First Among Equals

Charles might have escaped lightly had it only been the one risqué joke Amanda told—to the bishop’s wife—or even her curt refusals to judge the baby contest or to draw the raffle; but he was not to be so lucky. The chairman of the Women’s Advisory Committee had met her match when she was introduced to the member’s wife.

“Darling,” said Charles. “I don’t think you’ve met Mrs. Blenkinsop.”

“No, I haven’t,” said Amanda, ignoring Mrs. Blenkinsop’s outstretched hand.

“Mrs. Blenkinsop,” continued Charles, “was awarded the OBE for her services to the constituency.”

“OBE?” Amanda asked innocently.

Mrs. Blenkinsop drew herself up to her full height.

“Order of the British Empire,” she said.

“I’ve always wondered,” said Amanda, smiling. “My dad used to tell me it stood for ‘other buggers’ efforts.’”

“Seen the Persil anywhere?” asked Louise.

“No, I stopped washing my own pants some time ago,” replied Andrew.

“Ha, ha,” said Louise. “But if you haven’t taken them who has—two giant packets are missing?”

“The phantom Persil thief strikes again. Whatever next?” said Andrew. “The Bovril perhaps?”

“Stop making a fool of yourself and go and fish Clarissa out of the bath.”

Andrew pulled himself out of the armchair, dropped The Economist on the carpet, and ran upstairs. “Time to get out, young lady,” he said even before he reached the bathroom door. First he heard the sobbing, then when he opened the door he found Clarissa covered from head to toe in soap flakes. Her thick black curly hair was matted with them. Andrew burst out laughing but he stopped when he saw Clarissa’s knees and shins were bleeding. She held a large scrubbing brush in one hand which was covered in a mixture of soap powder and blood.

“What’s the matter, darling?” asked Andrew, kneeling on the bath mat.

“It isn’t true,” said Clarissa, not looking at him.

“What isn’t true?” asked Andrew gently.

“Look on the box,” she said, pointing at the two empty packets which were standing on the end of the bath. Andrew glanced at the familiar picture on the box of a little fair-haired girl in a white party dress.

“What isn’t true?” he repeated, still uncertain what Clarissa meant.

“It isn’t true that Persil washes whiter and can remove even the blackest spots. Two large packets and I’m still black,” she said.

Andrew had to smile which only made Clarissa cry even more. After he had washed off all the suds and gently dried her he put antiseptic ointment on the cuts and bruises.

“Why am I so black?” she asked.

“Because your mother and father were black,” replied Andrew, guiding his daughter through to her bedroom.

“Why can’t you be my father? Then I’d be white.”

“I am your father now so you don’t need to be.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because the children at school laugh at me,” Clarissa said, clutching firmly on to Andrew’s hand.

“When I was at school they used to laugh at me because I was small,” said Andrew. “They called me puny.”

“What did you do about it?” asked Clarissa.