A Few Oddities of the Davenport Family
There goes Olivia, walking her dog again…
Good heavens, what has she done to that poor animal this time? Look at Winstons tail! Its not purple anymore, its pink! There, look, shes got him wagging it about as if hes delighted!
What can you do? The girls always been a bit eccentric. Still, shes kind-hearted and decent! You dont get many like her these days. When Gran was ill, Olivia practically took up residence in the hospital, fluttering to and fro, not giving two figs for her own youth.
Oh, is that so! Only yesterday I saw her being dropped off by a rather dashing young man outside the flats.
Perhaps it was a taxi driver!
Oh, really? Since when do London cabbies kiss their passengers hands, pray tell?
Well, I never!
Im telling you, mark my words: our Olivias getting married soon.
Good for her! Thatll make her grandmother as proud as punch! Raised a clever, lovely, upstanding girl! Its just a shame about her career if not for that, shed be perfection.
Whats wrong with Olivias job then?
Detective Inspector? Is that really a job for a young woman?
Oh, do stop. How many people these days have any respect for the law, like her gran? Not many! And Olivias turned out a superb detective! Theyve written about her in the papers, and she was even on BBC One. You cant argue with that!
Did I say anything? Let her get on with it, I say! It was obvious from childhood she wouldnt blend in. Remember what she was like?
Naturally! Takes after her gran. All fire and vinegar!
The subject of all this doorstep gossip breezed past, politely nodding at the neighbours, then suddenly took off, skipping after her dog, who was bounding along the icy path with a tail as pink as the dawn.
There she goes! Wheres she off to now?
Off to the airport, I think. Her sister, Katherine, arrives today!
Oh? And how do you know that?
Olivia herself told me. Look, the taxis just pulled up!
A statuesque, elegant young woman stepped out of the car, said nothing, strode towards Olivia, gave her a huge hug, and whistled at the pink-tailed Winston.
Liv, what have you done to that poor dog now?!
What? Doesnt it look nice? Grans favourite shade, after all!
Oh, Ive missed you, you wonderful weirdo!
Olivia beamed and hugged her sister again.
Olivia Davenports mild madness was legendary across their corner of Cambridge. Her eccentricities had begun long ago, during her golden, plaited childhood. This sweet child with skinny braids in giant bows (meticulously tied by her grandmother) charmed the neighbours with her slightly lopsided grin a grin which, before her step-grandad intervened, revealed teeth in desperate need of alignment. With a cheery, How are you today?, shed flutter around…
But neighbours quickly decided it was better not to answer, even if they had nothing more embarrassing in their cupboards than a fondness for takeaway curries or a chatty budgerigar capable of giving away their Wi-Fi password.
Why, you ask? Because Olivia was alarming.
She didnt just chatter like a typical child. No, Olivia had a preternatural knack for connecting snippets shed overheard or glimpsed, and then trotting out the combined results to precisely the person it concerned.
Auntie Jenn, while you were out, Uncle Bernard popped round to see Mrs Watson from number 17. With flowers! The same type he gave you for your birthday yellow ones, but a big bunch this time! I asked for a sniff and he said no, and then he took them to Mrs Watson. Why can she have flowers but not me?
Cue Aunt Jenn, who up till now believed every one of Bernards tales about late meetings and surprise shift changes, jolting, darting nervous glances to see which neighbours had heard, and breaking into a power-walk, forgetting to even nod at Olivias gran.
Darling, why are you talking to Aunt Jenn? She didnt ask you anything! gran would scold, without bothering to explain why.
Olivia would sulk, utterly mystified. Had she said something wrong? She was sure she hadnt. Or had she?
This incomprehension was the worst part. Had gran just explained why one shouldnt mention floral gifts to philandering husbands, maybe Olivia wouldve zipped her lips next time.
