When Marnie Was There

by Joan G. Robinson

“She was terribly angry.” There was a pinched look on Marnie’s face that Anna had not seen before. She was curious.

  “Why, what did she do?”

  “What she always does. You won’t tell, will you? You mustn’t.” Anna shook her head. “She took hold of my arm, very tightly so it pinched and said I wasn’t to dare tell when they came back, and she’d know if I did, and she made me promise. Then she took me upstairs and started brushing my hair. She always does that. She brushes terribly hard, and when she says, ‘You’re not to tell, do you understand?’ she bangs the brush hard on my head so that it really hurts. Sometimes she winds my hair round and round on it, so it makes tangles – then she can go on brushing them out. She does that so no-one can say she’s hurting me on purpose, you see? But I know. Sometimes it makes me cry like anything, it hurts so.”

  Anna was horrified. “But surely she wasn’t doing that when I saw you?”

  “Oh, no, there wasn’t any reason then. It’s only when she’s cross, or to make sure I don’t tell about anything.”

  “And do you ever tell?”

  Marnie shook her head. “Not now. I used to when I was little, by mistake, and then I wouldn’t remember what it was I was being punished for!” She laughed. “Come on, let’s get on.”

  She jumped up and began planning the garden, talking all the while, but Anna was not attending. Marnie shook her by the shoulders. “Anna! Please, let’s make our garden. You can make the paths with these shells, and we’ll have a lawn and flower beds at the back instead of that dreary old sea—”

  “What!” Anna was surprised. “Don’t you like the sea? I’ve always thought you were so lucky having it come right up to the house like that.”

  “I’d rather have a garden,” said Marnie. “There’s one at the front, of course, but that’s different. It’s the drive, and Pluto’s there. I’d like a proper garden with grass and flowers.”

  “The front?” Anna was puzzled. “Isn’t that the front that looks out on to the staithe?”

  Marnie stopped drawing flower beds in the sand and looked round at her in surprise. “The front? How could it be, you goose? How do you suppose people could come when the tide’s up? Did you imagine everyone came like you did, in my little boat?”

  She laughed, and Anna who had imagined just that, felt foolish. She realised now that of course it could not be so. She was surprised she had not thought of it before.

  “They’ve changed my room to the back so I shan’t be disturbed,” Marnie went on. “At first it felt as if I was being shut away, but now I like it. After all, if I’d looked out on the front I’d never have seen you. Imagine it!”

  “But tell me—” Anna was trying to work it out, “where does the front come out?”

  “Along the main road, goosey. Beyond Pritchetts.” Pritchetts was the old village shop, now derelict and deserted.

  Anna thought hard, trying to visualise that part of the road, then remembered the high brick wall that ran along one side, with the tall iron gates halfway along. She had looked through them one day and seen a dark drive, bordered with yew trees, curving away to the left.

  “It looks so different,” she said slowly,” I never thought…”

  But Marnie was not listening. “Just think if I’d gone on looking out at that dreary drive, and never known you were down on the staithe!” She spoke almost as if she were a prisoner.

  “But you’d have come out,” said Anna.

  “Perhaps.” Marnie sighed. “But I wouldn’t have watched out for you, the way I do now, because I wouldn’t have known you were there. I have to be up in my room a lot. I’ve lessons to do, for one thing.” She shook her shoulders impatiently and picked out some bright green seaweed from the pile they had collected. “Don’t let’s talk about such things! Look, this shall be for the grass. Come on, why are you so dull?”

  Anna was turning over in her mind all she had heard. “What did you mean about not being disturbed?” she asked.

  “Just that,” said Marnie. “They’ve put me away at the back of the house so I shan’t be disturbed. So I can sleep quietly.”

  “Couldn’t you before?”

  Marnie shook her head. “I used to wake up in the middle of the night, when they’d had a party and were all going home. And I used to hear Pluto barking. I told you about that, didn’t I?” She lowered her voice. “Sometimes he barks in the night, and I used to hear him and wake up frightened. I know it’s all right really. He’s got a chain on, so he can’t get loose, but…”

  She threw some more shells over to Anna, as if she wanted to change the subject. “Here, you make a path with those, then I’ll plant the fruit trees, shall I? Come on, dreamy!”

