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by Michelle Magorian

  ‘I think it’ll be O.K.,’ she said. ‘I guess we could light a fire there.’

  Lance groaned. ‘I’ve had enough of lighting fires,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I told you, I’m hopeless at it.’

  Rusty gazed thoughtfully at him. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I’m good at fires. How’s about I teach you? Then maybe that prefect won’t beat you so much.’

  He beamed. ‘It’s a deal. And I tell you what, I’ll help you with your Latin.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me about Latin. It’s one of the dumbest languages ever invented.’

  ‘No it isn’t. It’s the root of lots of other languages.’

  ‘Yeah, but nobody speaks it any more. I mean, the only people Latin’s any use for is a bunch of dead Romans!’

  They sat on the raised stone platform in front of the fireplace and gazed at the deserted, dust-laden room. ‘What a find!’ She turned excitedly to Lance. ‘We can pretend we’re in the middle of nowhere. We can make it like a real pioneer cabin.’

  Just then there was a crash outside the door. Rusty and Lance sprang to their feet.

  ‘They don’t have bears in England, do they?’ she whispered.

  They moved slowly towards the closed door and stared, horrified, at it until Rusty, unable to stand the suspense any longer, whipped it open.

  ‘Hands up,’ she snarled, pushing the torch in her pocket forward as if it was a gun. Lance gave a startled jump. ‘It’s O.K.,’ she said. ‘There’s no one there. Just a lot of junk. I guess I must have disturbed something walking up the stairs.’ She turned her torch on again and pointed it at a large mound of rubble.

  ‘You know,’ said Lance, following her, ‘I bet there’s a lot of useful stuff in there.’

  Just what I was thinking, Yank.’

  He stiffened and then relaxed.

  ‘Nearly got me there, Creeper.’

  She swung her torch over to the staircase and spotted a small door underneath. She tried to open it, but the hinges were too rusty. She and Lance gave it an almighty push. After a loud creak it opened stiffly. Rusty shone her torch inside and let out a loud whoop.

  ‘A cellar!’ she yelled. ‘Now it really is like a Cabin in the Woods.’

  ‘It looks as if it was used as an air-raid shelter,’ said Lance.

  They walked down the stairs to a tiny room.

  ‘Oh boy,’ whispered Rusty. ‘They left two oil-lamps.’ She picked one up and shook it gently. ‘It’s full of oil. Enough to last for ever!’

  There were also the remains of three candles, some damp blankets draped over a couple of canvas camp-beds, and a fragile-looking card table. As Rusty sat down on one of the beds, it gave an ominous creak. Lance picked up a damp pillow, placed it on the other bed, and lowered himself gently on to it.

  ‘Say,’ said Rusty, ‘I have half-term this weekend. I’ll see what I can bring back. My mother’s meeting me tomorrow at the school gates and then we’re going straight to Devon.’

  ‘Lucky you!’

  ‘Not really. See, this friend of my mother’s just died. I gave my word I’d go to her place for the mid-term vacation whether she was there or not. I think it’s going to be pretty awful.’

  ‘Still, Devon is nice, isn’t it?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s O.K. What I’ve seen of it. And there’s a neat girl called Beth there, that I met over the summer.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll get to see her.’

  ‘I might. Anyway, it’ll be nice to have this to come back to.’

  ‘Our own den,’ he said.

  ‘Our own Cabin in the Woods.’

  Just then Lance’s bed collapsed in the middle. At first, Rusty let out a loud hoot of laughter, but when she saw the pain on his face she hastily helped him up. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I forgot your ass.’

  ‘I wish I could,’ he moaned. He rolled himself over on all fours before standing up. ‘Do you know, he drew blood?’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  Rusty’s eyes caught something white sticking out from under the collapsed bed. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

  Lance pulled the bed back. On the floor was a large can. Several smaller ones were in the corner behind it.

  ‘Paint!’ she yelled. ‘Cans of it!’ I wonder if it’s all frozen up.’ She picked up the large one. ‘Help me shake it,’ she said.

  Lance grabbed it, and between them they jumped up and down, swayed and rocked, and gave it a vigorous shaking. Eventually a gurgling sound emanated from inside.

