The back of my leg comes up against something hard. The suitcase.
‘Well? Come on,’ she says, following me until she’s glaring into my face. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘I’m Rosie,’ I whisper, getting scared now. What is going on?
The girl spots the suitcase and bends down to look at the label. ‘“Miss R. Smith,”. Well, why didn’t you say so, instead of making all this fuss? It’s about time you got here. Me and my sister have been waiting in for hours. They said you’d get here this afternoon. We was just about to give up and go to bed. We reckoned you’d decided to stay in Wiltshire.’
How did she know I come from Wiltshire?
‘It’s not on, turning up this time of night,’ she said.
I’m still looking around the hall, waiting for it to go back to normal, like it usually does. For a split second, I get a glimpse of Gran’s magnolia walls, but then they’re gone and the girl has turned away from me. Gathering up the blanket, she reaches up and hangs it over the closed front door.
‘I don’t know how you got in,’ she says over her shoulder. ‘But you didn’t have to rip the blackout curtain, did you? If the wardens see the light, I’m blaming you.’
‘I didn’t …’ I start to say, but I don’t know what I did or didn’t do, so I shut up.
Why won’t the house go back to normal? Where’s Gran? I want to ask the girl, but I daren’t. I’m not even sure if she’s real. Maybe I’m unconscious? You know, like in that stupid programme Mum liked, with the guy who went into a coma and thought he was a copper in the seventies. I know it sounds completely crazy, but it’s all I can think of that makes any sense. I’m really dreaming all this, while Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor are trying to bring me round. They’ll have to call an ambulance and I’ll wake up in hospital. Gran will be all upset and my parents won’t ever let me stay with her again because she made me wear these shoes.
‘I’ll have to stitch it,’ the girl says, pulling the ends of the torn material together. She turns and looks at me. ‘Like to make an entrance, don’t you?’
‘Not really, no,’ I say.
She waves a hand. ‘Well, I don’t care. Just don’t break nothing else, all right? We ain’t got much, and what we do have we can’t afford to replace.’
I nod, my mind spinning. Any minute now, I’m thinking, any minute now, I’ll wake up.
But apparently not yet.
‘Leave your case by the stairs,’ says the girl, ‘and go on down the passage. The kitchen’s at the back. My sister’s got the kettle on. I’ll pin this up for now and sort it out tomorrow.’
I take a deep breath, I still want to ask her where Gran is, but some instinct is telling me to shut up and do as I’m told. I leave her muttering by the front door.
I stop in the doorway of the kitchen, which is exactly where Gran’s is. But instead of her fitted oak cupboards and fridge magnets, this room looks like something out of a museum. There’s no one around, although it’s obvious someone has been here recently. An ancient radio – huge, with a big dial on the front – is playing loudly. Rubbish music. The sort Gran likes. The sink is a big white thing, with a wooden draining board. The window over the sink is covered by another heavy curtain, leaving the room lit by a single light bulb, hanging from the centre of the ceiling. On one wall is an old water-heater, and there’s steaming water pouring from it into the sink. The place stinks of fish.
Opposite the sink is the cooker. It’s cream enamel, with brass dials on the front. There’s a kettle on the hob – a bit like the one my parents use on camping holidays. In the middle of the room is a table covered by a heavy brown cloth. It’s a bit bigger than the one Gran has. On it is a salt and pepper set and a newspaper.
I step inside, and nearly have another heart attack when the kettle begins to whistle. I walk over to the stove and try to work out how to turn it off. The dials won’t turn, and the shrill whistle gets louder.
‘Have you seen her?’ The girl in the dressing gown asks me as she comes in. She shoves me out of the way, pushes one of the dials in, and turns it easily to the left. The whistle fades.
I shake my head, but the girl has turned away, running over to the sink and turning off the stream of hot water just before it overflows. ‘Blinkin’ hell,’ she says, ‘I swear I’m going to swing for that girl one of these days.’ She raises her head. ‘MAY!’
Whoa, turn the volume down. Seriously, you need ear defenders round here. The back door opens and a dark-haired girl comes in and slams it shut behind her. No! I don’t believe it! This is getting so weird. It’s the other girl from the mirror!
‘All right, keep your hair on,’ she says. ‘I was only on the lav. Where’s the fire?’
