by Lou Kuenzler
“I think I might go to my workshop,” he said. But he didn’t move.
“Good idea. We’ll go for a walk,” said Edie quickly. “We’ll take Greta, if you like.” She knew how much she wanted to be alone sometimes, and it seemed Uncle Peter might be best left in peace.
“You’ve just been for a walk,” said Greta.
“And now we’re going for another one,” said Gus firmly. “And you’re coming with us.”
He and Edie bolted down their porridge and hurried upstairs to get dressed.
When Edie came down again, Uncle Peter was standing in the hall, holding a battered leather case on a strap.
“You wanted these,” he said, opening the lid to show a pair of field glasses.
“The binoculars,” said Edie. “Thank you.” She didn’t even know he had remembered her asking, but they’d be more useful than ever now. After what they had overheard the Snigsons saying this morning, she was in no doubt whatsoever that the brothers were up to no good. She’d love to find them digging up a barrel of stolen whisky beside the railway line or something. That would serve them right for calling her a rat!
“I had the binoculars in the last war,” said Uncle Peter. “In France.”
“I promise I’ll look after them,” said Edie, as he handed her the case.
Uncle Peter shrugged. “I don’t care if you drop them in the sodding mud.”
Then he sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and put his head between his hands.
Edie was shocked. “Uncle Peter… ” She stretched out her hand towards him but he shook his head.
“I’m sorry. Go for your walk,” he said. “I’m not going to be very good company today.”
Edie paused for a moment, hating to leave him like this. But he waved her away again.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Off you go.” He looked up and smiled as best he could.
“What are we looking for?” said Greta for the hundredth time.
“I don’t know,” Edie answered. They were walking up and down the edge of the railway track, searching for any sort of clues. Edie had the binoculars slung around her neck like the gas mask she always used to wear. None of the children bothered with them any more. Not out here in the countryside.
“We heard him, as clear as day,” she said, turning to Gus. “Len Snigson told Donny there was something, somewhere between this telegraph pole and the mouth of the tunnel.”
“Black-market goods, I expect,” said Gus. “Probably something from the farm. Food, I suppose.”
“Sausages?” said Greta, licking her lips.
“Maybe.” Edie ruffled her hair. “Let’s just keep searching. You never know your luck.”
Before long, Greta gave up completely and sat on the bank making a dandelion crown for Mr Churchill, who had come with her, of course.
Gus and Edie took it turns to keep an eye on her or walk further down the line. Five or six times they must have covered the distance between the telegraph pole and the start of the tunnel. They looked along the tracks, up on the bank, under bushes and up trees.
“Never mind a sausage, there’s not so much as a bacon rind,” said Edie, flopping down on the bank beside Greta. “I give up!”
“Whatever it was may well have been squashed by a train by now,” said Gus. He lay down on the grass too and stared up at the sky.
“Oh, dear,” said Edie. “Imagine if it was a crate of eggs.”
“Look,” said Gus after a moment. “There’s a plane up there.”
“So there is,” said Edie, shielding her eyes from the sun. A shape, too big for a bird, was coming this way. She’d got quite used to seeing all sorts of planes flying over in London, but realized this was the first one she’d seen out here in the country. She lifted the binoculars and looked through them. The plane was painted in green-and-brown camouflage with a big propeller on the front.
“Is it one of ours?” she said, feeling a sudden panic. She passed the binoculars to Gus.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s a Hurricane.” He hadn’t even looked through the binoculars yet. “I can tell by the sound of the engine.”
“Which ones are ours, Gussy?” said Greta, trying to grab the binoculars from him. “Which side are we on?”
“The British, of course,” said Gus furiously.
Edie leapt to her feet. “Hello,” she called, running along the top of the bank and waving as the plane flew over them. “Good luck! Bon voyage!”
It was far too high and far away for the pilot to hear them, of course. But she imagined for a wonderful moment that it might be Fliss. Maybe she was delivering the Hurricane to an airfield nearby.
