The place the little Bobby Turner loved most in his home was the old wardrobe. It was a massive, darkbrown piece of furniture that filled the corner of the bedroom he shared with his parents. Its doors were heavy for Bobbys small hands, creaking and groaning with every reluctant swing. Inside he piled his modest treasuresa teddy bear with a torn ear, a clown in a huge blueandred hat that his mother had given him for Christmas, and a toy horse. Yes, a horse.
The horse had once been black, its mane the shade of a ravens wing. Over the years the plastic black faded and cracked in the sun, but the mane remained almost intact. Bobby would brush the horses hair and give it a sprig of grass.
The wardrobe was Bobbys secret world, his very own Narnia, where real magic happened: the clown became a knight, riding the faithful horse and defending a beautiful princess from a ferocious bear. What happened after the clownknight claimed victory, Bobby never imagined; in fact, at the most thrilling moments his grandmother would appear, pulling him away.
Bobby was terrified of Grandma Maggie. Her hands were always grimyof course, she spent her days digging in the garden while his parents were at work. Her face was lined like freshly ploughed fields, and her voice was sharp and loud, like their dog Baxters bark when the cold winter wind threatened to blow the shutters off and a snowdrift almost buried his kennel.
Bobby felt sorry for Baxter, especially in February when the fierce wind battered the house and the snow piled up around the dogs little hut. One bitter night, the boy slipped out of the house in his flannel pajamas, feet still inside his teddybear slippers, and crept through the drifts to rescue the dog. Halfway across the yard, a harsh maternal voice and an angry grandmothers shout caught up with him. Mother Helen stood in the doorway, a coat slung over one shoulder, staring into the darkness and calling:
Bobby, where are you?
Behind her, Grandma Maggie barked:
Come back, you wicked lad! Where have you gone, you fool! All because of your absent father, that forgetful old fool!
Absent father was a phrase that made Bobbys head swirl. His dad, James, was a longhaul driver who was rarely home. Bobby didnt quite understand what a longhaul driver did, only that it sounded more important than him. James would pop in once in a while, pat Bobby on the back, ask hows it going? and then retreat to his bed.
Grandma called James a longhaul granddad, and Mother simply sighed:
Dont worry, love, well manage. Youre my lucky charm, already a big boy. Look what I have for youa dads watch. Just like an adults. When the little hand meets the big hand at the bottom of the dial, and the date window shows 12, that means hes coming. Keep it safe.
Bobby was proud to wear his dads watch, feeling as grownup as a man. Still, he felt a sting of embarrassment when his friend Freddie Thompson bounced around with his own father on Sunday mornings, each of them with fishing rodsJamess massive spin tackle, Freddies tiny rod and a bucket that never seemed to catch anything.
Even sixyearold Ethel, whom Bobby thought rather dim because she still couldnt read, was different. While Bobby, at five, could chant the signs Pharmacy and Optician (though he wasnt quite sure what each meant), Ethel proudly rode in her fathers white estate car every Saturday to the market.
Bobby dreamed that one day his dad would park his huge lorry next to his, and they would drive off together on mens business. But on the rare occasions James was home, they never had time for Bobby; they argued with Mother. She would weep, Grandma would mutter, and James would slam the door and storm out to smoke a cigarette. Bobby hid in his beloved wardrobe, clutching his trusty teddy, and cried. Real men dont cry, they say, but neither the bear nor the clown would ever tell anyone. It would remain his secret.
That afternoon was Mothers birthday. Bobby raced home from the yard when, suddenly, he stopped dead. Across the pavement stood James, his elbow hooked around a young woman in a bright red dress. She laughed, and in Jamess hand glimmered a massive bouquet of roses, so grand it stole Bobbys breath away.
For Mum! he thought. Today is Mums day! It must be for her! His heart thumped with joy.
That evening Mother and Grandma set the table for a celebration: steaming potatoes fresh from the oven, jelly in crystal dishes, crisp pickles from the cellar, and a towering cake iced with pink roses. There was one rose missing from the cakeBobby had pilfered it earlier. When the guests were seated, James returned, this time bearing a modest bouquet of white chrysanthemums wrapped in grey paper. Mothers face lit up; she wrapped him in a hug and giggled like a schoolgirl.
Bobby swallowed hard, ready to ask where the first roses had gone, but he glanced at Mothershe looked radiant in her new pink dress, cheeks flushed with either delight or dancing. He stayed silent.
Later, he slipped back into the dim wardrobe, among the bear and clown, and twisted his dads watch on his wrist. Once it had seemed so important, so adult, its hands now lay motionless, lifeless. He tried to wind it several times, but nothing changed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, yet he didnt let them fall. He realized crying now would be pointless; he was no longer that little boy waiting for a driver on the road.
He placed the watch on the shelf between the bear and the clown, closed the wardrobe doors gently, and the magic of his Narnia faded.
In the kitchen, Mother sang softly while unwrapping presents. Bobby walked over, wrapped his arms around her waist, and felt her shiver.
Im with you, Mum, he whispered, firm. Ill always be with you.