  They worked at the little house until the sun was quite low in the sky and there was an orange light reflected in the pools on the marsh. Anna was quiet on the way home. When Marnie asked her why, she said, “I’ve been thinking – you’re supposed to be lucky – I mean you look lucky, and you have everything anyone could want – but you’re not really, are you?”

  “But of course I am!” Marnie was amazed. “I’m terribly lucky. What ever are you talking about?”

  They had rounded the bend and come in sight of The Marsh House. “Oh, look! The lights are on. That means they’ve come!” Marnie pointed eagerly and Anna saw that the windows were all lit up.

  “That’s only the reflection of the sunset,” she said.

  “No, they’ve come! And Edward will be there.” Marnie broke into a run, leaping over the streams and running so lightly over the boggy patches that Anna was soon several yards behind.

  “Who’s Edward?” she panted, struggling to keep up.

  Marnie called back over her shoulder. “You know, the boy you saw – at the party. He’s sort of a cousin of mine, and he’s coming to stay.”

  Anna dropped behind. It was no use trying to keep up and there seemed no point now. But at the next stream Marnie had stopped after all and was waiting for her.

  “I forgot to tell you he was coming,” she said. “I’d even forgotten myself.” She leaned forward a little, as if she were talking to a much smaller child, and her voice became coaxing. “Darling Anna, you know I’d much rather be with you. But Edward is my cousin, and he’s quite nice. I must run now.” She put her cheek against Anna’s for a second, then ran on.

  Anna had to be satisfied with that. Marnie loved her best, and would rather be with her. That was all she had wanted to hear. She paddled across the creek and saw that the windows of the house were in darkness after all. But that did not mean they had gone away; only that they were round the other side.

  She thought of the dark drive and the forbidding front entrance on the main road. Edward, and all the other guests, were welcome to that, she thought happily. She and Marnie shared the side of the house that she liked best; the quiet, secret side that had seemed to recognise her when she first stood dreaming by the water, the side that looked as if it had been there for ever…

  Chapter Eighteen

  AFTER EDWARD CAME

  EDWARD’S COMING MADE very little difference. Marnie did seem to like being with Anna best. Only, sometimes, when they had been on the beach as usual, she would jump up and say, “I must go. Edward will be wondering where I am.” Then Anna would find it was time to go, too, and they would both turn back in the direction of the staithe.

  Once Anna saw them walking together in the far distance along the beach, and for a moment she felt hurt. But a minute later Marnie came running up into the sandhills, alone; so pleased to see her that they might have been the only two people in the world.

  “How quickly you can run!” said Anna. “You were miles away on the beach just now.”

  Marnie laughed. “That was ages ago, goosey. What a dreamy old thing you are! You must have been asleep.”

  That was quite probable. The weather had turned hot and Anna often dozed off when she was alone these days. Only when she was with Marnie did she feel really wide awake.

 
; “This strong air really do seem to have gone to your head!” Mrs Pegg said, when Anna came home one evening with her eyelids drooping, heavy with sleep and sunshine.

  Anna yawned, too tired even to reply. She had been out all day. She had wandered along the beach, waited in the sandhills, and dawdled home across the marsh at sunset. But she had not once seen Marnie. And yet she had thought they were to meet in the same place as yesterday.

  Next day she went back to the same place and Marnie was there.

  “Where have you been?” Marnie said. “I’ve been waiting ages for you.”

  “I waited ages for you yesterday,” Anna said.

  “Don’t be silly, you couldn’t have.” Marnie pointed at the sand where some wild flowers lay scattered about. “Don’t you remember? We left those here yesterday.”

  “That was the day before,” Anna said. “Or was it the day before that?” She was not sure herself now. But the flowers still seemed quite fresh. Perhaps Marnie was right.

  “Does it matter what day it was?” said Marnie. “Yesterday’s gone, so has the day before. Don’t let’s waste today arguing about it.”

