There was an astounded silence.
‘Mother!’ whispered Rusty.
‘Are you sure?’ stammered Peggy.
The man raised his eyes. ‘Quite sure.’
Suddenly someone said, ‘Well, Peggy, you joily well deserve it.’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ added one of the women wryly. ‘Have you seen the roof?’
‘I haven’t quite finished yet,’ said the lawyer loudly. ‘With the ownership of this house, there are certain conditions. One: That the owner cannot sell the house until seventeen years have passed. Two: After seventeen years, if Mrs Dickinson then wishes to sell, she must only sell it to a woman. And three: If she dies before the seventeen years are up, the property must be passed on to a younger female of her own choosing.’ He lowered his sheaf of papers and looked at her.
‘I can’t quite take it in,’ she said. ‘I…’ She shook her head. How could she explain? The Bomb was the first thing she had ever owned. As a young woman she had never been allowed to work, and she had lived under her parents’ roof until she married. When her parents died, their house was sold to pay off debts, and the house in Guildford was solely in her husband’s name. And now she owned her own house! She just couldn’t believe it. And to own one with such wonderful memories in it...
Just then a voice came thundering from the back of the room.
‘What about this sherry then?’ It was the doctor.
Whereupon everyone started talking and moving towards the table.
‘I’d like to walk back,’ said Peggy, when it was all over and they were standing in the main street.
‘It’s a long walk,’ said Mrs Hatherley. ‘Are you sure I can’t give you a lift somewhere first? I’ll take your suitcase, anyway.’
‘Perhaps just up to the entrance of the Estate.’
‘Is that where Beth’s school is?’ asked Rusty, suddenly alert.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘You can’t go and see her there,’ said her mother.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s just not done.’
Rusty took a deep breath. ‘O.K.,’ she muttered. ‘But can I take a walk with you anyways?’
‘All right.’
Mrs Hatherley drove them in her spluttering Morris past the railway station and dairy, and down the road to a tiny dirt-track. By the time they stopped, Rusty’s mother had already offered to take a look at the Morris’s insides before leaving.
Mrs Hatherley was delighted. ‘I drive this car on a hope and a prayer these days.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll see you this evening,’ she said.
Peggy and Rusty headed down the track past a small lodge house and along a tiny road. At the foot of a steep, grassy slope to their right ran a river. The road sloped upwards. For a long time they followed its twists and curves, passing vegetable allotments and strawberry patches. They stopped briefly at a group of grey stone buildings so that Rusty could peer through an archway and take a look at the rows of arched doors and small-paned windows.
They hurried on silently past more buildings, till eventually the road narrowed and they found themselves staring at an open field. Beyond it were a small grey church, a farm, fields and woods.
Just then, Rusty heard some children laughing. They were roller-skating on a small dirt-track. From a clump of bushes two others were blowing tiny orange balls out of peashooters made of reeds.
‘You little beasts!’ yelled one of the roller-skaters, grinning. ‘I’ll have your guts for bloody garters!’ And she began speeding towards them on her roller-skates, waving her arms wildly. The children in the bushes shrieked with laughter and then started running. Rusty noticed that they were all wearing rough old clothes.
‘I expect they’re boarders,’ said her mother.
‘Boarders!’ said Rusty, amazed. ‘But they…’ She stopped. But they all seem to be having such a good time, she wanted to say. She stared at the rectangle of buildings up on the slope. So that was Beth’s school. Suddenly she felt very jealous. She looked up to find that her mother had gone ahead. She ran to join her.
They were just walking beside a grassy mound when the sun appeared. It must have been there before, thought Rusty, but it was as if it had been hiding somewhere and had sneaked out while her back was turned. Tinged with a fiery red fringe, it hung low, sending vast shadows across the grass.
Suddenly Rusty’s mother said, ‘Let’s turn back and go through the woods.’
They crossed over the field in front of the school, up the muddy lane beside the farm, and veered right. Rusty gazed stupefied at the ploughed fields. They really were the most extraordinary ruddy colour, and the earth was so moist that it was almost as if someone had oiled the long, curved furrows.