Dressing-gown girl glares at the dark-haired girl and reaches over to turn off the radio. For a moment there’s silence. I start to relax a bit then realise – hang on, what did she call her? May? That’s my gran’s name. I feel the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. It can’t be. In that case, the blonde girl is …
‘You left the Ascot on, and the kettle. This place is like a bloomin’ steam bath. We could’ve had a flood if I hadn’t got here on time.’ She nods towards me. ‘She wasn’t much help. Stood there like a lemon, she did.’
‘Nelly! You ain’t supposed to talk about people like that! What would Dad say?’
‘Nelly?’ I say, but they ignore me.
‘He’d say sort yourself out, May Blake, before you wreck the house. Now, are you making a cuppa, or what?’
‘’Course I am. I wasn’t hiding, you know. I just needed a wee.’
‘Well wash your hands before you touch my cup.’
‘All right, don’t nag.’
‘Someone’s got to.’
I want to laugh. They sound just like Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor bickering. Except this Nelly isn’t posh, just bad-tempered.
What am I thinking? What is going on? Who are these girls, really? Maybe I’m having a breakdown or something. I pull out a chair and sit down, putting elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
‘You all right, love?’ The dark-haired girl asks me.
‘Um … I think so.’ I lift my head and look at her.
‘Did you get something to eat on the train? We only had a couple of kippers for our tea. We’d’ve shared ’em with you if you’d got here earlier. I could do you some bread and dripping if you like?’
‘Er, no thanks.’ I say, trying not to gag. I’ve heard about that stuff – dripping – it’s like horrible scummy fat that clogs up drains. Why would anyone even consider eating something so disgusting?
‘Suit yourself. I’m May, by the way, and she’s me sister Nelly. What’s your name?’
‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Are you winding me up?’
Both girls are looking at me now.
‘Do what?’ said Nelly, giving me a very familiar look.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. ‘Nothing. I just know a couple of sisters called May and Nelly, that’s all.’
‘Fancy that,’ laughs May. ‘D’you hear that, Nell? Two more sisters with our names.’
Nelly doesn’t look impressed. ‘There’s loads of girls with our names.’
God, does she ever cheer up? ‘I’m Rosie,’ I say.
Nelly tuts. ‘That’s all we need. Another Rose. We’ve already got three at the factory.’
‘The factory?’
‘Cohen’s. Down Whitechapel. Where we work,’ says May. ‘Ain’t you coming to work with us tomorrow?’
‘I suppose so,’ I shrug.
May laughs. ‘Well either you are, or you ain’t. Don’t you know?’
I look at the two girls, wondering what they’d think if I told them the truth – that I’m in the middle of some sort of mad dream; a dream where my Gran and Great-aunt are teenage girls who think I’m going to work with them tomorrow.
‘I … er …’ What can I say? Out of the corner of my eye I see the kettle on the stove. ‘Can I have a cup of tea, ple
ase?’
The sisters look at each other, eyebrows raised.
‘It’s just as well you asked,’ Nelly says to me. ‘You could die of thirst waiting for someone to make one in this house.’
Oh. My. God. I can’t help it and start to giggle. This is hysterical. It’s just too amazing. May starts laughing too, even though she has no idea what it’s about. Nelly just glares at me, all annoyed.
‘Sorry,’ I say, trying to calm down. ‘I don’t mean to be rude. But you sounded just like someone I know.’
‘You’re all right,’ says May. ‘I’ll put the kettle back on. We want one as well. It’s no trouble. Once you settle in, you can take your turn brewing up. I hope you’ve got your ration book.’
I think about the papers in the suitcase. Gran mentioned a ration book when we looked through it. ‘Yes. It’s in my case,’ I tell her. I hope it’s still there.
‘Right,’ says Nelly. ‘We’ll need to register you at our shops. You can share what we’ve got for now, but there ain’t much in the pantry, so the quicker we get you sorted out, the better.’
‘Did you remember to bring your gas mask?’ asks May. ‘I’m always forgetting mine. The wardens round here give you a right telling off if they see you without it.’
‘There’s one in the case,’ I say.
‘Well it’s no good in there, is it? Make sure you get it out and have it somewhere handy,’ says Nelly. God, she’s so bossy.