Instead, gran would turn into a living statue, reminiscent of the Victorian one in Parkers Piece where they often walked. Shed grip Olivias little hand with that gentle but ominous firmness, pursing her lips and shooting looks that clearly spelled: No sweets after tea for you, young lady.
This, Olivia could never quite forgive. Shed glower throughout supper, at least until she remembered that the Victorian statue was nothing like gran: grans hair didnt have pigeons sitting on it doing unspeakable things, so her barnet stayed immaculatea far cry from the bald pate of civic bronze.
Olivia knew about the bronze chap because of her step-grandad, who was much more forthcoming than gran and never dodged a question.
Whys he bald? Olivia would ask, squinting up at Parliament Square.
Nerves, said Granddad matter-of-factly.
You mean, he worried a lot? His job was tough, right?
Exactly.
Was he a childrens dentist like you? Olivia, ever literal, pictured the dour statue squeezed into Granddads surgery, terrifying generations of children. She could hear their shrieks echoing down the corridor as his pigeon-pecked scalp appeared in the doorway: Next!
Granddad would look at Olivia oddly, then burst out laughing. If only! The world might be a calmer place. No, poppet, he was a statesman.
What, like with feathers on his head? Like that book you read me? But hes as bald as a coot and those pigeons only make it worse! Do you think pigeon feathers would work for, er, what do you call it…?
A headdress?
Yes! For a headdress!
No, you need eagle feathers for that.
Dont be daft, Granddad! Eagles are far too prettyand clean. Gran says doing bird business where you shouldnt is most improper. Remember when we all went fishing and you, ahem, disappeared in the bushes? She said one should only… you know… with utmost decorum.
Granddad would then laugh so much that people across the green would stare. Olivia would just shrug: what on earth was funny about that?
She’d narrow her eyes, put her fists on her hips. Are you quite finished, Granddad?
Hed wipe away tears and try to regain his dignity.
Really, youre not the horse from the Household Cavalry, you know. You ought to behave a little more tastefully! Its embarrassing!
Granddad, now thoroughly amused, would steer Olivia towards home, buying her a top secret ice cream as an apology for unseemly behaviour.
It was “top secret” because Gran had strictly forbidden ice cream before lunch. But rules were more of a flexible suggestion for Granddad, and Olivia got her forbidden treat so long as she kept mum.
Now, Olivia, hed say, if you tell Gran about the ice cream, shell never forgive me.
Therell be a row?
The whole three-act drama! You know how she isused to everyone obeying her.
But you dont obey her…
Im a man. Id look daft, wouldn’t I, if I did?
So can I tell her then? Olivia would ask slyly.
No! Not obeying is one thing, winding up a woman is quite another!
Are you a coward, Granddad?
No! Im merely experienced and I favour a dodgy peace to an all-out war.
What does that mean?
Ill tell you when youre older. But now, lets buy Gran some flowers.
Why?
So she wont recognise your guilty, sticky face straight away!
Shed agree, naturally. Olivia adored her step-grandadand he reciprocated wholeheartedly.
Hed entered her life as a Christmas gift, when Gran, whod raised Olivia single-handedly while her parents gallivanted round archaeological digs, finally married her old flame. Gran was a formidable woman, a legal academic whod rather run the UN than shed a tear, with two exceptions: Olivia and her dear old uni friend, now the new husband.
Why exceptions? Simple: fate must have been as bored of their solitude as they were and thought, Why not? Only fate could put two such odd socks togethera statuesque, imperious Gran and a rotund, jolly, unflappable step-grandad.
He was not only a dab hand at keeping calm on tough daysvital given Grans temperament and high-flying jobbut had something else. Something that, over time, knitted the family tightly together.
For all her rationality, Gran was secretly hopelessly romantic. Shed wanted love poems under the moon and lilac under her windowa detail mostly missed by her first husband, who preferred reciting the more martial bits of Tennyson and saw flowers strictly as presents for high days and holidays.
Grans tender side had withered. When Gran suffered, so did everyone else. No wonder husband number one bolted whenever possible, never realising what an extraordinary woman hed lived with.
