The promise that stays

On Monday the bunting was gone from the playground. A little bit of rope still hung from one post. Under the chestnut tree lay a wet biscuit wrapper nobody had spotted while tidying up.

Vera picked it up. Joep was already at the shed, wearing his wooden badge over his coat.

‘You came,’ she said.

‘I gave myself permission.’

He took the badge off so it wouldn’t get caught in the wood. Eef came up behind them with her rolled drawing. She put it on the shelf beside her bag.

Bram showed them which planks they could sand. He’d checked them first and dealt with the sharp edges. Kees stayed with them. The adults would do the sawing and fastening. Joep took a piece of sandpaper straight away. Vera ran her hand over a plank.

‘Use the block,’ Bram said. ‘It’s easier to hold.’

They sanded side by side. The wood smelled different from the school shed. Eef pointed to a dark line in her plank. At first she thought it was a splinter. Bram showed her it was part of the wood.

‘Then it can stay,’ she said.

Joep sanded so hard that his block slid off the plank. His elbow bumped his coat. The badge tapped the table.

‘I’m not doing this every Monday,’ he said.

‘You only have to make one bench,’ Vera told him.

‘You say that now.’

They worked at the table for half an hour. Then Vera’s arm was tired. She put down the block. Her plank felt smoother but looked almost the same. In the corner she’d missed, Bram could point out exactly where she hadn’t been.

‘We’ll do that later,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to finish everything today.’

Vera looked at the rota she’d made for the crate. She’d filled in Monday and Thursday. Eef had Tuesday. Sam had put his name down for Friday. Wednesday was empty.

‘I can do Wednesday,’ Joep said.

Vera looked up. ‘You want to put books away?’

‘I can carry that crate. But not twelve great thick books.’

‘Six thin ones.’

‘With pictures?’

‘Some of them.’

He took her pencil and wrote his name in the empty box. His p was bigger than the other letters. There was no room for an exclamation mark. Vera thought that was a pity.

The bench was ready on Friday. The club had built it and treated it with an outdoor finish that needed time to dry. Kees and Bram checked the base, the edges and the lid. After school they brought it out with two other adults.

Vera wanted to stay until the very last bit of wood was in place. Her mum said she could wait, as long as she locked her bicycle afterwards. Twice she’d left it by the fence with the key still in the lock.

The bench went where the trial bench had stood. Four children fitted on it. Beneath the seat was the cushion space. When you lifted the light lid, a support held it open. Kees showed Vera first. Then she tried.

‘Don’t climb in,’ he told Puk, who’d come out through the little children’s door to look.

Puk took her foot off the edge. ‘I was checking if it was a house.’

‘For the cushions.’

She inspected the blue pile. ‘They don’t need windows.’

Vera put the cushions on the bench. Her granny came to see. She stroked the mended corner, now at the back. Beside the bench, Vera set down the crate of books. Two were hers. Two belonged to Eef. The school had added one.

There was also a book of knots. Joep had found it in the shed. Somebody from the woodworking club had written their name on the first page. Joep had asked whether they could borrow it for a while.

‘In case I forget that one,’ he said.

The mended football net hung across the playground. Joep and his dad had fixed it on Wednesday. The first ball hit it while his dad was still standing at the side. The knot held. The ball bounced onto Joep’s shoe. He shot at the goal, and missed.

‘The net’s all right,’ his dad had said.

One knot was crooked. Joep had tied it himself. He wanted to leave it for now. At least he could see which bit of the work was his.

Eef sat on the bench and pulled her bag onto her lap. She took out her spade drawing. On the back was a new sum: just the four spades they needed most.

‘I talked to Safia,’ she said. ‘She’s going to check what the school already has. There might be another box in the storeroom. But we’re not getting the wheelbarrow or the border now.’

Vera looked at the drawing. ‘Do you want to put it on the wall?’

‘In the classroom. So I don’t forget.’

She folded the paper and took a book from the crate. Puk sat beside her. She’d left the potato at home. It stood on the kitchen windowsill now, with its hat beside it.

Eef showed her a picture. Puk said the tree on the page looked very much like their tree. Then she pointed at a little bird that didn’t look like it at all. Vera listened for a moment. Finally she opened the book with the grand king again.

The king still had sand on his nose. Vera shook the last grains from the middle of the pages. They fell onto the path.

Joep stood in front of her with the ball.

‘Playing?’

Vera looked at her chapter. Three pages left.

‘In a minute.’

He stayed where he was. She looked up again.

‘I’m finishing this first. Then I’ll come.’

‘All right. You’re on my side, then.’

‘I’ll choose my own team.’

‘Another election every time.’

He went to the goal. Vera read her three pages. Then she put the book back and joined the game. First she hit the ball with the side of her shoe. Her second attempt sent it forward. Joep shouted that she belonged on his team. From the bench, Eef shouted that he should make the sides even first.

At the end of the afternoon, the crate was still beside the bench. Vera was already at her bicycle when she saw it. She let go of the handlebars and went back.

‘It’s Friday,’ she said.

Sam’s dad had collected him and taken him straight home. Vera put the crate on the bench. It wasn’t heavy, but the handles pressed into her fingers.

Kees came to tidy the playground. He held the door for her. Inside, she put the books on the agreed shelf. She wrote Sam a note and left it in his tray. Not an angry note. He just needed to know where his name was on the rota.

Then she put the cushions away. Eef helped close the lid. A little wet ring remained where Puk had put her cup. Vera dried it with the cloth from the shed.

When she finally went to her bicycle, Miep stood by the fence. Sam’s sign still hung there: HONORARY MAYOR. NO OFFICE HOURS. One corner had curled up.

Vera took an apple out of her bag and had a bite herself. Bennie came out of the garden with a watering can. Vera pointed at the sign.

‘Does she really have to do nothing?’

‘She has to be a goose,’ Bennie said. ‘That’s enough for her.’

Vera looked at Miep. The goose poked her beak through the fence. She looked at the apple, then at Vera’s hand.

‘I won fair and square,’ Vera said.

Miep gave a short honk.

Vera took another bite. By now she knew that answer could mean all sorts of things. It probably mostly meant: apple.

She cycled home with her coat open. Behind her, the bench stayed under the chestnut tree. Tomorrow somebody would surely sit there again. Perhaps with a book, perhaps without. She didn’t have to stay beside it herself for that to happen.