  ‘It’s O.K.,’ she breathed. They put it back on the ground. ‘Oh, I hope no one gets to find this place. We must never let on to anyone. Do you swear? I swear.’

  ‘I swear, too.’

  They shook hands and fled up the steps, then ran through the open hallway and into the grass. Rusty stopped to take a last look at the house. ‘So long, Cabin,’ she whispered.

  22

  Her mother was waiting for her at the school gates, a battered leather suitcase in her hand. She gave Rusty an awkward wave.

  Rusty stood on the pavement holding her grip.

  ‘We’re staying at Exeter tonight with one of the W.V.S. ladies,’ said Peggy. ‘There’s a train in half an hour. Let’s hope we don’t have to wait too long for a bus.’

  They crossed over the road and stood by the bus-stop.

  ‘Did you come straight from Devon?’ asked Rusty quietly.

  ‘No, I went back to Guildford after the funeral.’

  ‘Does Charlie know about...?’ She stopped.

  Peggy nodded. ‘I had to tell him in stages.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Peggy remembered only too clearly. ‘Has she gone away like Uncle Harvey?’ he had asked. Peggy had attempted to explain, but how could she tell him that Beatie could never come back, whereas Uncle Harvey still could but that he wouldn’t.

  Peggy had believed that once Harvey had gone, she would be able to shut him out of her mind and pick up the strands of her marriage. She should have realized that Charlie would always remind her of him. Perhaps if she had allowed Harvey to write to them, it would have made it easier for Charlie. And for her.

  ‘I guess he took it badly,’ said Rusty.

  Peggy nodded again.

  After five minutes a double-decker came crawling over the hill. They hopped on to it and sat in the long seats near the door.

  ‘Does the train go all the way to Exeter?’ asked Rusty.

  ‘No. We have to change at another station first. Then tomorrow we’ll catch the Plymouth train from there to Totnes.’

  Rusty nearly fell off the seat. Plymouth!

  Later, when they had squeezed into a seat in one of the crowded compartments of the train, her mother commented on her appearance. ‘Are you eating properly?’ she asked.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘You’ve probably grown a little. I expect that’s what it is.’

  Rusty wanted to ask her mother about Beatie.

  ‘So we’re staying with the W.V.S.?’ she asked instead.

  ‘With one of their helpers. Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you miss helping them out?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about contacting the local headquarters, but Charlie is still so unsettled, I don’t think it would be fair to him. And also, your father will be home soon.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘Then we’ll be a proper family again.’

  Rusty attempted to smile back, but the sadness in her mother’s eyes made it impossible.

  When it was time for them to change trains, they pushed their way through the crowded corridor and stepped on to the platform.

  ‘We have a bit of time before the Exeter train,’ said Peggy. ‘Do you fancy tea and buns?’

  To Rusty’s surprise, the currant buns were wonderful. When the taste of the tea was too awful, Rusty just drowned it in another bite of bun.

  After they had finished eating, Rusty couldn’t remain silent about Beatie any longer. ‘Mother,’ she blurted out, ‘I think Beatie knew she was going to die. Don’
t you?’

  Her mother paled. ‘Yes. She’d known for some time.’

  ‘So why do you think she kept telling everyone it was indigestion?’

  ‘Because she didn’t want us tiptoeing around her and fussing. You know how much she loved excitement and noise.’

  Rusty nodded. ‘Are we...’ She hesitated. ‘Are we going to be staying at her house?’

  ‘I’m not too certain we can now. I’m sure no one will raise any objections to us staying at least the one night.’

  ‘Does that mean we’ll be going back to Grandmother’s on Sunday?’

  ‘I think we’d better leave that decision till we get there.’ Her mother looked intently at her for a moment. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘you were hoping to see Beth.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Have you still not made any friends?’

  There was Lance, but she couldn’t mention him. ‘Not yet. They hate my accent.’

  ‘Perhaps if you made an effort to lose it, they’d be more friendly.’

  ‘But I’d still be the same person, so what’s the difference?’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, Beth’s mother has very kindly invited us round to their house for supper tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh boy!’