And so the romance drought continued, with her raising a son, nurturing a career, and utterly unprepared for how happiness would tiptoe back in.
Happiness returned to Grans life in the form of Oliviasqualling, scrawny, and utterly irresistible. When she first held her granddaughter, something thawed. She bloomed. Olivia was immediately Grans sole responsibility. Her daughter (one of the nations top archaeologists, along with Olivias father) left for the next big dig, completely assured their treasure was safe with Gran.
So Olivia grew, cheeks puffed, blowing bubbles at her Gran, hollering until the neighbours re-homed their shih tzuwhose operatic barking was, frankly, a public nuisance.
The neighbours gave Gran a lorry-load of advice about raising children. She tried some, ignored most, and gradually everything settled.
When Olivia was one, in walked her step-grandad. Gran kept in touch with her first husband out of principle, but decreed that while most grandkids got one granddad, Olivia would have two: a regular one, and a one-of-a-kind step-grandadunique to her.
Eventually, Olivias heart belonged to the step-grandadthe man whod walk through fire for Gran and Olivia alike.
She also knew the family story: how Gran, already resigned to being doomed to spinsterdom, had her life turned upside-downin a dentists waiting room, of all places. For months, Olivia wailed all night. Gran and the neighbours were nearly unhinged. Advice poured in, until finally someone suggested Dr Thomas, the childrens dentist: He’s magic! My kids barely flinch; give it a go!
Gran (Margaret, if you please) swept across the green with the pram in turbo mode.
Margaret! Dr Thomas grinned, and Gran knew another fateful turn was about to begin. This was the same grin that had kept her awake as a sixth-former, dreaming the impossible.
Up till then, pride and English reserve had stopped her saying a word. But now, he took command and soon whisked her down the aisle againand Olivia acquired a step-grandad.
Grans son was unfazed. Congratulated mother and stepdad, then coolly enquired if theyd keep babysitting. Assured nothing would change for Olivia, all sides were delighted.
Olivia grew up wrapped in love, convinced all children lived like this. She didnt go to nursery, as her health was never robust; every attempt at socialising led to colds. Eventually, Granddad said, Dash it, Margaret, to blazes with nursery! As long as shes healthy!
Socialisation was left for the garden. Every spring and summer, theyd decamp to the familys country placeone of those old villages near Newmarket, where the same families handed down cottages under ancient pines, and the children played on sprawling lawns.
Here, Olivia attended the worlds best summer school: her friends, strawberry stolen from the kitchen, and tea in the summer house, built by Granddad Thomas. There was darling Violet, twins Harry and George, and Isabella pirouetting, already convinced shed someday solo at Covent Garden.
When Olivia turned six, in came Katherine.
Katherine was nothing like anyone Olivia had knowna cheeky, scruffy hurricane of a girl, who always wanted her own way.
Their first encounter was memorable. Olivia, not expecting guests, was leafing through a book as she picked over spotless strawberries when a small, muddy hand shot out from under the table. Olivia yelped so loudly, Gran nearly tipped a pan of jam onto her slippers.
Olivia, what on earth?! Gran barrelled onto the veranda, sending the neighbours cats scrambling. Shed feed strays, yes, but kept ordera vanishing commodity with Olivia shrieking and the jam boiling over.
Having hoisted her feet onto the bench, Olivia peered under the table to discover the cheeky interloper shovelling down strawberries as if she owned the place.
Why are you screaming? Dont you want to know why Im here? Katherine, undeterred, dragged the bowl under the table. Come on! Or you wont get any!
Gran, finally spotting the new arrival, relaxed. Katherine! Youll give her a heart attack! Wheres your granddad?
Napping again. Hes, you know, a bit tired…
Olivia clocked that tired was code for had a sherry. Fortunately, Gran seemed unsurprised.