  But it happened again. It was exasperating to wait for hours in the chosen place, only to have Marnie pop up on the way home. Surely she used not to do this? Anna could not remember, but it began to feel as if Marnie was playing hide and seek with her.

  “You promised to make a house today,” Anna said once.

  “I didn’t promise. Why are you so cross?”

  “I’m not cross, but you said you would. I’ve been waiting all day.”

  “Oh, poor you! But I can’t be everywhere all the time. And I’m here now. Come on, let’s be friends.”

  But Anna did not feel like being coaxed. “It isn’t fair,” she said. “I need you more than you need me.”

  “Nonsense. I need you, too, but you don’t understand – I’m not free like you are. Don’t let’s quarrel, darling Anna!” Then Anna’s resentment melted away, and they were happy again.

  One day, wandering in the sand dunes, Anna came across a little shelter made of driftwood and marram grasses. It was big enough to crawl inside, and she crept in, thinking how pleased Marnie would be when she showed it to her.

  But when she told her about it, Marnie said, “I know. Edward and I made it yesterday.” Anna could not say anything at all then, she was so hurt and angry. For the first time since they had met, she put on her ‘ordinary’ face. But Marnie knew at once what it meant.

  “Anna – Anna, I was going to show it to you, truly. Please don’t look like that. Please don’t go away from me.”

  And again Anna was coaxed back into forgiving her.

  But she began to realise that she must not rely on Marnie too much. That if she was over-sure of meeting her, that would be the time she would not come. That it was almost as if Marnie was determined Anna should never take her for granted.

  And yet sometimes they were as happy together as they had ever been.

  One day, when Anna was lying on the farther dyke, near where they had first gone mushrooming, Marnie did her old trick of suddenly appearing in the grass beside her. Anna sat up, surprised. She had only chosen that place because she was sure she would not be seeing Marnie until later in the day.

  “I thought you were going out with Edward,” she said.

  “I was, but I changed my mind. He decided he wanted to go and have a look at the windmill.” Marnie settled down beside her. “What are you reading?”

  Anna had not been reading, though she had a comic with her – the one Mrs Preston sent regularly. She handed it over. “Do you have this one?”

  Marnie shook her head. “I’m not allowed them. Sometimes the maids have them – more grown-up ones, but they’re comics just the same – and sometimes they let me read them, when they don’t want me to be a nuisance and want to keep me out of the way.”

  “You can have that one if you like, but don’t read it now. Tell me what the maids’ ones are like.” Anna did not think she had ever seen a grown-up’s comic.

  Marnie stretched herself on the grass beside her. “They’re terribly exciting,” she said, and her eyes grew dark and secret looking, “they’re full of eerie mysteries – that’s what they call them – all about nuns shut up in towers, and stolen babies, and wicked men. That’s where I got the idea from that I might be really adopted.”

  “You talk as if you’d like to be,” Anna said. “I didn’t understand you when you said that before.”

  “Didn’t you?” Marnie looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s difficult to explain. It’s only – well, I mean it would just show how good my parents are, wouldn’t it. I mean they’ve given me everything – everything, and they’ve never even hinted that I might be adopted. But secretly, very secretly, I feel as if I am. Promise you won’t tell?”

  “Of course I won’t. Anyway, who is there to tell? Go on telling me about the comics.”

  “Well, they have love stories and things.” Marnie hesitated. “But I think love stories are sloppy, don’t you?” Anna agreed. “And yet—” Marnie looked at her hopefully – “I do want to fall in love and get married when I’m grown up, don’t you?”

  Anna was not sure. “I don’t know. I might fall in love with someone who didn’t love me. I should think I would. I might keep dogs instead – have kennels.”

  “Oh, no, I should never do that!” Marnie turned the pages of the comic. “This is nicer than the grown-up kind. I’ll keep it.” She folded it and laid it aside. “I’ll tell you another secret,” she said seriously. “I don’t want to grow up. Not ever. I shouldn’t know how to be a proper grown-up, like Mother and her friends. I want to go on being like I am for ever and ever.”

