Stopping for a Spell. Diana Wynne Jones

CHAPTER FOUR Coffee Morning

      Chair Person ate four boiled eggs and half a packet of shredded wheat for breakfast. He drank what was left of the milk with loud, slurping sounds while he told them about oil rigs and then about ship building. “Er, hn hm,” he said. “Studies at the dockyards reveal that less than ten snuffle slurp per cent of ships now being built are launched by the Queen. Oh dear, I appear to have drunk all your – hn hm – milk.”

      Dad jumped up. “I’ll buy more milk,” he said. “Give me a list of all the other things you want for the coffee morning and I’ll buy them too.”

      “Coward!” Mum said bitterly when Dad had gone off with orders to buy ten cake-mixes, milk and biscuits. She was in a great fuss. She told Chair Person to go upstairs and watch television. Chair Person went crawlingly humble and went away saying he knew he was – hn hm – being a lot of trouble. “And I hope he stays there!” said Mum. She made Simon help in the kitchen and told Marcia to find twenty chairs – which were all the chairs in the house – and put them in a circle in the living room. “And I suppose it’s too much to hope that Auntie Christa will come in and help!” Mum added.

      It was too much to hope. Auntie Christa did turn up. She put her head around the back door as Simon was fetching the sixth tray of cakes out of the oven. “I won’t interrupt,” she said merrily. “I have to dash down to the Community Hall. Don’t forget you’re all helping with the party this evening.” And away she went and did not come back until Mum and Simon had heaped cakes on ten plates and Dad and Marcia were counting coffee cups. “You have done well!” Auntie Christa said. “We must have African Aid here every week.”

      Dad started to groan and then stopped, with a thoughtful look on his face.

      The doorbell began ringing. A lot of respectable elderly ladies arrived, and one or two respectable elderly men, and then the Vicar. They each took one of the twenty seats and chatted politely while Simon and Marcia went round with cakes and biscuits and Mum handed out coffee. When everyone had a cup and a plate of something, the Vicar cleared his throat – a bit like Chair Person but nothing like so loudly.

      “Er, hm,” he said. “I think we should start.”

      The door opened just then and Dad ushered in Chair Person.

      “Oh, no!” said Mum, looking daggers at Dad.

      Chair Person stood, pawing at the air, and looked round at the respectable people in a very satisfied way. He had found Dad’s best shiny brown shoes to wear and Simon’s football socks, which looked decidedly odd with his striped suit. The respectable people stared, at the shoes, the socks, the hairy legs above that, at the stain on his striped stomach, and then at the smashed-hedgehog beard. Even Auntie Christa stopped talking and looked a little dazed.

      “Er, hn hm,” brayed Chair Person twice as loudly as the Vicar. “I am – hn snuffle – Chair Person. How kind of you all to come and – hn hm – meet me. These good people” – he nodded and waved arms at Dad and Mum – “have been honoured to put up with me, but they are only small stupid people who do not matter.”

      The slightly smug smile on Dad’s face vanished at this.

      “I shall – hn hm – talk to people who matter,” said Chair Person. He lumbered across the room, bumping into everything he passed. Ladies hastily got coffee cups out of his way. He stopped in front of the Vicar and breathed heavily. “Could I trouble you to move?” he said.

      “Eh?” said the Vicar. “Er—”

      “Er, hn hm, you appear to be sitting in my seat,” said Chair Person. “I am Chair Person. I am the one who shall talk to – hn hm – the government. I shall be running this meeting.”

      The Vicar got out of the chair as if it had scalded him and backed away. Chair Person sat himself down and looked solemnly around.

      “Coffee,” he said. “Er, hn hm, cakes. While the rest of the world starves.”

      Everyone shifted and looked uncomfortably at their cups.

      In the silence Chair Person looked at Mum. “Hn hm,” he said. “Maybe you have not noticed that you’ve not given me – hn hm – coffee or cakes.”

      “Is that what you meant?” said Mum. “I thought after all the breakfast you ate—”

      “I meant – hn hm – that we are here to feast and prove that we at least have enough to eat,” said Chair Person. While Mum was angrily pouring coffee into the cracked cup that was the last one in the cupboard, he turned to the nearest lady. “I decided to grow a beard,” he said, “to show I am – hn hm – important to the ecology. It makes my face look snuffle grand.”

      The lady stared at him. Auntie Christa said loudly, “We are here to talk about Africa, Mr Chair Person.”

      “Er, hn hm,” said Chair Person. “I happen to know a lot about Africa. The government should act to make sure that the African – hn hm – elephant does not die out.”

      “We were not going to talk about elephants,” the Vicar said faintly.

      “The snuffle gorilla is an endangered animal too,” said Chair Person. “And the herds of – hn hm – wildebeest are not what they were in the days of Dr Livingstone, I presume. Drought afflicts many animals – I appear to have drunk all my coffee – and famine is poised to strike.” And he went on talking, mixing up about six different television programmes as he talked. The Vicar soon gave up trying to interrupt, but Auntie Christa kept trying to talk too. Every time she began, Chair Person went “ER, HN HM!” so loudly that he drowned her out, and took no notice of anything she said. Marcia could not help thinking that Chair Person must have stood in the living room picking up hints from Auntie Christa for years. Now he was better at not letting other people talk than Auntie Christa was.