Princess Phoebe

by Scilla James

  I look at my watch by the light of the next car headlights and see it’s coming up to midnight. Hours before morning light. . I’ve got no phone, no money, spare clothes or food, and I have no idea where I am.

  As each set of car headlights pass and light the road, they leave me less able to see in the blackness after they’ve gone. I try to get my balance on the side of the ditch but trip over something and one of my legs slides off down the bank, landing in a stream of cold water at the bottom. Then my other leg catches on a thorny branch and I feel the pain of a sharp scratch as it comes free and I slide down again.

  My legs start shaking but I try to stand firm. Poor Princess is wobbling about too, feeling for something to hold on to. The water is gradually seeping into my socks and trainers and, within seconds, my feet are frozen. I try not to cry but tears are coming.

  Sinking down on to the side of the ditch, with my wet feet tucked under to hold me from slipping again, I feel a cold nose push under my arm and a soft head against my chest. I cuddle my dog and we lie down together, waiting for morning to come.

  7

  Mrs Henderson

  It’s the longest night of my life. Neither Princess nor I can sleep; she’s watchful, and I am terrified. I don’t dare think what might live at the bottom of the ditch. Rats? Snakes? And what about Frank and Lennie – supposing they miss Princess and decide to come back and look for her? What would they do to me if they found us? I want my big brother, or Mum, or even Dad who would be so angry with me, or Jan, Margaret – anyone. I resolve to be nicer to the twins if I ever get back alive.

  At long last dawn comes and what starts as a grey light turns quickly to sunrise. I look and feel like rubbish. My trainers are heavy with water and my jeans and t-shirt are stained with mud and grass.

  I guess that a mucky 11-year-old girl walking along a main road with a greyhound at the crack of dawn might attract attention, and decide to get away from the road as soon as I can while it’s early and there are hardly any cars.

  At least my parents won’t be worried because they aren’t expecting me home. And I have my Princess with me. She and I set off along the road together, as I let go of her rope collar. Where to look for help? It doesn’t feel safe to try for a passing car. Up ahead I can see a lane leading off to the right, about 100 metres away, and I aim for that. Turning down it, I see that it goes winding off, away from the view of the main road.

  The hedges that line the lane are green and summery, and sparrows are darting about all over the place, looking for bugs and caterpillars to eat. . They take no notice of me and Princess and our troubles.

  We walk for a while, until we come to a bend where the hedges are higher and a band of trees makes the lane appear shady and dark. There’s a cottage up ahead, and bobbing about in the garden I can just make out the bent shape of a white-haired old woman. I blink my tired eyes as I try to see what’s ahead of me. It is a witch. I’ve seen her picture before, in a book in Jan’s bedroom. The cottage is the same, too. Jan’s witch ate children, especially girls because they taste the best. I shake my head to try and clear my brain. Princess is staring ahead, her ears and hackles up.

  Moving to catch hold of her I trip over a bump in the lane as she avoids my hand and dashes off, disappearing through the bushes and into the witch’s garden.

  ‘Princess!’ I call in alarm.

  ‘Oi!’ The witch’s voice, loud and angry, is the next thing I hear as I limp after my dog and come up to a gate where the woman, no longer bent and not looking nearly so old, is glaring at me in indignation.

  ‘Your dog’s after my chickens!’ she says. ‘Come and get her out of here please, at once!’

  I mutter something about being sorry and, keeping my head down in case she knocks me out on the way past, I hurry through the gate she’s holding open. The lady gestures towards the back of the house, from where I can hear the sound of squawking hens. I follow the noise and there’s Princess, charging up and down the length of a wire chicken run while a gang of hysterical birds flap around in a panic. I drag her away, which isn’t easy with only Frank’s old bit of rope round her neck.

  The woman appears beside me. ‘What on earth are you doing child?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘She was too quick for me.’

  The woman is rather wild looking. She has hair that flies all over the place and she’s wearing a flowery dress hitched up around her middle with a bit of string. There are no witch’s shoes, but a pair of navy blue wellies. She’s wearing gardening gloves.