  “But Marnie—” Anna was startled – “how can you say that? I should have thought—” she broke off, thinking of what Marnie had told her about her nurse bullying her.

  “Yes, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m used to that. And I know what to run away from if I’m frightened.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder in the direction of the mill. “That horrible place, for one thing. But I don’t know anything about being grown up, and no-one tells me.”

  “Why are you frightened of the mill?” asked Anna. “I wish you’d tell me.”

  Marnie looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve always been scared of it. That’s why I wouldn’t go with Edward.”

  “Did you tell him you were frightened?”

  Marnie shrugged, pretending to be indifferent. “I tried to, but he didn’t understand. First he teased me, then he said if I was really frightened I ought to face up to it – that I couldn’t go through life running away from things.”

  “It’s easy to be brave for someone else,” Anna said.

  Marnie turned to her quickly. “Yes, isn’t it? Edward’s terribly serious sometimes.” She smiled. “That’s what I love about you, darling Anna. You don’t keep telling me what I ought to do. I suppose I ought to go to the mill now, just to prove I can, but I’ve always been scared of it – ever since…”

  “Since what?”

  “Oh, it started ages ago. Ettie used to say, when I’d been naughty, ‘They’ll take you away and shut you up in the windmill with only the wind ’owling and then you’ll be sorry.’” She was smiling but her face had the same pinched look as Anna had seen before. “I was only little then, but she made it sound terrible. Ettie’s like that. She likes frightening people.” She sighed, and shrugged her shoulders again.

  “And once, when Father was going away, he asked me what I wanted and I said a red balloon, so he asked Nan to buy me one when she went into Barnham. But when she came back she’d got me a paper windmill instead – the kind that goes round and round in the wind. She said it would last longer. I was terribly disappointed, and I cried and cried, so then Nan got into a temper and she said, ‘All right, my girl. If you don’t like the windmill I’ve got you, we’ll ask Ettie to take you to a better one.’ And she told Ettie to take me for a walk, be
cause she was tired after going into Barnham.

  “I don’t know if she really meant her to take me to the mill; perhaps she just meant to frighten me. But Ettie did. She dragged me all the way there, screaming, and I really thought she was going to have me shut up.”

  She smiled again, a tight, thin little smile. “It sounds silly now, I know, but I was terrified. Then, just when we got there, the sky went quite dark and there was a terrible thunderstorm. Ettie was frightened too, then, and I don’t know whether that was better or worse!” She laughed, trying to shake off the ugly memory. “Ugh! Let’s talk about something else.”

  But Anna was furious. “I never heard such a thing!” she said, outraged.“I hate Ettie. I wish she’d been struck dead.”

  Marnie looked startled. “What a funny girl you are. Why do you always look so shocked when I tell you things like that? Didn’t anyone ever try to frighten you?”

  “Not grown-ups – on purpose. Of course not!” Anna was nearly shouting with rage.

  Marnie murmured, so low that it might almost have been the wind blowing over the grasses, “You are lucky. I wish I was you.”

  Anna turned to her, suddenly quiet. “That’s what I said to you – last time we were here.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember? Oh, poor Marnie! I do love you. I love you more than any girl I’ve ever known.” She put out a hand to touch Marnie’s hair, then stopped in mid-air. “And that’s what you said to me,” she said slowly, with a surprised look on her face. “How funny, it almost seems as if we’re changing places.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE WINDMILL

  ANNA SLIPPED OUT of the cottage at dusk that evening. Ever since Marnie had left her on the dyke earlier in the day, she had been thinking about the windmill. Now she turned along in that direction. She had never been there herself. Sam had kept saying at intervals that perhaps he would take her there but it had never happened. Now she had an idea.

  She would go there by herself. She had never actually promised she would not. Then she would be able to find out whether there was really anything for Marnie to be so frightened about. She was fairly sure there was not, but she had to be sure. If she could say, next time she met her, there’s nothing in it, I went there myself, then Marnie would believe her. Edward might have told her so, but Edward was different and he had called her a coward.