicorn carefully into her bag, just as she did with Claude all those years ago. As she drives home, the expression on her face says it all; she is sad and yet joyous. She desperately misses me and yet she knows that we have crossed the bridge between two realms and met one another today. I watch her as she arrives home and immediately enters her office. She delicately places the unicorn on top of her writing bureau as if it is the most valuable ornament ever.