  ‘But before that, we have to go to Totnes,’ said her mother, looking sad again. ‘Beatie arranged to have the reading of the will there.’

  ‘Were you with her when she died?’

  Peggy nodded and took out a crumpled cigarette packet. Rusty noticed her fingers were shaking as she lit a match. She had hardly inhaled her cigarette when a voice from the loudspeaker announced the Exeter train. Her mother hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette and automatically put it back into the packet.

  It was a slow journey to Exeter. The train seemed to stop at every tiny station. Rusty leaned back and drifted into a headachy sort of sleep, but was jolted violently out of it every time the train screeched into a station. She could hardly see out, for the dust on the windows was so thick that it created a filter over the glass.

  ‘Don’t they ever clean these trains?’ she commented. ‘Looks like it hasn’t had a good cleaning in years.’

  ‘That’s probably because it hasn’t,’ snapped her mother.

  Boy, thought Rusty, I knew it was too good to last. She felt hurt by her mother’s sudden irritation. ‘I guess,’ she said smugly, ‘I’m used to a higher standard of cleanliness.’

  Her mother, aware of the other people in the compartment, was acutely embarrassed.

  ‘I’d like to remind you that there’s been a war on.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me,’ said Rusty grumpily.

  ‘And keeping trains clean,’ continued her mother, ‘was not considered as important as building aeroplanes, working in munitions, and repairing bombed docks.’

  ‘But that’s all over now,’ Rusty protested.

  ‘There are still,’ her mother emphasized, ‘more important jobs than spring cleaning. Just be grateful that there are trains running at all.’

  At that, her mother sank wearily back into her seat and closed her eyes. How she had longed for the war to be over, and how she, like her daughter, would love to return to no rationing, plenty of food and clothing, and pretty surroundings. The constant grime and drabness got her down, too, and what with her mother-in-law’s continual carping, Charlie’s distress, a complaining daughter, and now Beatie’s death, she felt as shocked and uprooted as she had four years ago, when she had first evacuated herself to Devon to have Charlie. She realized now that her daughter must be feeling the same, and she felt guilty for snapping at her. She opened her eyes. Rusty was staring sulkily out of the window.

  ‘I’m sorry if I sounded a little harsh,’ she said. ‘I’m just tired.’

  ‘Yeah,’ answered Rusty. ‘I guess I’m a little pooped, too.’

  At Exeter Station a young woman was waiting to greet them on the platform. ‘Good Lord,’ she said. ‘You both look done in!’

  They smiled gratefully as she snatched the suitcase and grip from them. ‘There’s a nice hot meal waiting for you. Come on.’

  The following morning Rusty was shaken awake by her mother. As she drew aside the curtains, sunlight poured into the room.

  ‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Peggy commented. Not the sort of day, she thought, for hearing a will read out. She turned. ‘Come on, sleepy-head. We’ve another train to catch.’

  Rusty watched her leave the room. She pushed herself up slowly to a sitting position. She knew that if she didn’t, she could easily fall asleep again. She crawled out of bed and shuffled over to the window. In the distance she could see a beautiful old cathedral with its windows smashed in.

  She rubbed her eyes vigorously with her fingers. They would be catching the Plymouth train that morning. It was vital that she remain alert so that when she ran away she’d know what to do.

  The train she and her mother caught was a local one. Her mother was right about the weather. In spite of its being November, the sun seemed to light up everything. Rusty gazed intently out of the window. In the distance she could see pink-sided cliffs. On the other side green hills sloped upward to a clear sky.

  ‘Virginia,’ said her mother, ‘look.’

  Rusty turned to her mother’s window. ‘Oh,’ she murmured.

  Beside the railway lines was a long stretch of water where several small boats lay anchored. On the other side of the water, houses stood higgledy-piggledy on a hill. The water was so still, it was like a pale-blue mirror. Seabirds sat motionless on the surface.

  ‘Do you remember this?’