They climbed over a wooden fence and up a sloping field towards the woods. They had hardly reached the trees when Rusty heard the faint sound of a river.
The more beautiful she found the wood, the more it hurt, and the more she hated its beauty. It was too tame, she told herself, too sickly pretty. But as she and her mother walked like tightrope walkers along dead branches to avoid the mud, she couldn’t help but enjoy it a little.
Presently they stepped out on to a road and came to a stone bridge. As they crossed, Rusty glanced down and saw bright yellow and russet leaves floating along the water. They walked on a little before turning left, past the small railway station where she and Beth had stood with the bicycles.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly noticed her mother’s silence. Gradually the dusk closed in around them.
‘We really need torches,’ her mother muttered. ‘I’d forgotten how dark Devon lanes can be.’
By the time they reached the Hatherleys’, they were both exhausted. Mrs Hatherley was sitting with Anne on her lap, listening to the wireless.
‘I’ve dropped your luggage and that at Beatie’s place,’ she said. ‘Oh. I s’pose I should say your place, now.’ She turned to Rusty. ‘I wish I’d known you was comin’ here sooner. I went and sent on some of them American letters for you last week.’
“Ello, Rusty,’ said Anne. She stared, fascinated, at her green gymslip and striped tie.
‘Looks a proper little schoolgirl, don’t she?’ remarked her mother.
‘Do you have to wear those clothes all the time?’ said Anne.
Rusty slid on to the bench by the table. ‘Uh-huh.’
‘Even when you play?’
‘We don’t play much.’
‘Oh, come on now, Virginia,’ said her mother. ‘You have lacrosse, don’t you?’
Rusty raised her eyes. ‘Lacrosse!’ she muttered.
‘I thought you’d like the game. After all, it originated from the North American Indians, didn’t it?’
‘I hate it. It’s a lousy game.’
‘Virginia!’ said her mother. ‘Don’t use such language. You’re a guest here.’
‘Oh, don’t worry ‘bout that,’ said Mrs Hatherley. ‘My children use much worse words. I’ve given up with ‘em.’ And she laughed. ‘Sit down, Peggy. Put yer feet up.’
From outside came the sound of bicycles whirring up to the house. Within minutes Beth’s brothers, Ivor and Harry, ran in, red-faced.
The quiet one smiled at Rusty and gave a nod before sitting at the table. Harry, his ears as big as ever, stood and gaped at her.
‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed. He slid in beside her. ‘You look as though you’ve walked out of a girls’ storybook!’ And he burst out laughing.
‘See what I mean,’ remarked Mrs Hatherley to Peggy.
Rusty didn’t find his remark funny. She turned aside, wishing she was a million miles away. Harry didn’t seem to notice. He began talking about some incident at choir practice. Occasionally Ivor added the odd remark. He was really smart, thought Rusty. He didn’t say much, but when he did he managed to make everyone laugh.
‘Is dinner going to be long?’ said Harry.
‘I bet you two ‘av
e bin eatin’ with the boarders,’ said Mrs Hatherley suspiciously.
‘Well,’ said Harry, attempting to look innocent, ‘we felt we ought to help them out a bit.’
Anne hopped offher mother’s lap and snuggled next to Ivor on the bench.
Rusty could feel a pain at the back of her throat. She longed to be part of a noisy family again. The room began to go out of focus as she resorted to what she had started doing back at Benwood House. She made her eyes go backwards into her head until all her surroundings became blurred, and the blur was like a soft wall that wrapped itself around her.
She was vaguely aware of the clatter of knives and forks and chattering voices, but it wasn’t until the kitchen door was flung open that the wall was broken. As she looked up she saw Beth stride in, her cheeks flushed from cycling, her short straight hair in a tangle. She was wearing an old blue hand-knitted jersey and faded navy-blue serge trousers tucked into a pair of Wellington boots. She slid the boots off by the door and walked over to the table in her stockinged feet. One of her big toes stuck out through a hole.