  ‘I asked you what you’re doing,’ she says again, sternly. ‘You don’t live round here, do you, and it’s six o’clock in the morning. Were you hoping to steal my eggs?’

  I stare at her in amazement.

  ‘No!’ I protest.

  ‘Are you quite sure?’ She looks at me suspiciously.

  ‘Quite sure,’ I say. I have a vision of omelettes. ‘How would I cook them?’

  That doesn’t convince her, and she goes on. ‘We’ve had quite a few thefts round here lately. So if you aren’t after my eggs, what are you after?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I say. How can I explain? I’m exhausted and frightened. I back away from her and stand looking at the ground.

  I suppose I shiver a bit because all of a sudden she says in a kinder voice,

  ‘Why don’t you come into the house and I’ll get you a drink. Bring your naughty dog and we’ll see if we can begin our conversation all over again.’

  I don’t want to go into her house. She might grab hold of me and tie me to the cooker and torture me or something. By going in I’ll be trapped for sure. But what else can I do? Then I think of Princess. Surely my dog will bite the woman if she tries to hurt me. So I keep hold of Princess and follow the lady through the back door and into a large kitchen. Cautiously, I look around.

  The woman points to a chair and tells me to sit down. I perch on the edge of it, in case I need to run, and let go of Princess. I can’t see any tying-up rope and the kitchen is really messy, which makes me feel better, more at home. There aren’t any nappies or fishing maggots on the table but there’s piles of other stuff – books, gardening magazines, plant pots, and biscuits. There’s also a large dog bed with smelly looking blankets in the corner, and a number of bowls and chewed dog toys on the floor. An ancient-looking sheepdog is lying curled up on the blankets. It takes no notice of us.

  ‘That’s Phoebe,’ says the woman. ‘She’s very old indeed, and doesn’t usually get up until lunchtime.’

  Princess helps herself to Phoebe’s water, then has a quick nosy around before settling down in a spot on the floor where the sun’s coming in. She must also feel at home, because she quickly falls asleep where she’s lying.

  The woman asks my name and tells me she’s called Mrs Henderson.

  ‘So, Ellie,’ she says, ‘are you going to tell me about yourself and what you’re doing here?’ I look at her and decide that she isn’t much like a witch at all.

  ‘Are you running away from someone? Cruel father? Wicked stepmother? Or if it really is my eggs you’re after – you’ve only to say and I’ll give you some.’ She smiles, and I relax a tiny bit.

  ‘Frank,’ I say.

  ‘Frank?’

  ‘Frank wants my dog and I don’t want him to take her,’ I say, tears coming as I see that Mrs Henderson has a kind expression and is listening to me carefully. ‘If he keeps her I’ll never get her back. If she’s any good at catching hares he’ll sell her when he’s won money betting, and if she isn’t any good he’ll dump her. He’ll never give her back to me.’

  ‘Who’s Frank?’ asks Mrs Henderson, ‘and why won’t he give your dog back if he stops wanting her? And, most of all, why has that brought you here?’

  ‘He just won’t, because he’s mean,’ I say, ‘and I’m here by mistake.’

  ‘I’ll put some bread in the toaster,’ she says, ‘and if you want to you can tell me the whole story. If not, at least tell me enough to give me so
me idea of what a very muddy girl is doing in my kitchen with a greyhound. I wasn’t expecting you, you see.’ She smiles again, and then goes over to the corner and takes some slices of bread from a packet, dropping them into an old toaster and banging the knob down about ten times to make it stick. Like our toaster at home.

  I watch, feeling hungry in spite of the chance that she might suddenly turn on me and eat me up. I know I’m being silly, but my brain feels woozy, and her voice sounds as if it’s coming from miles away.

  ‘Honey or cheese?’ She says it a few times before I hear.

  ‘Just butter, thank you.’ I don’t like honey and you never know with cheese. Mrs Henderson pours out some squash and puts it down in front of me, together with two slices of lovely looking buttered toast. I eat both bits quickly and risk a smile back at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘Well now,’ she sits down next to me. ‘Go on.’

