The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  Ella shrugged. ‘My gran likes him.’ Janice was not to know, but that very fact was no recommendation to Ella.

  ‘Well, she would do. They’re related, aren’t they?’

  This was news to Ella. ‘How?’

  The other girl shrugged. ‘When me mam heard about yourn getting drowneded in the floods,’ Ella bit her lip but remained silent as the girl went on, ‘me mam said, “Oh, them Hiltons and Elands and Godfreys, all muddled up together, they are.”’

  Ella shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’

  Janice leant closer. ‘So you see, he can’t be ya boyfriend even if you wanted him to be.’

  Ella lifted her shoulders again. She couldn’t quite understand all this talk of boyfriends and girlfriends, but said stoutly, ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘That’s all right then. See, he’s our Jimmy’s best mate. He’s in the same class.’ Janice moved to her side and, linking her arm through Ella’s, said, ‘You can be my friend, Ella Hilton, ’cos we live at the next farm to you – and Rob.’ She turned back to face the rest of the girls hovering around them. ‘You hear? Ella’s my friend.’

  The girls gave faint smiles but said nothing, the taunts, it seemed, silenced.

  At the end of afternoon school, Ella once more found herself the centre of attention. Outside the school gate a group of girls from her class encircled her: Alison and several others, whose names Ella did not yet know. But there was no sign of Janice.

  ‘She’s walking home with Rob, I ’spect.’ Alison Clark’s knowledge about other people’s affairs seemed endless. She came close to Ella. ‘See, she’s older than all of us. She’s nearly eleven.’

  ‘She was ever so ill when she was six and missed a lot of school, so she’s ’ad to be put down a class,’ another informant volunteered.

  Someone else sniggered. ‘Naw, she’s just thick, is Janice Souter. Her brother Jimmy’s the same. He shouldn’t still be at this school.’

  ‘You’d better not let her hear you say that, Gillian, else she’ll wallop ya.’

  ‘Janice Souter dun’t frighten me,’ the other girl said boldly, but, Ella noticed, she had turned an uncomfortable shade of pink.

  The group came to the crossroads where they were to part company, dispersing to various parts of the town or to take the lane leading out towards the Point.

  When her grandpa had brought her to school that morning he had shown her the way to go home. ‘Don’t come home by the coast road yet, Ella. Come from inland, down past Rookery Farm. Rob and the Souter children should come this way, so you’ll have some company. All right?’

  She had nodded, although the wind blustering across the vast expanse of open fields all around her had made her shudder, feeling vulnerable and afraid. It would be dusk when she left school. What if she got lost?

  ‘I’ll watch out for you,’ Grandpa had promised as he left her at the school gate. But now she found herself walking down the lane completely alone, except for the seagulls wheeling and screeching above her. Black clouds, threatening rain, were building up to the north behind her and the wind blew her along.

  ‘Oy!’ She heard a shout behind her. Turning, she saw a boy on a bicycle pedalling towards her. She stood waiting, but as he came nearer she could see it was not Rob. The boy, with spiky, carroty hair and a face almost completely covered with freckles, swerved his bike around her and continued to encircle her like a dog rounding up sheep.

  ‘You’re the new girl, in’t ya? Me sister ses ya’re in her class.’

  Suddenly, she knew who the boy must be; Jimmy Souter, Janice’s brother and Rob’s ‘best mate’.

  Ella started to walk again and Jimmy Souter kept pace with her. ‘Our Janice is walking home with Rob,’ he gestured behind them with his head and grinned confidently, ‘but he’ll get fed up of her in a bit and come after me.’

  He circled her again. ‘Cat got ya tongue?’

  She glared at him, but continued walking in silence.

  ‘We’re getting a telly soon.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Oh, ya can talk, then? A telly. Y’know, a television.’

  She’d seen them in the big stores in Lincoln, but had never watched a programme. She didn’t know anyone who actually owned one.

  ‘We’re getting one in time for the Coronation in June. It’s going to be on.’

  Ella eyed him. Was this boyish boasting or the truth?

  They had reached the point in the road where she turned to the left to go towards the coast, past Rookery Farm and home, whereas Jimmy’s home lay straight on. He scuffed his feet on the ground and swung his leg over his bicycle, swivelling it around across the road to bar her way.

  ‘Did ya mam get drowned in the floods?’

