Free Inchworm by Ann Kelley

a campervan and drive it all over the world looking for a perfect beach facing the sunset, or a lakeside meadow where geese come in their thousands every year at the same time. It might get lonely, although I expect you’d meet lots of interesting people. I could travel to all the places in the world where people are cruel to cats and I could rescue them and set up a travelling hospital for cats in my van. Or birds, of course. I could do what the sisters who started the Mousehole Bird Sanctuary did and look after injured birds. Little children would bring them to me and I would feed them and care for them until they were well and then I’d set them free. Except, of course, that now I have to watch out for cryptococcal or something or other. But that’s okay: I’ll wear rubber gloves and a face-mask like a surgeon.
    We are going out the main front door of the building for our walk today, and meet an elderly German gentleman. He’s the tenant of the first floor flat. I’ve seen his name on the door and seen him walking down the road.
    ‘ Guten Abend, Herr Weinberger,’ I say.
    ‘Guten Abend, Liebchen .’ He smiles and nods and goes off down the street towards the village tapping his long white stick while we go up the hill towards the Heath. He looks rather down-at-heel (another foot expression). I expect it’s because he can’t see very well. It must be a consolation if you have poor eyesight, not to bother with your appearance, not care if your socks don’t match or your collar is frayed, or your buttons aren’t done up right.
    ‘Very impressive, Gussie. Where did you learn German?’
    ‘A book.’
    ‘Say something else.’
    ‘ Es regnete ununterbrochen – it rained uninterruptedly.’
    Her mouth stays open for several seconds. Then she starts laughing and can’t stop. I laugh too but it hurts and I have to hold my chest.
    There’s a biting wind on the Heath and we only stop long enough by the pond for me to make a few photographs of the fluffed up ducks and swans on the lake. I stride out like I used to do when I was little, before I became really ill. It’s so good to be able to do things other twelve year olds can do. Before, I was breathless even if I only walked across the room.
    I wonder if I can teach Daddy to feed my robin? He might really like to do that. It would be almost like having a pet.
    There’s a group of science students and their tutors doing an ecological study of part of the Heath, taking notes of every living thing, including plants. Not that there seems to be much living at the moment. They look cold even their hoodies and parkas, woolly hats and gloves. I would love to do something like that. Perhaps I could do a study of our little garden in St Ives. I’ll do it in the summer holidays when everything is alive. It shouldn’t take long: the garden measures about 4 by 5 metres. Maybe Brett would like to help? It would mean dividing the garden into small squares, which I could do with string and pegs. I’ll have to keep the cats out of the way somehow. I bet there are dozens of insect species. Coleoptera (beetles), and Lepidoptera (butterflies and moths) and spiders – what is their scientific name? Have we any inchworms, I wonder? Perhaps I could suggest it as a project at school, when I go back – after Easter, I hope.
    We get back to the flat just as Mr Weinberger arrives.
    ‘Would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me, Liebchen, with your Mutti ?’ And to Mum he says, ‘I have some rather good single malt whisky if you would prefer, my dear, to warm you?’
    ‘Sorry, Herr Weinberger, Ich müss nach Hause gehen.’
    ‘Another time, thank you, Mr Weinberger, Gussie needs to rest now.’
    I like the name Mutti . It’s a prettier word than mother or mum.
    The willows on the Heath greening up. Keats Grove is decorated with blossom in all the front gardens. It has been sunny and warm in Daddy’s patio and Mr Robin has come to my hand twice today. He looks at me