  So I tell her my story, or nearly all of it. I don’t want her to think that Frank might really own Princess, so I miss out the bit about him saying she’s his dog. Mrs Henderson’s eyes go wide when I tell her about being in Frank’s van when the cops came. And then about Lennie feeling sick. I also talk about the poor greyhound who was going to be thrown out into the woods overnight by the two men.

  ‘Can we go and look for her?’ I ask, pausing in my story.

  ‘No,’ she says, ‘my friend Joan works at the rescue centre and I can ring and let her know another greyhound has been dumped. It happens all the time round here so people are used to finding them, but I suppose it’s better than when they’re shot or drowned. What I have to concentrate on, is what to do about you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ll have to take you back to your parents, of course,’ she says. ‘There are laws about stealing children and I don’t want to be accused of stealing you. I’ll go and get the car out and take you home. Finish your drink first though,’ she adds, and smiles in quite a friendly way for someone who’s planning to land me in a load of trouble.

  ‘Oh, you don’t need to worry because they won’t be expecting me,’ I say quickly, ‘you could just take me to Jan’s and they’ll never know I’ve been gone.’

  ‘That’s completely out of the question,’ Mrs Henderson says.

  ‘Please!’ I beg her. I can’t begin to imagine what Mum and Dad will say if I pitch up in a strange woman’s car, brought back from who knows where after a night not spent at Jan’s. They’d go nuts. And what about Princess?

  ‘And I don’t know what to do about my dog,’ I say, hearing my voice go shaky. ‘If I go home with Princess, Frank will come and take her back.’

  ‘You must leave her with me,’ says Mrs Henderson at once. ‘I’m not about to send a dog back to that shed you’ve been telling me about. Phoebe here is a rescue dog, and came from a miserable life. She’ll be glad to have your Princess to talk to for a while. It might perk her up.’

  I’m not too happy about leaving Princess. In fact, I can feel a lump in my throat starting already. How unfair to have her back then lose her again so quickly. But it’s a solution to my problem and I know Mrs Henderson is being a star to offer help, even though she doesn’t know me at all. So I thank her enthusiastically.

  ‘She can’t stay with me for ever though,’ she says, ‘just for a little while.’

  ‘She’ll keep the foxes away from your chickens,’ I say.

  ‘And scare the chickens herself! That’s not much of an argument Ellie,’ Mrs Henderson says, ‘but I’ll have her while you think of a proper plan. Tell your parents, and ask them to help you.’

  Tell my parents? So after everything I’ve said, I’ve obviously failed completely to make Mrs Henderson understand what my parents are like. I’ll just have to keep trying. While she gets the car out I try to explain things to Princess. Anyone who’s hugged a greyhound knows that they have big deep chests that you have to get your arms right round and then very gently give a cuddle. They aren’t rough and tumble animals, and their ears are the softest things in the world. Princess’s look is full of trust and I feel terrible leaving her again.

  ‘Mrs Henderson’s really kind though,’ I tell her, ‘and I’ll be back soon.’ How I hope that’s true.

  On the way home I talk my head off. I don’t know why. Mrs Henderson seems really interested so I find myself telling her all sorts of stuff, about Mum and Dad and my twin brothers and Nick, and how I don’t fit in anywhere as everyone’s either older than me, or younger, or a twin. She doesn’t say much, just lets me rattle on. I’m sure Mum would have told me to shut up after five minutes, but Mrs Henderson actually seems to want to hear. I even explain about my friend Jan and her gran, and say I wish I’d got a gran too, because they seem like people who have time for you. The only thing she asks about is Margaret’s allotment. She asks me what Margaret grows there. I can’t think why she wants to know that, and I realise I don’t have a clue. I tell her I think it’s mainly beans.

  The journey passes quickly and soon we come to the parkways and roundabouts of home. Somehow I manage to persuade Mrs Henderson, since it’s still not 10 o’clock, to take me to Jan’s in the hope that I haven’t been missed.

  ‘I should really take you to your house,’ she keeps saying.

  But I say, ‘No! Please. They all think I’m at Jan’s. If I turn up in your car they’ll make me tell everything and then they’ll find out where Princess is, and then Frank will get her.’