‘OK,’ I say, feeling a bit lost, and tired of all this. ‘Whatever.’ I really don’t care. Any minute now I’ll wake up, I’m bound to. This can’t go on forever, can it?
‘What?’ Nelly looks angry again.
Oh crap, now I’ve annoyed her. Mum says I’m good at sulky and ungrateful. I suppose I must sound pretty rude. It’s probably not a good idea to upset anyone while I’m stuck here. Especially not if Nelly’s anything like Great-aunt Eleanor.
‘Sorry. I meant to say thank you.’
‘Ooh,’ says May. ‘Ain’t she posh? I think we should call her Queenie, don’t you, Nell?’
‘No!’ I say. ‘I’m Rosie.’
‘Yeah, but we’ve already got Rose Brown, Rosie Jackson, and Rosa Hodgson. So you’ll have to be Queenie, or we’ll get all mixed up. Anyway, Rose is a boring name, ain’t it?’
‘I quite like it, actually,’ I say.
May giggles again. Nelly smirks, and says: ‘Hark at you – “actually”! Well, like May says, no one wants another Rose in our crowd. So like it or not, Miss Fancy Pants, from now on you’re Queenie.’
I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I don’t like it at all, but I can hardly explain why to these girls. This is not good.
‘I hope you don’t want sugar in your tea,’ says May. ‘We stopped taking it ’cause we kept running out by the middle of the week. So we save up our rations and make a cake every now and then. We’ve got a lovely Christmas cake ready. It’s been soaked in our Dad’s Navy Rum, so it’ll be right tasty.’
‘Christmas?’
‘Are you Jewish, then?’ asks Nelly. ‘Like the Cohens?’
‘No,’ I say. What is she on about? ‘I’m Church of England.’
May puts a cup of tea on the table. ‘Here you go, Queenie. Get that down you. So how come you don’t know about Christmas?’
‘I do know about Christmas,’ I say. ‘I was just wondering why you’ve made your cake so early.’
Nelly frowns. ‘Early? What are you talking about? It’s only just over a fortnight away.’
‘Wh-what’s today’s date?’ I ask.
‘It’s the 8th of December, of course.’
The familiar sick, dizzy feeling comes back. I take a deep breath, hoping I’m not going to faint or anything. I glance down at the table, and for a moment – just a split-second – I can see Gran’s white tablecloth and coffee mugs and biscuit tin.
Then it’s gone and I’m looking at the heavy brown cover and an old fashioned cup and saucer in front of me. I pick up the cup with shaking hands and sip the hot tea.
Even that tastes different. I put it down again.
I glance at the paper on the table. It’s not like any newspaper I’ve ever seen.
The pictures are in black and white, and the words are printed really close together. But like all newspapers, the date is printed at the top of the front page.
Sunday, 8th December 1940.
CHAPTER FOUR
I stand up. The chair scrapes on the tiled floor. May and Nelly look at me curiously. I need to get out of here before I completely lose it. ‘I have to go.’
‘Go where?’ asks May.
That stops me in my tracks. Where can I go? I don’t know how I got here, so I’ve no idea how to get back. My instincts are all screaming that the mirror’s got something to do with it, but I’ve walked past it a million times before and this has never happened, so I might be wrong. I can hardly go and stand there, staring at it with these two watching me, can I? I mean, they’ll think I’m really, really vain, won’t they?
What I do know, is that I’m in Gran’s house. This is the place I keep seeing out of the corner of my eye, or when I go dizzy. So, that must mean the girls are Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor. I can’t believe I didn’t realise before.
Should I tell them who I am? Hi, I’m May’s granddaughter, and your creepy house has kidnapped me? I can see the distrust in Nelly’s face. If I said something like that, she’d kick me out for sure. Or get me locked up. Then I’ll never get back.
It’s got to be safer to stay here with them. Surely I’ll have more chance of getting back to my old Gran if I’m not running around London like an idiot. It was dangerous enough in normal circumstances, but now I’m apparently in the middle of a war zone. Can you believe it? How did that happen? Calm. I have to keep calm.
From the expressions on their faces, the girls think I’m a complete nut. ‘I … er … need the toilet. I won’t be a minute.’ I walk out of the kitchen.