  Rusty nodded. ‘But it seems prettier now,’ she said. ‘We’ll be coming out to the sea soon, won’t we?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  They dipped into a tunnel in the cliffs, came out briefly, caught a glimpse of the sea, dipped into another, out, in, and then the train remained out in the open. It was breath-taking to be able to lean out of the window and look out at a great expanse of sea and sky, and the cliffs stretching like craggy fingers into the water.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s all land from now on,’ said her mother.

  When the train drew in at Totnes, Mrs Hatherley was waiting for them on the platform.

  ‘I’m sorry Ivy couldn’t be ‘ere to meet youse,’ she said, as they walked out of the station. ‘I ‘ad a message from her early this morning. She’s feeling a bit on the rough side.’ She paused. ‘Actually, she’s asked me to tell you her good news.’

  ‘Has she managed to get an early posting to America?’

  ‘Oh no. She’s still gotta wait a bit yet. No. She’s going to ‘ave a baby.’

  ‘Oh,’ cried Peggy. ‘That’s wonderful! Oh, I’m so pleased for her.’

  They began walking.

  ‘Where’s Beth?’ asked Rusty suddenly.

  ‘She’s up at the school farm, helpin’ out.’

  ‘Does she have to go to school Saturdays?’

  ‘No, but you try and keep her away, my love. Once term starts, I hardly see any of’em, what with rehearsals for this, and choir practices for that, and making scenery, and then there’s Pets’ Corner and the farm, and country dancing, and helping out and, you see,’ she added, ‘some of their friends are boarders.’ Mrs Hatherley could see that Rusty was disappointed. ‘You’ll see her this evening, though.’

  Beatie had arranged for the will to be read in the sitting room of a friend’s flat, above one of the shops in the main street. At the back of the room on a low table were a dozen assorted glasses and several bottles of sherry.

  ‘Where on earth…?’ began Peggy, astounded.

  ‘Beatie’s secret supply,’ explained Mrs Hatherley.

  At the end of the table stood a bottle of Coca-Cola. A small label was hanging round its neck. It read, FOR RUSTY.

  Aside from Mrs Hatherley, the doctor and a couple of other people, it was almost like a W.V.S. reunion. As soon as Peggy entered the room, there were wild whoops of joy. ‘I suppose this
isn’t quite the way to behave at the reading of a will,’ commented one of the women.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Peggy wryly. ‘I rather think Beatie planned it this way.’

  The lawyer – a gaunt, elderly man with thinning white hair – had to clear his throat several times before anyone paid any attention to him. Eventually, everyone sat down on the sofa, in the armchairs or on cushions on the floor. The lawyer stood awkwardly by the mantelpiece. Behind him a log fire burned in the grate.

  ‘This will, I must inform you,’ he began, ‘is rather unorthodox.’ He looked down at the papers in his hand. ‘Dear everyone,’ he read. ‘First of all, please have a good time. I didn’t save all this good sherry so that you could blub over me.’

  He cleared his throat again and then proceeded to read out what had been left to whom.

  Mrs Hatherley had the chickens. Someone else had the Singer sewing-machine; Ivy, a set of suitcases and trunks; the doctor, the decanters; someone else, the table and chairs and beds; Charlie, some picture books and other books for when he was older, and so on. Then to Rusty’s surprise she heard her name being called out.

  ‘That’s me!’ she exclaimed.

  The lawyer frowned and cleared his throat again.

  ‘To Rusty Dickinson,’ he read, ‘I leave my husband’s carpentry tools. These include a handsaw, a tenon saw, a hammer, plane, three chisels, file, screwdriver, mallet square, gimlets, vice, brace and bits, cramp, nail punch

  Rusty gazed open-mouthed at him as he continued reading the list.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said when he had finished reading.

  The man frowned again. ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘But,’ stammered her mother, ‘perhaps she meant them for Charlie.’

  ‘No, madam,’ said the man firmly. ‘She meant them for a girl called Rusty.’

  ‘I see.’ She glanced aside. Rusty’s face was flushed with excitement. How on earth could a daughter of hers look so ecstatic at being left carpentry tools? Really, it was too awful of Beatie.

  ‘And finally’ – and the lawyer looked visibly relieved that it would soon be all over – ‘I leave my dilapidated house to Mrs Peggy Dickinson.’