  ‘All right,’ Mrs Henderson sighs in resignation. ‘But I want to see this Jan, and know that you’re with her before I agree to leave.’

  I write my mobile number down for her, explaining that there isn’t a phone in our house because we couldn’t pay the bill and they cut us off. She writes down her address and number, and gives me a stern look.

  ‘No more getting in the backs of vans,’ she says.

  ‘I won’t,’ I say, and thank her for everything.

  Jan comes to the door and as I wave goodbye to Mrs Henderson I’m dragged into the house by my t-shirt and Jan goes nuts.

  ‘Where have you been? I’ve been completely freaked! Look at the state of you! I didn’t know what to tell them. Who was that woman in the car? I thought you’d been murdered! Why didn’t you phone? Call yourself a friend. How d’you think I’ve been feeling?’

  ‘I’m all right,’ I say, as soon as I can get a word in. ‘Have they missed me?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she says, ‘but they could have.’

  ‘I left my mobile in Nick’s van,’ I say, ‘so I couldn’t get in touch with you. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘Wait while I phone Gran,’ says Jan. ‘She’ll be getting worried too. I’m supposed to be up there by 10 o’clock.’ Little Jade comes rushing over to sniff me. She can probably smell Princess on my clothes. I feel a stab of longing for my dog, but tell Jade that Princess will be lying in the sun with an old sheepdog, and is safe.

  ‘We’ll go and sit in the garden,’ says Jan crossly, ‘and you can tell me what’s been going on.’ She gets some cans of cream soda from the enormous fridge in her kitchen and we go out into the sun. For the second time that day I have to explain the happenings of the night before.

  Jan’s furious.

  ‘Stupid or what?’ is all she keeps saying.

  ‘But I went to see Princess,’ I point out. ‘What else was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Not that!’ Jan fumes. ‘What if Frank had found you in his van? He’d have murdered you and I’d have had to explain. Did you think about me at all?’

  No, I hadn’t. ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  About an hour later I go home. I hope they’ll all be out so I can get cleaned up without being seen, and I feel nervous that Nick might have found my mobile in his van. With my luck it has probably jumped out at him already, when he shifted the blankets or something. I can’t face him being angry too.

  8

  Nick

  ‘Ellie?’ calls Nick, as soon I open the back do
or, ‘is that you?’

  He’s in then, and worse, he has my mobile in his hand.

  ‘What was this doing in the back of my van? And this water and stuff?’

  I look at him blankly, but he goes on without waiting for an answer.

  ‘What are you up to? If you thought you could come with me last night it’s a good thing you didn’t. Was that what you planned to do?’

  ‘Err, yes, I suppose so,’ I mutter.

  ‘Well, you could have ended up in jail.’ he says. ‘So it’s a good thing you didn’t. The cops were waiting for us. They chased us halfway round the countryside. I just hope Frank got away.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Why would you want Frank to get away?’

  ‘Because if Frank gets caught there’ll be consequences,’ says Nick.

  I don’t understand.

  ‘They should put him in jail,’ I say, ‘for stealing my dog!’

  ‘Ellie,’ Nick says gently, ‘it was wrong and mean of Frank to take Princess, but he has got a bit of a case. Queenie was his dog and so her puppies were his too.’

  I start to argue, but what’s the point? ‘Sorry,’ I say instead, then turn and drag myself upstairs where I lock myself in the bathroom. As I go I hear Nick give a big sigh. I wash and find some less mucky clothes to put on, then lie down on my bed. I think Nick must have gone out again, but I’m wrong, because just as I’m about to drop off to sleep I hear Dad and Tag come in and, soon afterwards, raised voices downstairs..

  ‘You can’t just do nothing, Dad!’ Nick’s saying, ‘it’s going to be in a fortnight!’

  ‘Surely they won’t do anything when it comes to it?’ Dad asks. ‘Something will turn up. Why can’t you leave it to me?’

  ‘I have left it to you and look what’s happened – nothing! You haven’t even told Pearl! Well, this is my last word. If you haven’t told her by tonight then I’m going to. You should have talked to her weeks ago, instead of going out all dressed up in a suit and telling her you were going for a job interview.’