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by Michelle Magorian

  The curtains lay unwashed on the floor, and Rusty’s loneliness grew more acute as no mail arrived from the States, and the rain continued to fall.

  Every evening her mother would return, oil-stained in her overalls and turban, disappear into the bathroom to wash, and re-emerge in an old pair of slacks, blouse and much-darned cardigan. Rusty soon realized that the green uniform of the W.V.S. was one of her better outfits.

  One day Beatie came into the dining room and discovered Rusty staring out of the window crying. Rusty wiped her cheeks hurriedly.

  ‘Boy, does it rain a lot here.’ She sniffed.

  ‘Yes,’ said Beatie. ‘In fact I’ve come to ask if you’d help me empty out the buckets on the top landing. They’re starting to overflow.’

  ‘Sure.’

  They had hardly reached the door when the telephone rang.

  ‘Darn that phone,’ snapped Rusty. ‘Why don’t they go fix their own darned cars?’

  Beatie ambled over to the phone and picked it up. Rusty gazed guiltily at her for a moment and then left the room.

  She met Beatie as she came out of the bathroom from emptying the copper bowl.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I just get sick of it ringing.’

  ‘You need company,’ said Beatie. ‘Everyone knows that your mother is leaving here soon, so they’re all panicking and asking her to mend their cars, and she hasn’t the heart to refuse.’

  ‘Is she really such a hotshot with engines?’

  Beatie nodded. ‘The best.’

  Rusty gave a sigh.

  ‘Come on,’ said Beatie, ‘before those buckets overflow.’

  Rusty darted up the stairs with the copper bowl.

  ‘I’ll get in touch with Ruth Hatherley. She’s the woman with the chickens. Her children go to that school I was telling you about. I would have contacted her sooner, but her children have all been helping out there, and also I thought you and your mother would be spending more time together.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Rusty, and she turned sharply and carried a slopping bucket down the stairs.

  The following morning it had stopped raining. Rusty slipped out of her pyjamas in the bathroom and peered at her face in the mirror. There was such a lot of goo in her eyes, and her eyelids were awfully puffy. ‘I guess it’s from crying,’ she thought.

  She wasn’t usually a cry-baby. Except for odd moments during the day, she seemed O.K., but as soon as nighttime came and she went to bed, she’d find her face squeezing hard into the pillow and the tears just flowing out like a waterfall.

  ‘You’re sure to feel a little lonely at first,’ Aunt Hannah had said, ‘but once you make a few friends, it’ll work out just fine.’

  She turned on the tap and flung cold water over her eyes.

  Once she had got dressed, she didn’t feel so slowed up. She gave her hair a vigorous brush and gripped it back firmly from her face.

  Her mother was in the dining room, reading the thinnest newspaper Rusty had ever seen.

  ‘Hi,’ Rusty said, surprised.

  Her mother lowered the newspaper and smiled. ‘Morning.’ She looked at Rusty’s shorts, check blouse and sandals. ‘You look very summery.’

  ‘As soon as I saw it wasn’t raining, I thought it’d be kinda neat to put them on. I hate wearing a lot of clothes.’ She stood hesitantly at the door. ‘I’ll go make myself some toast.’

  ‘There’s milk in the larder for you. I have your ration book now, so you can have butter on your toast as well.’

  As she poured the milk, she could feel her salivary glands tingling. She’d never have dreamed she could get so excited about a glass of milk. She’d taken it so much for granted in Connecticut. There she just used to open the refrigerator door and help herself.

  Her mother walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Aren’t you going to work today?’ asked Rusty.

  ‘I’ve told Beatie that I’ll only take emergencies.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re running a doctor’s office.’

  ‘Well, it does seem like that sometimes.’

  ‘Do they pay you for it?’

  ‘It depends who I’m doing it for. If it’s W.V.S. work, no. But if it’s private work, yes, I’m paid for it.’

  Rusty sipped the milk.

  ‘It tastes different from back home.’ She blushed. ‘I mean, back in the States. More creamy.’

  ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I thought we could tackle those curtains this morning. It’d be nice if we could dye them for Beatie before leaving.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Lying down in her room. That indigestion’s playing her up again.’

  ‘Has she seen a doctor?’

  ‘It would take wild horses to persuade Beatie to see one.’

  ‘Couldn’t you get one to visit?’

  ‘I have done, but as soon as he arrives, she starts leaping around saying she’s as fit as a fiddle, that he’s wasting his time being here, and he’s only come round because he’s after her sherry.’

  ‘Doesn’t he get mad?’

  ‘Oh no. He likes calling. They’ve known each other for years. I think he has quite a soft spot for Beatie.’

  Rusty lowered her voice. ‘Did Beatie ever get married?’

  ‘Yes, but her husband died, twenty years ago.’

  ‘So how come she didn’t marry again?’

  ‘There aren’t many men of her age around.’

  ‘So couldn’t she go with someone younger? How old’s this doctor?’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Peggy, attempting to suppress her laughter. ‘I think he’s in his seventies.’

  ‘Too old,’ said Rusty. ‘Couldn’t we find somebody younger?’

  ‘Stop playing matchmaker and drink your milk.’

  ‘We could invite someone over for a meal, couldn’t we?’ said Rusty, taking a sip.

  Her mother pushed some buttered toast towards her. ‘Beatie is quite happy without a husband.’

  ‘Oh I know, but it’s more fun when you can share good times with someone else, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you want to catch this butter before it’s melted entirely into the bread, you’d better eat it up quick.’

  They decided to do the dining-room curtains first, and carried them in shifts out into the garden. Ivy was cutting back a hedge with some shears.

  ‘Are you sure they won’t fall apart?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Peggy. ‘But Beatie’s all for it.’

  Charlie and Susan suddenly appeared from behind the shrubbery. Charlie took one look at Rusty and then haughtily turned his back on her and ran off with Susan. Peggy gave a sigh.

  ‘He’s just very jealous,’ she said.

  They walked down towards the river. Well, I’m jealous of him, too, thought Rusty. After all, he hadn’t been sent away.

  When they reached the jetty, they knelt down and lowered the ends of the curtains into the water.

  ‘Look at it come out!’ exclaimed Rusty, as black liquid trailed out of the material.

  They gathered up the ends and began squeezing and wringing them.

  Peggy was elated. Her daughter’s accent and exuberance still disturbed her, but she knew that in time the accent would disappear, and that a year in an English school would calm her down. Virginia would return to the quiet, gentle little English girl who had left her five years ago. She squeezed the curtains firmly. This was a marvellous idea of Beatie’s to bleach and dye the curtains, and how kind of her to pretend that her daughter had thought of it.

  Rusty twisted and turned the material. It was so satisfying to see the black oozing out.

  ‘Say, my water’s turning grey. That’s a good sign. I just hope when I start squeezing the next part, it won’t run into the end that I just did.’

  ‘That I’ve just done,’ said her mother.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘It’s that Pvejust done, not that I just did.’

  Rusty l
ooked blankly at her.

  ‘I was correcting your grammar.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  No one had corrected her grammar before. English was one of her best subjects.

  They went on dipping and squeezing.

  When they had each completed a curtain, they draped the sodden black material over the sides of the jetty and began a second batch. They were just beginning the dipping process again when the sound of a car pulling into the front garden caused Peggy to sit up, startled.

  A tall man in his forties with broad shoulders and thick, dark hair came striding around the corner. He was wearing the uniform of an American army captain.

  ‘Hi there!’ he yelled.

  Ivy, who had sprung to her feet at the sound of the jeep, was now frantically tearing off her apron and smoothing her hair.

  ‘Oh, Mitch,’ she said. ‘You should have warned me. I’m such a mess.’

  Charlie and Susan ran crazily up to him. He scooped Charlie up in his arms.

  ‘Hiya, Charlie boy,’ he yelled. ‘How ya doin’?’

  ‘I’m doin’ O.K.,’ yelled Charlie, dropping into American.

  Mitch whirled him round and round.