‘God help us, you really are posh, ain’t you?’ Nelly shouts after me. ‘It won’t do you no good looking for the lav in here, Queenie. It’s out the back.’
I turn round and walk back into kitchen. Nelly sniggers at my expression. Yeah, she actually sniggers. You know – like giggling but with a condescending smirk?
‘Come on,’ says May. ‘I’ll show you. Don’t want you getting lost in the dark.’ She opens the outside door and holds it for me, bobbing into a curtsey as I walk out into the back garden. This is just so embarrassing.
Gran’s flowers and patio furniture are gone. So has all that fancy decking Dad put down for her last year. Instead of the lush green summer garden I’d seen out the kitchen window last time I looked, the moon lights a path across a patch of dirt, bare except for some stalks of Brussels sprouts and some cabbages and overshadowed by the hulk of an Anderson shelter. Beyond them, against the back wall of the garden, is the outside lavatory. I shiver in the cold, tempted to turn around and go back into the warm kitchen, but May is right behind me.
‘Hurry up, it’s freezing out here,’ she says. ‘If you leave the door open a bit you’ll be able to see what you’re doing so long as the moon’s out. We’ve run out of proper paper so Nelly’s cut up some old magazines to use. They’re hanging from a bit of string on the left-hand side. Will you be all right if I leave you to it?’
I nod, just wanting to be left alone for a minute.
‘Right. I’ll nip back in then. If the sirens start, don’t bother coming back into the house, just go straight in the shelter and we’ll see you there.’
Just as I reach the toilet door, May calls out. ‘Watch out for spiders in there, Queenie. Oh, and next door’s cat likes to sleep on the seat, so make sure you look before you sit down. My friend Elsie got a terrible shock the other night, sitting on Tiddles.’ I can hear May’s laughter as she goes back inside the house.
I open the door and look inside. Sure enough, a large tabby cat is curled up on the closed toilet seat. I’m tempted to give up
and leave it alone, but now I’m out in the cold, I realise I really do need to use the loo.
‘OK, Tiddles, time to go home,’ I say loudly. The cat shoots outside, yeowling, and disappears over the fence into next door’s garden. I can’t help laughing. It looked just like a cartoon cat, streaking away like that. If I had my mobile phone with me I could’ve filmed it and it might’ve gone viral on YouTube. But I haven’t got my phone, worse luck. I wonder if it would work here anyway? The Doctor’s friends always seem to manage to get through to him on Dr Who, no matter what time or planet he’s on. I will not panic. Deep breath.
I won’t stay out here too long: it’s seriously freezing and creepy too. But a few minutes alone give me the chance to think more clearly. This is so totally weird, but I’m not completely lost, am I? I mean at least I’m at Gran’s house, even if it is the wrong time. It is a bit like an episode of Doctor Who, isn’t it? And I should remember not to tell anyone about the future or it’ll cause some sort of crisis in the time-space continuum. ‘Spoilers’, as River Song was always saying a few years ago.
I’ve got to stay calm and see what happens. I still reckon I’ll wake up soon and find out this is just a freaky dream. Probably. Hopefully.
I wish I could relax and enjoy it. Not many girls get the chance to see their gran and Great-aunt Eleanor as teenagers, do they? It should be a laugh. But right now it doesn’t feel the slightest bit funny. I just can’t believe this is happening. I can’t figure out how it could have happened. What was different this time I passed the mirror? Did it really have anything to do with me getting stuck here, or was it just a coincidence I saw the girls in there before it happened? I mean, I’ve seen other bits of the house go funny too, like Ne … Great-aunt Eleanor’s room did this morning. What was different today? The clothes? Maybe. Think! I’ve got to work it out so I can figure out how to get back. My head starts throbbing, and I’m shaking with the cold. My nose starts to tingle and I squeeze the end to stop from sneezing. Last time I did that … whoa! The last thing I did before I ended up here was sneeze! I let go of my nose and try to sneeze, but the sensation has passed and it’s a pathetic effort, more of a whimper than the real thing. I try again, then realise that if it works, I could end up in Gran’s garden with my knickers round my ankles, so I stop and sort myself out. God, that could’ve been soooo embarrassing, especially if I end up back at the same time – the middle of the flipping afternoon! I can’t stop myself from giggling. It must be hysteria.
Rosie Goes to War Page 3