  Unable to speak, her eyes downcast, Ella nodded.

  ‘Why’ve you come to live with your gran, then? Ain’t ya got a dad?’

  ‘He was in the war.’ Again, the trusted answer.

  There was a smirk on Jimmy Souter’s face. ‘Me mam ses you ain’t got a dad, that you’ve never ’ad a dad. Ya mam weren’t married . . .’

  Ella clenched her fists and her eyes narrowed.

  ‘So ya know what that makes you, dun’t ya?’

  She stepped forward and thrust her face towards Jimmy. ‘Shut your gob else I’ll shut it for you.’

  Jimmy grinned at her, ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  Before the words were out, Ella had swung her right fist and caught him on the mouth.

  ‘Ow!’ Jimmy yelped, and reeled backwards. The bicycle toppled over and he fell on top of it, amidst pedals, handlebars and spinning wheels. Putting his hand to his mouth, he stared at Ella in surprise. ‘Ya little bugger!’ he said, swearing like an adult, but strangely, a note of respect had crept into his tone. Blood was now seeping from the inside of his lip, cut by his own teeth. ‘I’ll tell me mam of you, Ella Hilton.’

  At that moment they heard a shout and Ella turned to see Rob Eland racing towards them on his bicycle. Some distance behind him was Janice, running to try to keep up with him. There was a squeak of brakes as he slid to a halt and stood looking down at Jimmy.

  ‘You fall off, Jimmy?’

  ‘Naw, she hit me.’

  ‘Wha . . .?’ Rob glanced at Ella in amazement and then back to Jimmy.

  At that moment, Janice came up, panting and red-faced. ‘Ya might ’ave waited, Rob.’ She too stood looking down at her brother. ‘W’as up wi’ you, then?’

  ‘’Er,’ he pointed an accusing finger at Ella. ‘That’s what’s up.’

  Ella was silent, but inside, she was sighing. Bang goes Janice’s friendliness, she thought.

  Rob had laid his own bicycle down on the grass verge and was now attempting to disentangle Jimmy.

  ‘She hit me,’ he said petulantly, to his sister. ‘On the mouth. Look.’

  To Ella’s astonishment, Janice grinned at the boy still dabbing gingerly at his mouth. ‘Serves ya right. ’Spect you said summat ’orrible, as usual.’

  Jimmy looked shamefaced for a moment. ‘She needn’t ’ave hit me,’ he muttered.

  ‘Did ya hit her back?’

  ‘I dun’t hit girls.’

  ‘Ya hit me when it suits ya.’

  ‘That’s different. You’re me sister. ’Sides, I’ll tell our mam and she’ll go an’ see the Missus at Brumbys’ Farm.’

  Rob heaved Jimmy to his feet and handed him his bike and then went to pick up his own. ‘Come on, Ella, I’ll give you a cross-bar. Hang on to the middle part of the handlebars.’

  She hoisted herself on to the narrow bar of his bicycle and, wobbling a little at first under their combined weight, they set off down the road towards Rookery Farm.

  She glanced back to see Jimmy mounting his bicycle and pedalling towards his own home, whilst Janice was left standing at the crossroads staring after Rob and Ella.

  As they bowled along, close by her left ear, Rob said, ‘You ought to ask ya grandpa to get you a bike.’

 
; ‘Can’t ride one,’ she muttered.

  The bicycle wobbled. ‘Eh?’ His tone was shocked. ‘Can’t . . . ? Crikey! I dun’t know, Ella Hilton – never seen the sea and can’t ride a bike.’

  She turned her head to grin at him and found his face close to hers. ‘You’ll have to teach me, then, won’t you?’

  The bike wobbled dangerously now so that Rob put his feet to the ground and slithered to a halt a short distance from the gate into the yard of Rookery Farm. He held the bicycle whilst she slid off the cross-bar.

  ‘See ya,’ he began, and made to turn away. Ella nodded but made no move. ‘That girl . . .’ she began.

  He looked at her. ‘Who? Janice?’

  Ella nodded. ‘Is she your girlfriend?’

  ‘Girlfriend? I ain’t got no girlfriend.’

  ‘Well, she thinks you have.’

  ‘Jimmy’s me best mate, that’s all. She reckons she can tag along with us any time she likes.’ His expression was mournful. ‘We have the devil’s own job to give her the slip.’