  Rusty swallowed. That was what Uncle Bruno used to do with her. He was like the centre of a merry-go-round and he’d just lift her up and whip her around high in the air. She remembered how shy and scared she had been when she had first arrived at the Omsks’, and how noisy she had thought the family. Uncle Bruno had just winked at her quietly and they had walked out to his workshop, and for months after, that she had clung to him like a shadow. That’s how she had come to learn some carpentry. He said she was his trusty assistant. He was always complimenting her like that. And when he used to whirl her around, he’d throw her back in the grass and the earth would rock and spin around her.

  She watched as Mitch swung Susan round too, but instead of putting her back on the ground like he had Charlie, he held her tightly to him. Then Charlie began to play what looked like hide and seek, only it seemed he was playing it by himself.

  ‘Uncle Harvey,’ he giggled. ‘Where are you? Can’t catch me.’ And he fled up to the end of the conservatory and peeked around. ‘Uncle Harvee!’ he yelled. ‘Hee, hee, hee. Can’t find me.’

  Peggy looked hastily down at the curtain and began squeezing it again.

  ‘Uncle Harveee,’ went on Charlie.

  Rusty was mesmerized by the scene. She knew something awful was going on, but she didn’t know what it was.

  Mitch lowered Susan and ruffled her hair.

  ‘Hey, Chuck,’ he said. ‘Uncle Harvey isn’t here. You know that.’

  ‘Yes he is. Yes he is,’ said Charlie, dancing around. ‘He’s hiding, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, boy. He went away. You know that. He said goodbye. Don’t you remember? He told you to take good care of your mom.’

  Charlie looked puzzled for a moment and then broke into a grin.

  ‘I did look after her. I did.’ He turned to look in the direction of the jetty and then swiftly back to Mitch. ‘Is he in the jeep?’

  Mitch shook his head slowly, and picked him up.

  ‘When’s he coming back, Uncle Mitch?’

  Rusty watched as Mitch carried him towards the shrubbery. He muttered something gently in his ear. Charlie let out a piercing scream and began to hit him violently.

  ‘Come on, Susan,’ said Ivy, taking her hand. ‘Let’s go and get changed. Uncle Mitch is going to take us out.’

  From behind the shrubbery came the sounds of sobbing. Rusty glanced at her mother. Peggy’s face looked like a pale mask.

  ‘Is the man called Harvey dead?’ she whispered.

  ‘No, it’s just that he won’t be coming back, and Charlie’s finding that difficult to accept.’

  Rusty wanted to say something that would comfort her mother, but she couldn’t think of anything. I guess, thought Rusty, this man called Harvey was a good buddy of my mother’s, too.

  After a while the sobbing subsided and Mitch emerged from the bushes with Charlie still in his arms. He was holding a large handkerchief to Charlie’s nose.

  ‘Hey, Charlie boy,’ he protested. ‘Don’t blow it away!’

  ‘I’m not blowing it away.’

  Charlie gave a short sniffle into the handkerchief. Mitch staggered backwards.

  ‘Hey, watch it, you’re blowing me away!’

  Charlie fell exhausted against Mitch’s chest and laughed.

  Mitch walked down to the river and gave a nod to Peggy.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And who is this young lady?’ he exclaimed.

  Rusty leapt to her feet.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘You must be Virginia. Peggy, you didn’t tell me she was such a redhead.’ He winked at Rusty. ‘I bet you have all the boys after you!’

  Peggy flinched. ‘She’s a bit young for that,’ she remarked stiffly.

  ‘How are you finding England?’ he said.

  Before Rusty could answer, her mother said, ‘She did live here before, you know.’

  ‘Sure you did, but how does it compare with the good ole U.S. of A.?’

  Now Rusty was stymied. If she said she preferred America, her mother would get all stiff. If she said she liked England, he’d get mad.

  ‘Difficult to choose, eh?’ said Mitch, rescuing her.

  ‘Uh-huh. There’s good things in both.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’ He lowered Charlie to the ground. ‘I thought it’d be nice to take a trip down to the beach. You coming?’

  ‘No,’ said Peggy.