They ran after the plane, heading in the direction of the village. As they came up on to the bridge by the lane, they saw Perky. He was standing up on the pedals of his bicycle, shielding his eyes from the sun and staring into the sky too.
“Did you see it?” he said. The plane was no more than a speck in the sky now. “She was a right beauty!”
“I wouldn’t mind flying one of those,” said Gus. And the boys took it in turns to scan the sky with the binoculars.
Edie smiled; it was good to see them becoming friends. But Greta was pulling on her sleeve.
“I need a wee,” she said, jiggling from foot to foot. “And so does Mr Churchill.” She waved the knitted elephant in the air.
“All right,” said Edie. “I’ll take you to the station. You can go to the ladies cloakroom there.”
“Hang on a second,” cried Perky. “I’ve got summat for you, Edie. I was on my way up to Three Chimneys with it when I saw the plane.”
“Is it more boys’ clothes?” asked Greta.
“No,” said Perky. “It’s a telegram.”
“A telegram?” Edie froze as he held the thin brown envelope towards her. Telegrams meant someone was dead or wounded or missing in action, didn’t they? Why would anyone be sending her a telegram?
“Don’t look so worried,” said Perky. “Telegrams aren’t always bad news, you know.”
“Not always?” That didn’t sound very reassuring. Edie’s fingers were shaking as she took the envelope. She couldn’t bear to open it. It was silly, but some part of her felt that if she never read the telegram, then any bad news might stay sealed in there and never escape. It was like the Greek myth Aunt Roberta had made her read in the one and only lesson they’d had last week – the one where Pandora had all the sorrows of the world sealed away in a box, just so long as no one peeped inside.
“Do you want me to read the telegram for you?” Gus stretched out his hand.
“No, I don’t!” She almost slapped him away.
“I need a wee,” whined Greta. “And so does Mr Churchi—”
“Shh!” hissed the boys.
Edie ripped the envelope in one clean movement, unfolded the paper and read it.
Her hands started trembling more than ever.
“What’s it say?” asked Perky.
“It says,” breathed Edie. “Station. 11.53.”
“Station? That must mean this station,” said Gus.
“Yes.” Edie blinked, trying to stop the tears that were gathering in her eyelashes and threatening to roll down her cheek. “It means Fliss is coming to visit me,” she breathed. “She’s coming here. Today.”
Chapter Ten
Missing
Edie stared at the telegram. 11.53.
“What’s the time now?” she asked.
Gus glanced at his watch. “About 11.48, I’d say.”
“That’s only five minutes,” cried Edie. “I’ve got to go… Here. Take these.” She handed Gus the binoculars and turned to run. But Greta tugged at her sleeve.
“I still need a wee,” she said. “And—”
“—So does Mr Churchill,” chorused the boys as she waved the knitted elephant in the air.
“Fine!” snapped Edie. “You better come with me.” She grabbed Greta’s hand a little more roughly than she meant. She’d much rath
er have gone to the station alone.
“Why don’t Gus and I take the binoculars to HQ? Aunty Patsy said I’d be free once I’d delivered the telegram,” said Perky. “We’ll see if we can spot anything happening at Boar’s Head Farm.”
“Good idea. I’ll fill you in on what Edie and I overheard this morning,” agreed Gus. “And Edie… ”
“What?” She was already running.
“Keep an eye on Len while you’re at the station,” he hissed.
“I will,” she said, tugging Greta along behind her, but to be honest she wasn’t really thinking about the Snigsons now. Len could unload a whole handcart of smoked hams right in front of her and she wouldn’t stop him. Not if it meant she could get to see Fliss.
“Come on, Greta. Be quick!” she snapped, helping her to dry her hands in the washroom. She could already hear the train chugging towards the station. She steered Greta through to the waiting room, with its brass umbrella stand, leather seats and pretty bowls of flowers.
“Why don’t you and Mr Churchill stay in here and play fancy ladies? Don’t move,” she said, without waiting for an answer. She wanted Fliss all to herself for a moment. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
She dashed on to the platform just as the 11.53 shuddered to a halt, billowing smoke.