  ‘So she’s not your girlfriend then?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. All girls are soppy.’ He turned his bicycle round and pedalled away. Now he sat upright on his saddle, not holding the handlebars at all but pushing his hands into the pockets of his trousers and steering the bicycle with his knees. He called back once, ‘See ya in the morning. Dun’t be late . . .’ and then rode down the lane to the farmyard gate, his shrill whistling piercing the deepening dusk of the winter’s afternoon.

  Ella crossed the lane and mounted the stile into the field to take the short cut towards Brumbys’ Farm. The waterlogged ground squelched underfoot as she skirted the field and came to the footbridge, only just visible above the overflowing dyke.

  Gingerly, she stepped on to the slippery planking. Holding her breath she inched her way across feeling the plank bouncing a little when she reached the middle. The water lapped over the edge and soaked her shoes. She stood still, fear suddenly immobilizing her. Her legs seemed to be rigid and she swayed slightly as if she might lose her balance and topple into the black water in the dyke, clogged with grass and reeds and debris. Ella bit her lip and then took a deep breath, willing her stubborn limbs to move. Somehow, she reached the other side and clambered up the bank. Skirting the meadow, she squeezed through a hole in the hedge into the orchard at Brumbys’ Farm.

  *

  ‘Where on earth have you been, Missy? Ya grandpa’s been fussing like a mother hen, running out to the gate every few minutes to watch for ya.’

  ‘I came across the fields from Rookery . . .’

  ‘The fields?’ Her grandmother’s voice rose. ‘A’ ya daft, girl?’

  ‘I – what do you mean?’

  ‘Dun’t ya know better than to come across them fields just after the flood? The dykes must be full and the ground sodden.’ There was a pause as her eyes went to Ella’s soaking shoes, the wet creeping up her socks. ‘Ya could have slipped in and drowned, you silly girl. Go on, up to bed with you this instant. And dun’t you go across that way again till the ground’s dried out. You hear me, Missy?’

  Remembering her sudden fear in the middle of the plank footbridge and knowing her grandmother was right, she said, meekly, ‘I’m sorry, Gran.’

  ‘So ya should be,’ was the only reply. Esther Godfrey shook her head. ‘I dun’t know what I’m going to do with you. Ya’ll be the death of me!’

  Ella bent to stroke Tibby’s back as the kitten lapped delicately at a saucer of milk on the hearth, then she looked up. ‘Gran, are we related to the Eland family?’

  The knife Esther was holding to chop vegetables clattered to the floor. The woman’s green eyes stared at her. ‘What? Who’s been telling you that? Has she said summat?’

  Wide-eyed, Ella stared back. ‘Who? Janice?’

  ‘No – no, I didn’t mean her – I meant – oh, never mind. Who’s been saying that?’

  ‘Janice Souter.’

  Esther gave a snort. ‘Oh, I might a’ known. That’s come from ’er mother. Nosy old beezum, she is.’

  Ella stifled a giggle as her grandmother wagged her finger and said, ‘You tek no notice of anything that girl ses, you hear me? It’s none of their business.’

  ‘But are we, Gran?’ the girl persisted.

  ‘It’s nowt for you to worry yasen about, Missy, and get that cat out of this house now.’

  ‘Aw, Gran, let him have a drink of milk in the scullery. It’s so cold out there and he’s so tiny . . .’

  ‘He’s to sleep in the barn.’ Her grandmother was firm, but her tone was softer now. The girl knew that Esther respected her concern for the animal’s welfare. ‘Here,’ her grandmother was saying, ‘here’s an old piece of blanket. Mek him a warm bed in the straw. You can take the saucer of milk out with you.’

  Feigning meekness, Ella said, ‘Yes, Gran,’ and avoided Esther’s penetrating gaze. She picked up the kitten, who, cross at being disturbed from his lapping, mewed plaintively.

  ‘I’m only taking you to bed, Tibby.’ She buried her face in the kitten’s soft fur and whispered, ‘Just be good. I’ve got an idea for later.’

  In the blackness of the barn she burrowed a nest for the kitten and wrapped the blanket around him. Tibby purred and played peekaboo from beneath the blanket, his bright green eyes glowing in the dusk.

  ‘I’ll be back for you later. Now, just stay there.’

