The Toymakers(35)
‘Emil, this is your home. He’s your papa too.’
For a time, Emil remained silent. He toyed with a humble pork pie (balsawood, cork and pine) and seemed lost in his imaginings of it – and only when he reared up did Cathy understand he’d been trembling all along, desperate to say something but uncertain if he dared say it. ‘It wasn’t always like this. When we were boys, those first years when Papa showed us how, I’d make good things, things every bit as good as Kaspar’s – better even – and if you don’t believe it, all you have to do is look at the pictures. Just ask my papa. When we were in our tenement, I made a sledge for the other boys to ride down Whitechapel Hill. It was so good those street boys stole it in the end. They said they could feel the snow around them, even in summer. And there was my kite. It burst into flight like a Chinese dragon, so light and strong it couldn’t come down – and it just flew there, in the skies above Weavers Fields, until finally some men came up from the docks in St Katharine’s and set light to its tether. And then it just flew away, burning as it climbed into the sun. Or there were the first years we were here, in the Emporium, and Papa gave us a workshop and said: do your best, boys … And we did! All of my marching knights and pinwheels. My princesses in their towers! Oh, I wish I had one now, Cathy, and then you’d see – then you’d see it wasn’t always Kaspar …’ He had to stop, but only for want of breath. ‘Then there was that summer. You know how it happens. Kaspar grew six inches in a night. And his voice was different and he was growing his beard – and that was the summer, Cathy, that was the summer when …’
‘Emil, you don’t have to say all this. Nobody’s—’
‘One morning, I woke up – and there he was, sitting at the end of my bed. I could tell he’d been up all night, because he had that bedraggled look about him. That elated look in his eyes. He had it every time he’d made a new toy he wanted me to try out. Well, I was still weary – but nothing woke me up, back then, like the idea of a new toy. So Kaspar put a pop-up book in my hands and, when I opened it, it just kept on opening – and suddenly, there I was, inside a jungle lair, with creepers and vines and monkeys swinging in the trees, and a little motor started spinning and a crackling voice came out. “What do you think of this, Emil? What do you think of this?” It was Kaspar’s voice, and Kaspar’s toy – and that, Cathy, that was when I knew. I spent the rest of that summer trying to make a book just like his, but I never could do it. And it’s been the same ever since. No,’ he went on, before she could console him any further, ‘don’t try and persuade me. A toybox like Kaspar’s, it’s worth as much as the whole of the Emporium. A hamper like mine, it might fill a few shelves, but will they talk about it on Speakers’ Corner? Will children be jealous if their neighbour has one on Christmas morning?’
‘Tell me something, Emil. Why don’t you … why don’t you do what you’re good at? Not what Kaspar’s good at, not what your papa’s good at … what about you? What about your soldiers?’
‘Yes,’ Emil said, ‘I’ll always have my soldiers, won’t I?’
‘And you said it yourself – they come to the Emporium to see wonders, and maybe they even buy those wonders too, but not like they buy your soldiers. How many toyboxes can Kaspar possibly make? Ten? Twelve, if he doesn’t sleep until first frost? Well, that’s twelve customers at most. Twelve times the bell rings with a sale. Now, just imagine how many of your soldiers are going to fly out of the door this Christmas. I saw the things you’ve been working on, remember? Imagine how excited boys are going to be this Christmas, to play battles with soldiers who can rally and shoot …’
The transformation in Emil was almost physical. He grew bigger, stood taller. ‘Do you really think?’
‘Treat yourself more kindly, Emil. That’s an order.’
Emil nodded. Yes, Cathy thought, he likes being ordered around. And perhaps he would have marched away there and then, back to his workshop lathe and the hundreds more soldiers he might create before dawn, if only his eyes had not caught her hand hovering over her bump. ‘I tried to talk to Mrs Hornung. But … she hasn’t had babies of her own. And I … don’t know where else to look. Mrs Hornung said the body takes care of its own. And I suppose there must be something in that, because …’ He stopped, because he was blathering now. ‘Are you afraid?’
‘A little more each day.’
‘It’s no good me telling you not to be afraid. It isn’t me who has to do it. I suppose you think I’m awfully selfish, coming to you with my toys, worrying about who’ll own the Emporium when—’
‘No, Emil.’ She crossed the expanse and pressed her fingers to the back of his hand. ‘I don’t.’
It was the first time he had smiled all night. ‘I’d like to help you, when it happens. You mustn’t be alone.’
In her mind’s eye, she saw Kaspar: Kaspar stroking the hair out of her eyes; Kaspar clutching her hand. The image was fleeting, but enough to make her snatch her own hand away. ‘I won’t be …’
Somewhere high above, a light exploded on one of the galleries circling the Emporium dome. Together they looked up. A figure had emerged. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking Papa Jack. He moved with the slowness of glaciers. He crossed from one gallery to the next and there he stopped, propped up on the balcony rail to look over the shopfloor.