Girls, behave! Sweets are in the kitchen. Ill be back! And off Gran dashed, pausing only to wake a snoring Granddad. He could sleep through anything even Grans wayward humming and cared deeply for the childrens uproar.
Katherine introduced herself, hand out, all business: Katherine Martha.
Thomas. Pleasures mine! said Granddad, equally grand.
And so, Katherine became Olivias companion. Only later did Olivia discover that Katherine was the granddaughter of Grans dear old friend, whose world had been upended by loss. Katherines only relatives had died in a plane crash; her grandfather was left raising her alone. Margaret, naturally resourceful, pulled every string so that he could rent a cottage nearby and keep Katherine under her wing.
Why go to such lengths for someone elses granddaughter? Because when Margaret first saw Katherinea pale, thin child with enormous eyes so like Oliviasher heart wobbled. She wouldnt, couldnt, abandon her.
Thomas only ever said, Do what you think is right! Margaret worried she might never love both girls equally. Nonsense! replied Thomas. Love them both as only you can. It never needs to be exactly the same.
Eventually, Katherines granddad fell ill and spent his last months enjoying the chaos of two girls storming the garden. Gran handled all the paperwork, and soon Katherine became part of the Davenport family.
Olivia and Katherine had little in common: different temperaments, different foibles. But those differences welded their friendship together. And it was Katherine who always told Olivia the truthsomething she needed more than all the affection in the world.
It was Katherine, too, who taught Olivia the fine art of discretion. Thanks to her, Olivias analytical skills stayed sharpbut became useful. Youre wasted here, Liv. You should be a detective! Mind you, Granddad would never approvesays police works a dogs life and not for his girls.
Ill be an investigator then.
Why?
So therell be at least one nice one for a change! Olivia would laugh, never expecting just how hard her path would bebut never doubting her family would back her all the way.
People called her odd, mocked, spun fingers at their temples. Let them! Olivia had her purpose, and her family behind heralways, hands on hips, brow furrowed, ready to scold:
Olivia, have you even eaten today? No? Scandalous! Are you giggling, Katherine? Dont pretend youve had anything either! Chop-chop, lunch, both of you! Plates spotless, do you hear? Thomas, do you need a royal summons? Leave Winston alone and wash your hands! That poor dogwhy does he have a pink tail now? Because its fun? Is that so? Since when do I say things like that? Don’t wind me up, all of you! Soups going cold! Move to the dining table, pronto!Everyone obeyedeventuallybecause Gran ruled by the ironclad power of love, and in the Davenport household, love came with a dollop of discipline, a tongue sharp enough to slice meringue, and at least three types of soup simmering at all times.
Now, years later, as Olivia and Katherine, grown-up and formidable in their own rights, strode out together into the chilly Cambridge dawn, a pink-tailed Winston romping between them, Grans legacy echoed in every hearty laugh and every sharp retort. Their odd little familypatched together with grief, stubbornness, and an improbable amount of plum jamhad weathered everything from infant mysteries to lifes daily storms, growing kinder and stranger with every passing year.
On the street corner, a pair of neighbours watched the sisters disappear. They exchanged a lookhalf exasperation, half awe.
Shell solve every problem from here to Scotland, that Olivia, one muttered, shaking her head. Even if she dyes the dog turquoise next.
And shell drag the whole family with her, said the other. You know, I used to think the Davenports were a breed apartjust a bit too much. Now Id trust them with anything. If you need rescuing, itll be Olivia and Katherine on your doorstep, rain or shine.
The pink-tailed dog barked joyously, and Olivia turned, smiling her irrepressible, crooked smile back at the retreating houses.
The world might always consider the Davenports odd, but what did it matter? In this extraordinary, unpredictable family, you were never alone and never unloved. Whatever else befell them, they had each othera little mad, perhaps, but absolutely magnificent.
And, as Gran often reminded themeven as she bossed them to the table, soup spoons raisedTo be a little odd is the surest sign youre exactly who youre meant to be.