  ‘I was talking about Virginia,’ he said.

  Rusty longed to go to the beach. She loved swimming, and this Mitch looked like so much fun, and it was so wonderful to hear an American voice again, but since her mother was staying to do the curtains, she’d better refuse.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, and she lifted the curtains. ‘We got a project going. Better do it while it doesn’t rain.’

  Mitch nodded with understanding.

  ‘Be seeing you then,’ he said, and he bent down, deftly picked up Charlie, and threw him on to his shoulders.

  Peggy and Rusty watched him for a moment before returning to the curtains. For a while they didn’t speak. Rusty glanced at her mother.

  ‘How’s your curtain coming along?’ she began.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your curtain, how are you doing?’

  Peggy gazed blankly down at it.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ she said suddenly. ‘It was a good idea of Beatie’s to dip them in the river.’

  Rusty was astounded. ‘It was my idea,’ she said. ‘Don’t you remember? I was sitting on the ladder in the dining room.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  They pushed their hands into the material.

  ‘Are you sure Beatie hadn’t suggested it to you in the first place?’

  Rusty felt bewildered. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It was all my own idea. Actually,’ she added, ‘when it comes to interior decoration, I have some very good ideas.’ Leastways the Omsks think I do, but she left that part out.

  Peggy sat up abruptly.

  ‘Boasting doesn’t go down too well in this country,’ she said.

  Before Rusty could say anything, there was a shout from Beatie, from the kitchen window.

  ‘Peggy,’ she yelled, ‘there’s a phone-call for you. One of the ambulances has broken down in Newton Abbot, and they can’t find a mechanic anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll just go and see how urgent it is,’ said Peggy hurriedly.

  She sprang to her feet and sprinted across the garden. Rusty returned to the curtains. She couldn’t go now, could she? Not after Rusty had turned down the beach trip?

  As Rusty squeezed and twisted the black curtain, a painful ache lodged itself in her chest, and her arms seemed almost as if they didn’t belong to her body any longer. A fog rose into her eyes. She knew her mother was going to leave, and it hurt so much she
could hardly breathe. As she heard her mother calling to her, she turned as if in a dream.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry, Virginia!’ she said. ‘It really is an emergency.’

  ‘That’s O.K.,’ Rusty heard herself say, and she moved slowly back to the curtains.

  It wasn’t until she heard the Bomb spluttering out of the front garden that her hurt exploded into anger.

  ‘Damn you!’ she yelled angrily, and she slapped the curtains against the jetty. ‘I’m not going to hang around for you any more. I’m going to do what / want to do! I don’t need you, anyway.’

  It was then, as her eyes cleared, that she saw the boat tied up by the jetty. She slid swiftly into it and untied it.

  Gripping the oars, she dipped them firmly into the water and with all her strength drew the wooden craft away from the jetty, her anger rising with each stroke.

  Beatie stood on the jetty and gazed down at the abandoned curtains. She had come down to tell Rusty that the eldest of the Hatherley children, a girl of thirteen, was sitting in the dining room waiting to meet her. Beatie thought it would be nice for them to have lunch together.

  Now she was not only going to have to tell her that Rusty had disappeared, but she was also going to have to break the news that Rusty had gone off in the girl’s boat.

  6

  Rusty rowed until she had exhausted herself. She glided into a small inlet in the bank and attached the rope to the branch of an overhanging tree. Sliding into the centre of the boat, she leaned back. The palms of her hands burned, but she didn’t care. It was such a relief to be doing something she liked. For the first time since her return to England, she didn’t feel lonely. She raised herself up on her elbow and peered over the side of the boat. There wasn’t another boat to be seen, and the banks of the river were too overgrown with trees and bushes for anyone to walk with ease through them.

  Within seconds she had peeled off her clothes and had plunged into the river. There was nothing to beat skinny-dipping, she thought, as she glided and turned and somersaulted in the water.

  Oblivious of time, she swam and dived, gazing at the fish and plants as she let herself sink under the surface or lie face down in a dead man’s float. After a while she hauled herself back into the boat and lay there, dripping.