  Back in the house, her grandmother was standing at the kitchen table, her hands on her hips, her mouth pursed as she surveyed her sewing machine. ‘Ruined!’ she muttered angrily, as Ella came into the kitchen. ‘What can I have been thinking of to leave it on the floor?’

  Jonathan eased his aching limbs up from the Windsor chair at the side of the hearth and came to stand beside Esther, putting his arm about her shoulders. ‘The flood came so fast, love. There was no time to think.’

  ‘Yes, but I always keep it on the little table under the window in the living room. What on earth possessed me to leave it on the floor?’

  ‘You often do, Esther, when you’re in the middle of making something. You know you do. You pile all the material, all the pieces you’ve cut out, on to the table and you leave the machine on the floor.’

  Ella saw her grandmother look at him and then nod. ‘Yes, you’re right. So I do. But I hadn’t been making anything just before the flood came, now had I?’

  ‘No,’ then Jonathan reminded her gently, ‘but you had the tea after your father’s funeral in there, and the little table was used to put things on.’

  ‘Oh, aye, of course.’ She sighed, remembering. ‘I just forgot to lift it back up.’

  ‘Normally it wouldn’t have mattered, now would it?’ he said reasonably.

  Esther pulled a wry face. ‘No, no it wouldn’t.’ She turned back to look down at the sewing machine plastered with mud and sand, its moving parts rusted solid by the salt water. ‘But why, oh, why, did I have to leave it on the floor that night of all nights?’ she moaned.

  Ella watched her grandmother run her fingers lovingly over the wooden lid of the machine. ‘It was the only kindly gesture me aunt Hannah ever made to me,’ she murmured more to herself than to the other two. ‘I got the shock of me life when she left it to me when she died instead of her own daughters. All me young life I’d never known anything from her but cuffs and knocks and work, work and more work. Mind you,’ her smile was a wry twist on her mouth, ‘I suppose I ought to be grateful to her. At least she made me a survivor.’

  ‘I think,’ Jonathan said slowly, ‘you would have survived, Aunt Hannah or no Aunt Hannah. It’s a cruel world for a youngster on her own with no parents . . .’

  Their eyes turned towards Ella and Jonathan’s voice dropped so low that she could scarcely hear his next words. ‘But you had the spirit of survival in you, Esther, and, thank the Good Lord, so has she.’ He smiled down at Ella with tenderness in his blue eyes and, tightening his arm about his wife’s shoulder, added, teasing gently, ‘Only trouble i
s, trying to live with the pair of you.’

  Esther laughed and, for a moment, some of the bitterness and sadness left her face, making her look young again.

  Ella moved forward to stand on the opposite side of the table.

  ‘Gran . . .’ As Esther met her steady gaze, the young girl took a deep breath and, though her voice wobbled a little, she said, ‘You – you can have Mum’s machine if you like. It – it was amongst all the things they brought from ho—from Lincoln.’

  Esther’s eyes softened and as she and Jonathan stood looking down into her upturned face, Ella glanced from one to the other and back again.

  ‘Your mum would want you to have her machine one day, love.’

  Ella shrugged. ‘I can’t use it. I don’t know how.’

  Esther’s eyes widened. ‘Do you mean to tell me yar mam didn’t teach you to sew?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘She never had the time, Gran. She was always too busy sewing for other people. It was her job.’

  Her grandmother tut-tutted and said, ‘Well, in that case, Missy, it’s high time you learnt.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Use Kate’s machine for a while, Esther. Machines should be used anyway. It doesn’t do them any good to be stood idle.’

  Esther gave a snort, ‘Like people.’

  ‘And in the meantime, love, I’ll take your machine out to the shed and take it to bits. Maybe I can clean it all up and get it working again. But it’ll take a while. It’ll be a fiddly job. I should have looked at it sooner . . .’ He swept his hand through his hair in a gesture of tiredness. ‘But there’s been so much to see to.’

  ‘I saw it as soon as the water went and knew it’d be ruined.’ Esther sighed, still annoyed with herself.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to do something with it, love,’ Jonathan tried to reassure her.

  ‘Of course you will.’ Esther smiled fondly at him, her confidence in his ability boundless. ‘And you’ll love doing it, won’t you?’ She tapped his cheek almost coquettishly. ‘You and your machines.’