“But I don’t want to be the eldest. Why can’t Michael be the eldest sometimes?”
“Because you were born first – see?”
“Well, I didn’t ask to be. I’m tired of being born first. I wanted to think.”
“You can think when you’re brushing your teeth.”
“Not the same thoughts.”
“Well, nobody wants to think the same thoughts all the time.”
“I do.”
Mary Poppins gave her a quick, black look.
“That’s enough, thank you!” And, from the tone of her voice, Jane knew she meant what she said.
Mary Poppins hurried away to wake Michael.
Jane put down her toothbrush and sat on the edge of the bath.
“It’s not fair,” she grumbled, kicking the linoleum with her toes. “Making me do all the horrid things just because I’m the eldest! I won’t brush my teeth!”
Immediately she felt surprised at herself. She was usually quite glad to be older than Michael and the Twins. It made her feel rather superior and much more important. But today – what was the matter with today that she felt so cross and peevish?
“If Michael had been born first I’d have had time to hatch out my eggs!” she grumbled to herself, feeling that the day had begun badly.
Unfortunately, instead of getting better, it grew worse.
At breakfast, Mary Poppins discovered there was only enough Puffed Rice for three.
“Well, Jane must have Porridge,” she said, setting out the plates and sniffing angrily, for she did not like making Porridge; there were always too many lumps in it.
“But why?” complained Jane. “I want Puffed Rice.”
Mary Poppins darted a fierce look at her.
“Because you’re the eldest!”
There it was again. That hateful word. She kicked the leg of her chair under the table, hoping she was scratching off the varnish, and ate her Porridge as slowly as she dared. She turned it round and round in her mouth, swallowing as little as possible. It would serve everybody right if she starved to death. Then they’d be sorry.
“What is today?” enquired Michael cheerfully, scraping up the last of his Puffed Rice.
“Wednesday,” said Mary Poppins. “Leave the pattern on the plate, please!”
“Then it’s today we’re going to tea with Miss Lark!”
“If you’re good,” said Mary Poppins darkly, as though she did not believe such a thing was possible.
But Michael was in a cheerful mood, and took no notice.
“Wednesday!” he shouted, banging his spoon on the table. “That’s the day Jane was born. Wednesday’s Child is full of Woe. That’s why she has to have Porridge instead of Rice!” he said naughtily.
Jane frowned and kicked at him under the table. But he swung his legs aside and laughed.
“Monday’s Child is Fair of Face, Tuesday’s Child is Full of Grace!” he chanted. “That’s true too. The Twins are full of grace, and they were born on a Tuesday. And I’m Monday – Fair of Face.”
Jane laughed scornfully.
“I am,” he insisted. “I heard Mrs Brill say so. She told Ellen I was as handsome as Half-a-crown.”
“Well, that’s not very handsome,” said Jane. “Besides, your nose turns up.”
Michael looked at her reproachfully. And again Jane felt surprised at herself. At any other time she would have agreed with him, for she thought Michael a very good-looking little boy. But now she said cruelly:
“Yes, and your toes turn in. Bandy-legs! Bandy-legs!”
Michael rushed at her.
“That will be enough from you!” said Mary Poppins, looking angrily at Jane. “And if anybody in this house is a beauty, it’s—” She paused, and glanced with a satisfied smile at her own reflection in the mirror.
“Who?” demanded Michael and Jane together.
“Nobody of the name of Banks!” retorted Mary Poppins. “So there!”
Michael looked across at Jane as he always did when Mary Poppins made one of her curious remarks. But, though she felt his look, she pretended not to notice. She turned away and took her paint-box from the toy cupboard.
“Won’t you play trains?” asked Michael, trying to be friendly.
“No, I won’t. I want to be by myself.”
“Well, darlings, and how are you all this morning?”
Mrs Banks came running into the room and kissed them hurriedly. She was always so busy that she never had time to walk.
“Michael,” she said, “you must have some new slippers – your toes are coming out at the top. Mary Poppins, John’s curls will have to come off, I’m afraid. Barbara, my pet, don’t suck your thumb! Jane, run downstairs and ask Mrs Brill not to ice the Plum Cake, I want a plain one.”
There they were again, Jane said to herself, breaking into her day! As soon as she began to do anything they made her stop and do something else.
“Oh, Mother, must I? Why can’t Michael?”
Mrs Banks looked surprised.
“But I thought you liked helping! And Michael always forgets the message. Besides, you’re the eldest. Run along!”
She went downstairs as slowly as she could. She hoped she would be so late with the message that Mrs Brill would have already iced the cake.
And all the time she felt astonished at the way she was behaving. It was as if there was another person inside her – somebody with a very bad temper and an ugly face – who was making her feel cross.
She gave the message to Mrs Brill, and was disappointed to find that she was in plenty of time.
“Well, that’ll save a penn’orth of trouble, anyway,” Mrs Brill remarked.
“And, Dearie,” she went on, “you might just slip out into the garden and tell that Robertson he hasn’t done the knives. My legs are bad, and they’re my only pair.”
“I can’t. I’m busy.”
It was Mrs Brill’s turn to look surprised.
“Ah, be a kind girl, then – it’s all I can do to stand, let alone walk!”
Jane sighed. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? She kicked the kitchen door shut and dawdled out into the garden.
Robertson Ay was asleep on the path with his head on the watering-can. His lank hair rose and fell as he snored. It was Robertson Ay’s special gift that he could sleep anywhere, and at any time. In fact, he preferred sleeping to waking. And usually, whenever they could, Jane and Michael prevented him from being found out. But today it was different. The bad-tempered person inside her didn’t care a bit what happened to Robertson Ay.
“I hate everybody!” she said, and rapped sharply on the watering-can.
Robertson Ay sat up with a start.
“Help! Murder! Fire!” he cried, waving his arms wildly.
Then he rubbed his eyes and saw Jane.
“Oh, it’s only you!” he said, in a disappointed voice, as though he had hoped for something more exciting.
“You’re to go and do the knives, at once,” she ordered.
Robertson Ay got slowly to his feet and shook himself.
“Ah,” he said sadly, “it’s always something. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. I ought to be resting. I never get a moment’s peace.”