Fidel Castro and the Basking Shark

The morning of her arrival, Granny perched on the end of Isla’s bed to help her unpack. Isla drew first from her bag a beautiful yellow dress embroidered with tiny white daisies. Granny fingered the fabric appreciatively, then slipped the dress onto a hanger, gently smoothing the skirt free of creases before she hung it away. One at a time Isla displayed the contents of her suitcase, and as each gorgeous outfit was much admired Granny carefully hung it up. The cupboard was eventually almost full, and Granny was still for a moment admiring the sight. She gave a small tug on a pink skirt to straighten it.
“Done,” said her grandmother finally. “The creases should all hang out now. Have you brought nothing else, Isla darling?”
Isla glanced at her almost empty case.
“Just my pyjamas.”
Granny removed the last of Isla’s belongings and closed the suitcase with a snap. “Then we’ll just have to go shopping this afternoon.”
“Aren’t my things good enough?” Isla enquired with surprise.
“On the contrary,” Granny said firmly. “Now let’s have tea; I made scones for us, to go with my homemade jam.”

The shopping expedition was not an immediate success, but Isla was taken at last with a range of T-shirts that Granny felt would wash well. Granny added a pair of trainers and some stout dungarees without further consultation. On their way to the checkout they passed an assistant unpacking a large consignment of denims, so a pair of jeans was hastily added to the bundle of clothing. Their shopping finally complete, Granny decided to get them home without further delay.
“I think that’s quite enough trouble for one day, don’t you? I think we deserve a square meal and an early night.”
At home Granny put a pie in the oven to warm, and handed the shopping to Isla. “Now you get all these things into your cupboard, Sweetheart, while I lay the table and feed Mrs Potts.”
The large marmalade cat was threading itself around Granny’s ankles insistently and she fondled one ear absently.

A short while later Isla sat down at the kitchen table in her red pyjamas. Granny set the steaming dish down between them and served Isla a generous helping.
“I really appreciate your forbearance this afternoon, Isla. We simply had to get that shopping done today, because tomorrow I’m going to get Fidel Castro down for you.”
“Who is Fidel Castro?” asked Isla, intrigued, rolling the name around in her head.
“My doll. You are going to love him, but he’s rather old now so do be gentle with him.”
“What’s your doll got to do with our shopping trip?”
“Sweetheart, I couldn’t possibly let you loose with Fidel Castro dressed in all those glamorous things! You are bound to come home with a stain which won’t come out, or a tear I cannot mend!”
“Is Fidel Castro very accident prone?” Isla asked.
“Not exactly; it’s just that a perfectly ordinary day in Fidel Castro’s company often turns out rather odd. Improbable events I find are usually quite disastrous for one’s clothing.”
Isla passed her plate to Granny who glanced at it, concerned.
“You didn’t eat very much. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t think Mummy and Daddy can manage without me, Granny,” Isla replied sadly.
Granny kissed the top of Isla’s head. “But they must, Darling, just for a few weeks. They will just have to buck up and be brave. The Doctor wanted Mummy to have plenty of rest before the new baby arrives. Now let’s get you off to bed. We’ll text them in the morning.”

The next morning Isla appeared for breakfast dressed in a pair of khaki dungarees, a yellow T-shirt and her new trainers. Granny looked at her approvingly as she reached for a bowl.
“We only have cereal at home,” Isla observed.
“I’m sure, Darling,” Granny replied. “No one has time to cook anymore, I suppose. I’ve always thought a good bowl of porridge is a proper breakfast though, especially for a busy day. I’ll just get the milk. I can’t leave it out or Mrs Potts will be certain to help herself.”
Isla grinned at the big cat perched on the windowsill. Mrs Potts blinked innocently into the morning sunlight.
Granny returned with a milk jug, which she passed to Isla.
“I called your parents last night after you were in bed to confirm that we were managing just fine, but that you were rather worried about them. Everything seemed to be alright then, so I was a bit surprised by a text from your father first thing this morning. Of course I was afraid that the baby might have come early.”
Isla frowned. “What has Mummy been up to?”
“Actually, it was your father. He was trying to hang up that mobile I sent for the baby. He ended up falling over the dog, and knocked over a carton of soft toys, some of which I think once belonged to you. The dog thought it was a great game apparently, and started worrying a lot of the toys before your father could pick them up. He thought he had retrieved them all but it seems he missed one, which had fallen under a chair. This morning he discovered the dog had chewed the ear off a bunny in a blue suit, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, poor thing, that will be Peter Rabbit.”
“Your father also seems to have damaged the mobile beyond repair.”
Isla rolled her eyes. “I did warn you Granny, they couldn’t manage.”
“He did say he is very sorry about the state of Peter, but I said I was sure you would understand it was all an accident. I mentioned that we would try to find a replacement, but your father reminded me he once had a very similar Peter Rabbit, which he thinks may be in the attic somewhere.”
Isla chuckled. “It might be safer to leave Peter in the attic, Granny!”
Isla’s granny laughed and squeezed her hand fondly. “Your father has always been a little accident prone, I’m afraid.”