‘Move out of the way, Harry,’ she said bossily, and she wedged herself in between Rusty and her brother. ‘Sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,’ she said breathlessly, ‘but there’s so much work to do. How’s your new school? You look as if they’ve worn you down. Is it wretched?’
‘Didn’t you know I was going to be here today?’ Rusty said stiffly.
‘Yes, but I’d already promised to help out. I couldn’t just say, “Sorry, I’ve changed my mind, I’ve a friend coming down.” Anyway,’ she added, ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’
Rusty nodded.
‘So what’s the woodwork like there?’
‘We don’t have it.’
‘What, not at all?’
‘Or art. I’m taking extra Latin and French and math instead, so that I can go to university.’
‘Oh,’ said Beth, puzzled. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to go to university. I thought you wanted to do something with wood or art.’
‘Well, actually, I’ve changed my mind,’ said Rusty haughtily.
Beth gazed at her outfit. ‘Do you have to wear those gymslips all the time?’
‘We can wear mufti in the evenings. I think a uniform is a good idea. It makes everyone the same.’
Beth looked astounded. ‘Who wants to be the same as everyone else?’
‘It’s – it’s,’ went on Rusty relentlessly, ‘useful for community spirit and all that stuff, working as a team.’
‘They don’t wave Union Jacks all over the place, do they?’ said Harry, joining in. ‘And have those awful assemblies with endless hymns and all that rot, do they?’
Rusty could feel herself growing angry. ‘Some of the hymns are pretty neat!’ she exclaimed heatedly.
Harry smote his chest melodramatically. ‘King and Country, let me die and kill for thee!’
‘Oh, stop teasin’ the girl,’ said Mrs Hatherley. ‘It’s nice to think she likes her school. The ones from America in your school aren’t settling in so easy.’
Rusty turned, surprised. ‘Are there kids from the States in your school?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. They’re the ones that are always grumbling, or going on about the food or the cold.’
‘They’re not used to rationing and the English climate yet,’ said Mrs Hatherley. ‘Give the poor things a chance.’
Rusty could feel herself blushing. Even as everyone returned to chattering, she kept hearing Harry’s comments in her head about flag-waving ‘and all that rot’, for every day for the last few weeks she had been silently pledging allegiance to the flag of the United States.
She turned to Beth. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘I’ve promised to help out with the pigs. I’m sorry,’ Beth said. ‘I didn’t know that you were coming down here until a few days ago. I can’t let them down now, not after I said I would.’
See if I care, thought Rusty. ‘Oh well,’ she said, giving a shrug. ‘I think we’re going back tomorrow anyway.’
After everyone had started on the vegetable pie, followed by a rare treat of dried bananas and junket, Rusty was introduced to another ‘delicacy’. The Hatherley children were still hungry, so they proceeded to spread margarine on slices of bread and sprinkle sugar on top.
It was growing late and her mother wanted to leave.
‘I’m sorry I can’t see you much,’ said Beth.
‘Oh, that’s O.K.,’ said Rusty blithely. ‘I have such a lot to do tomorrow. Beatie left me a bunch of carpentry tools, and I want to sort them out. Maybe sharpen them up a little, too.’
‘You’ll be doing no such sharpening,’ interrupted her mother.
Rusty scowled. Trust her mother to open her mouth and spoil everything. She climbed over the back of the bench and picked up her Beanie from one of the hooks on the wall. As she put it on, she could hardly bear to look at anyone in the room. She turned briefly, muttered a goodbye, and followed her mother out through the door into the black Devon night.
23
They stood in the front garden and stared at Beatie’s rambling house. Peggy moved slowly towards the Bomb and gave the roof an affectionate pat.
‘Hello, old girl,’ she whispered.
They made their way to the tiny sheltered porch and Peggy unlocked the door. ‘I’m afraid there’s no electricity,’ she said. ‘It was switched off about a week ago.’