A short, dumpy woman dressed all in blue stepped down from the carriage furthest away from the engine and waved to someone. Edie spun round and looked the other way. That certainly wasn’t Fliss.
She ran down the length of the train peering into the carriages. Nobody else seemed to be standing up or getting off. Then she spotted a tall, slim figure emerging from the carriage nearest the engine.
“Fliss?” She peered through the smoke. But as the figure stepped forward, it turned out to be Reverend Greaves, the vicar.
“Hello, Edie; see you on Sunday, I hope.”
“Yes.” She wheeled round and glanced along the carriages again. An elderly man was hobbling towards the level crossing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Len pushing a perambulator along the platform. He must be helping a mother down from the train. It was hardly anything to report to HQ.
“Cooee.” The plump lady was still waving. “Edie? Edith? Is that you?”
“Me?” It took Edie’s brain a moment to connect. The plump lady was waving at her. She was wearing a blue ATA uniform just like the one that Fliss had. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I’m Edie.” But where was Fliss?
The whistle blew and the 11.53 chugged out of the station. As the smoke cleared, Edie saw there was nobody else on the platform but the two of them now.
“Hello, dear.” The jolly-looking ATA lady held out her hand. “Belinda Barton-Withers. I fly with Fliss. Did you get the telegram?” she asked. Then she slapped herself on the forehead, almost sending her smart blue cap flying on to the railway track. “Of course you got the telegram or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Yes,” said Edie, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice. “Isn’t Fliss coming herself?” Then she had a sudden moment of panic, like when she’d first seen the telegram in Perky’s hand. Perhaps this woman, this Belinda Barton-Withers, was here to break the bad news gently. “She is all right, isn’t she?”
“Lawks, yes! Fit as a fiddle,” assured Belinda. Edie felt her whole body relax. Fliss was safe! But as quick as her fear subsided, it was followed by the crushing disappointment that she hadn’t come. She was so sure the telegram had meant Fliss would be here.
“Shall we take a pew?” Belinda tapped the sunny bench at the edge of the platform, inviting Edie to sit down. “I’m on my way for a few days leave with my family. When Fliss heard I’d be passing through, she asked if I’d have time to get off the train and send you her love and all that. I’ve only got ten minutes; I need to be back on the 12.04.”
“That’s so kind of you,” said Edie. She tried to keep her voice bright, but was sure it must sound hollow and flat.
If Belinda noticed her disappointment, she didn’t show it. “Fliss says she’s awfully sorry she hasn’t written yet,” she boomed. “The censors read all our letters anyway, so she can’t say anything really juicy. But if she gets the chance to fly an old crate over Yorkshire, she’s going to make a detour to Three Chimneys and do the best damn beat-up you’ve ever seen.”
“Beat-up?” Edie was finding it hard to work out half of what Belinda Barton-Withers was saying. It wasn’t just that her voice was so hearty and posh; she kept using phrases that Edie didn’t understand.
“Sorry, old thing.” Belinda clapped Edie on the back, almost sending her skidding off the bench. “Beat-up is ATA slang. It means to fly a plane really, really, low. So low, you can pretty much see the pilot’s lipstick.” She laughed. “All the girls do it if we get a chance to fly near home. It’s very frowned upon by the Top Brass, of course. If Fliss had written about that in a letter she certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to send it to you.”
Edie smiled. She could imagine Fliss loving the exhilaration of flying low and waving out of the cockpit. It did sound exciting – though horribly dangerous.
“Your mother’s a terrible daredevil, of course! One of the worst,” said Belinda, making Edie’s tummy clench. “She likes flying the small speedy planes, like Hurricanes and things.”
“We saw a Hurricane today,” cried Edie. Perhaps it wasn’t too silly to think it might have been Fliss after all. Although, if it was, she’d surely have done the daring beat-up Belinda had described and swooped low over the whole length of Three Chimneys meadow.
