The Forgotten Twin

Chapter 2

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Delilah turned over some bacon. Harry had been put on egg duty.

"Comb your hair!" he barked at Harry, by way of a morning greeting, completely ignoring Delilah.

She rolled her eyes. Harry's hair grew all over the place, which frustrated Uncle Vernon more than anything. About once a week he decided to take Harry to the barber though it made no difference, the next day his hair was the same. Delilah's red hair, on the other hand, was straight and went down to her waist. Today, as she almost always did, she had pulled it into a braid.

Harry and Delilah put the eggs and bacon on the table, which was difficult as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

Delilah rolled her eyes, at least he got presents.

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mommy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then," said Dudley, going red in the face.

Delilah, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down her food as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Harry did as well.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger too, because she said quickly,

"And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"

Dudley thought for a moment. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty ... thirty..."

"Thirty-nine sweetums," said Aunt Petunia.

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. "Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry, Delilah and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike, a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking both angry and worried.

"Bad news, Vernon," she said. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take them." She jerked her head in Harry and Delilah's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Delilah's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Delilah and Harry were left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. It was horrible. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made them look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

"Now what?" said Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at them as though they'd planned this. Delilah knew she ought to feel sorry that Mrs. Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when she reminded herself it would be a whole year before she had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates them."

The Dursleys often spoke about them like this, as though they weren't there — or rather, as though they were something very nasty that couldn't understand them, like slugs.

"What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.