Rusty followed her into the living room. On the mantelpiece above a laid fire stood several candles and an oil-lamp. Two camp beds were made up in front of it.
‘Oh,’ exclaimed Peggy, ‘Mrs Hatherley is kind.’
As she lit the candles and lamp, Rusty sat on one of the cushions that were spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace.
‘Can I light the fire?’ she asked.
But her mother had struck the match, and the flames were already spreading up from the newspaper through the wood.
Peggy sat next to her daughter on a cushion, and together they stared silently at the flames. ‘You don’t miss America too much, do you?’ her mother asked suddenly.
Rusty glanced at her. She wanted to say, ‘I think of America every day. And every day here in England away from my American family and friends feels like I’m slowly drowning in a dark pool. And it’s not that I’m fussy about the cold and the food, it’s just that they remind me of all the other things that I’m missing.’
But as she looked at her mother’s face, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her.
‘I guess I’ll get used to it.’
Her mother looked hurt.
For what seemed like an eternity neither of them spoke, until there was a sudden pattering sound that very quickly grew in intensity.
‘What’s that?’ said Peggy.
‘Rain,’ said Rusty. ‘Lots of it.’
They looked at each other, startled.
‘Rain?’ they chorused.
‘The ceiling!’ yelled Peggy, leaping to her feet.
‘Jumping Jehoshaphat!’ shouted Rusty, scrambling to join her.
They ran to the kitchen. Rusty grabbed an old tin bucket and the copper bowl from under the sink, while her mother picked up some baking tins. Together they tore back into the hallway and leapt up the stairs.
They placed the tins, bowl and bucket on the floor, and then, to Rusty’s amazement, as soon as they had jumped down to the next floor, her mother slid down the banisters. Rusty followed suit.
Like demented creatures they ran round the kitchen and the conservatory, searching for anything they could lay their hands on, and then sprinted frantically up the stairs again. They spread all the battered objects under the remaining drips, then sank breathlessly to the floor.
‘I really must do something about that roof,’ said Peggy. She gazed at the strange collection of tins and bowls, took one look at her daughter, and burst out laughing.
Rusty leaned back against the small wooden railings and started laughing too.
‘You know,’ choked out her mother, ‘I’ve been saying I must mend that roof for almost two years now! If I leave it any longer, it’ll collapse altogether!’
Rusty had never seen her mother laugh so openly. As they pointed wildly at each other sitting on the floor under the leaking ceiling, they started howling all over again.
When they had finally calmed down, they smiled at each other.
Rusty listened to the drips as they fell.
‘Sounds almost like an orchestra,’ she murmured.
‘Do you remember,’ began her mother hesitantly, ‘do you remember me filling up milk bottles with water at different levels and trying to play tunes on them? We always used to sing “Ten Green Bottles”.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Rusty. ‘I remember way back teaching something like that to Skeet, but he said I had it all wrong. And when we sang it in Girl Scouts, they sang it different too.
‘Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,’
she sang,
‘Ninety-nine bottles of beer,
If one of those bottles should happen to fall,
Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall.
‘It went on for ever!’ she leaned forward. ‘How does the English version go?’
‘ Ten green bottles,’
her mother sang softly,
‘Hanging on the wall,
Ten green bottles hanging on the wall.
And if one green bottle,’
Rusty joined in,
‘Should accident’lyfall,
There’d be nine green bottles hanging on the wall!’
They stopped and laughed shyly.
‘I knew I had it right,’ said Rusty. ‘Well, sort of.’ They sat quietly in the dark. It was quite magical,
listening to all the different sounds. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ whispered Rusty.
‘Yes. I never noticed it before. I suppose we always rushed quickly downstairs again as soon as we’d carried everything up. You know,’ she said, ‘Charlie would love this.’
‘Are you going to tell him about owning the house?’
‘Yes. But for the moment I’ll say it’s a holiday place. Good Lord!’ she said, standing up quickly, ‘we’ll be missing the fire.’
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