“I prefer flying a Halifax myself,” said Belinda. “You know, the big heavy bombers. It’s a bit like driving a winged tank… ” And she began to explain all the different sorts of planes the women got to fly. They were often up at the crack of dawn, delivering aircraft all over the British Isles, collecting them from factories or taking them to airfields whenever the fighter pilots and bomber squadrons needed them.
Before Edie knew it, the next train was chugging into the platform and it was time for Belinda to continue her journey north to see her family.
“Let me give you a hug,” she said, launching herself at Edie and throwing her arms around her neck. “I’ll pass it on to Fliss when I get back.”
Edie was half-smothered by Belinda’s enormous bosom, but she didn’t care. “Send her so much love, please,” she begged. She had been so disappointed at first, but now she wished the visit didn’t have to end. If Fliss couldn’t come herself, then Belinda Barton-Withers was the closest she could get. There were so many things Edie hadn’t asked. Things about Fliss and her life in the ATA.
“I almost forgot,” cried Belinda, leaning out of the window as the train began to move. “She asked me to give you this.” She held out a bar of Fry’s chocolate. Edie could see Fliss’s familiar bright-red lipstick kiss on the wrapper. It brought a lump to her throat.
She raced along beside the moving train and caught hold of the chocolate bar just in time.
“Thank you for stopping off!” she called, waving until she couldn’t see Belinda waving back any more. Then she swallowed hard, dried her wet eyes and walked back along the empty platform to collect Greta from the waiting room.
She slipped the chocolate bar into her pocket. She’d keep it as a surprise treat to share as they walked home. Greta deserved it. She had been so good, staying in the waiting room all this time, instead of coming out to run up and down the platform like Edie had thought she would. She felt rotten she’d been so impatient with her earlier.
“Greta,” she called, pushing open the waiting room door. “I’m sorry I was so long.”
But the waiting room was empty. Greta wasn’t there and Mr Churchill was lying all alone by the umbrella stand.
“Greta?” Edie’s heart began to race. She grabbed the elephant and ran out of the station to the street outside. She looked both ways up and down the hill. But the road was deserted. “Greta, where are you?” she cried.
Edie stood outside the station
and shouted as loud as she could but there was no answer. How could a village be so quiet? There didn’t seem to be a soul out and about. Edie dashed across the road and peered over the stone wall beside the river.
Surely Greta wouldn’t have gone down there? She dangled over the wall and looked in both directions. There was no sign of anything except the burbling water and the mossy, slippery rocks. The river had always looked so pretty. Now it just seemed wide and cold and dangerous.
“Greta?” Edie ran back towards the station. She checked the washroom and lay down flat on her belly so that she could see underneath the chairs in the waiting room. Perhaps Greta was playing hide and seek? But if she was, she definitely wasn’t hiding anywhere inside.
Edie ran on to the platform. “Hello?” she cried. “Is anybody here?”
Where was Len Snigson? Surely he was supposed to be on duty? There was no sign of the porter or anybody else on the station at all.
Edie was about to charge out on to the road again when she stopped and tried to think clearly.
Take a deep breath, she told herself. She knew for certain that Greta was in the waiting room when the 11.53 arrived because she’d left her there and run out to the platform to meet the train…
“Oh, why didn’t I let her come with me?” Edie wailed out loud. She took another deep breath and tried to concentrate. Greta definitely hadn’t come on to the platform while Edie was talking to Belinda Barton-Withers on the bench. She would have spotted her if she had, she was sure of that. Unless…
“The trains!” gasped Edie. Could Greta have got on to one of those?
Surely I’d have noticed, she thought. But she knew it wasn’t true. She was so busy looking for Fliss the first time and saying goodbye to Belinda the second, that anything could have happened. Greta might have slipped on to either one of those trains unseen.
She could be halfway to Scotland by now! thought Edie desperately.
But even if that was true, one thing still didn’t make sense. If Greta had got on the train for fun – for an adventure – she would definitely have taken Mr Churchill with her. She would never leave him behind anywhere. Edie couldn’t bear to think what that meant.