As soon as the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, Isla followed Granny to the ladder which led to the attic. She settled herself on the bottom step to wait. After a while Granny descended with a battered tin beach bucket slung by the handle over one arm. A doll’s head peeped over the rim.
“I couldn’t find Peter, unfortunately, but this,” Granny announced grandly, “is Fidel Castro.”
Isla viewed the papier-mâché doll dubiously. His big brown eyes were simply painted, and what once had been a smile had almost flaked away. Dust had settled in his dark curls and his shorts had faded to a dirty shade of blue.
“He doesn’t look very happy,” said Isla doubtfully.
“That’s probably because he has been sitting on his own in the attic for so long.” Granny waved one hand dismissively. “Now let’s get your things together.”
Isla fetched her small backpack down from the hook. Granny handed her a beach towel, which she packed into the bottom of the bag. She seated Fidel Castro inside the bucket and balanced it on top of the towel. Granny fastened one strap of the backpack, which secured the bucket, and left the doll’s head peeking out over the rim.
“Have you got your phone?” asked Granny. “Text me when you’ve had enough, and I’ll come down and meet you. We’ll walk back the long way and see if we can spot Geoffrey.”
Isla patted the pocket of her dungarees.
“Full charge.”
“Good girl.” Granny replied.
As Granny helped Isla shoulder her bag, she admonished the doll severely, “Now you let Isla down lightly; it’s the first time she’s met you!”
Granny waved from the front door as Isla set off on the short walk to the beach.
“I’ll have a thorough rummage for Peter while you’re gone!” she called after her. A few doors down from Granny’s house, Isla approached a low bungalow, almost hidden by an unruly garden. A little angry dog ran up and down the front fence barking furiously. The dog had reduced all the grass alongside the fence to dust, while the lawn beyond was in desperate need of mowing. Isla slowed, eyeing the tatty fence wire. It looked quite likely to have a hole large enough to let the dog through, and she frowned a little apprehensively. The dog suddenly flung itself at the wire, growling aggressively. Isla had backed away a few steps when, from behind her, a firm voice cut coolly across the insistent barking.

“Back off, Blossom!”
The dog was at once stiff with attention. It cocked one ear as if listening intently. All was still. Finally, it gave a tiny whimper and slunk away.

Isla glanced up and down the street which was quite deserted, save for a fat seagull perched on a big green bin nearby. The gull tilted its head and considered Isla with one belligerent eye, before it turned contemptuously away. Isla dragged her backpack off and gazed at Fidel Castro.
“Did you say that?” she inquired tentatively.
They surveyed each other at length, in silence. At last, and feeling a little foolish, Isla gave a small dismissive shrug. She tightened the straps of her backpack again and resumed the walk to the end of the road.

Where Granny’s street intersected with the Promenade, Isla hesitated briefly and glanced left and right. No traffic was approaching.
She was about to cross when an exasperated voice exclaimed, “I’d rather you didn’t ignore pedestrian safety with me on your back!”
Isla wrenched off her backpack. “Why wouldn’t you answer me back then?” she demanded.
“It wasn’t necessary then,” replied Fidel Castro primly. “It was
necessary now.”
“But you spoke to that dog!”
“Well, its behaviour was unnecessary!”
Isla stared curiously at the doll a long while. Finally, Fidel Castro appeared to blink.
“Oh, do let’s get on, the pedestrian crossing is on your left.”
They crossed over to a concrete walkway. Isla had a view of a long sandy beach surrounding a wide bay. They set off in search of a spot to settle themselves and soon were approaching a boy sitting in a wheelchair. His elbows rested on the breakwater wall to steady a pair of binoculars through which he keenly surveyed the sea. On a bench next to him sat a large lady in a bright sundress, who Isla took to be his mother.

“There!” called the boy with delight, “over there!”
“A basking shark?” inquired the lady, as Isla drew level with them.
“That must be Geoffrey,” said Isla.
The boy lowered his binoculars and considered Isla. “How do you know he’s called Geoffrey?” he demanded in an imperious manner.
“I don’t, that’s what Granny calls him. She spotted him the other evening on her walk, and says he looks quite splendid enough to be called Geoffrey.”
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