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  sang her mother,

  ‘And then we’ll swill ‘em out,

  Ee aye the addio, and then we’ll swill ‘em out.’

  To their surprise, Charlie suddenly joined in with:

  ‘And then if’ll all go broom! Then if’ll all go broom!

  Ee aye the addio, and then if’ll all go broom!’

  By the time they reached Beatie’s, they were all feeling quite happy. Beatie had prepared an enormous spread of food. Somehow she had managed to obtain a tin of condensed milk for Charlie and Rusty. It was gloriously sweet. Rusty drank hers slowly in one long gulp.

  ‘That’s the equivalent of diamonds,’ remarked her mother.

  ‘Wait till I tell the Omsks,’ Rusty spluttered, ‘that I swallowed diamonds!’

  When Rusty was in bed and her mother was taking a bath, she heard strange whisperings coming from the hall. She sneaked out on to the landing in her pyjamas. Down in the hallway she could see four women, dressed in the green outfits that she recognized as being the Women’s Voluntary Service uniform. Beatie was beckoning them in with lots of hand-waving. She glanced up. Immediately she tapped her mouth with her finger.

  Rusty crept back into her room.

  She was about to get back into bed when she heard the sound of tyres crawling slowly up the dirt track to the garden. She climbed up on to a chair and peered down. Squashed into three old cars were women of all ages and shapes. The ones who weren’t pushing the cars piled slowly and quietly out of them. For a moment Rusty felt sad that she had been left out of the surprise – but then Charlie had, too. She jumped off the chair and eased the door ajar so she could eavesdrop. At last her mother emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing her green outfit. Rusty remembered now. She was supposed to be driving to a W.V.S. headquarters that night.

  Rusty held her breath and listened to her mother’s footsteps going down the stairs. Suddenly there were several loud whoops, followed by a muffled chorus of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow’. Rusty slipped out on to the landing, but she couldn’t see a thing. They must all have gone into the living room.

  It was fun, lying in bed listening to the sounds of a party going on downstairs. It reminded her of the Omsks’ place. She intended to stay awake till everyone had started leaving but, when she next awoke, the house was quiet. She put on her Beanie and sneakers and made her way downstairs. She was so thirsty. She crept into the kitchen and filled a jam jar with water, draining it several times. Before returning to bed, she decided to take a last look at the blackout curtains she and Beatie had dyed. She had hardly crossed the room when she sensed that someone was in the front garden. She dropped quickly to her knees, crawled under the bay window, and rose up slowly behind the curtain.

  She could see nothing unusual. Just the Bomb standing by one of the trees. She was about to walk away when she saw the glow of a cigarette coming from the driver’s seat. She turned away hurriedly and leaned back against the curtain. In that brief moment, the light had exposed her mother sitting alone behind the wheel, and Rusty had seen only too clearly that she was crying.

  13

  The train pulled into the station at nine o’clock, five hours after it was due. Charlie was exhausted, his face smudged with dark streaks where his grubby fingers had pushed away the tears.

  It had been a miserable journey. Rusty and her mother had attempted to act cheerfully for Charlie’s sake, but after he had realized that they wouldn’t be returning to Beatie’s that night, and nor would he be seeing Susan, he collapsed into a corner and wept for hours.

  As they stepped off the train with their luggage, a slow drizzle began to fall. They clambered into a taxi. Rusty stared out of the taxi window. The houses, which were made of dark bricks, were all joined up. There were no wide, sweeping lawns leading up to them, only tiny walled gardens.

  ‘Where have all the trees gone, Mummy?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Oh,’ she said brightly, ‘I expect we’ll see some in a minute.’

  The driver slid down the glass window behind him.

  ‘What number is it, madam?’

  ‘Eighty-three.’

  Rusty grew excited. They were almost there. ‘When was the last time Charlie saw Grandmother?’ she asked.

  ‘A long time ago,’ murmured her mother. ‘She doesn’t like travelling much, and it’s a long way for a little boy.’

  The taxi drew up at a tall, dark-bricked house. As Rusty pulled out the luggage, she noticed an elderly grey-haired woman standing behind the curtains watching them.

  ‘Is that her?’ she whispered.

  Her mother nodded.

  The door was opened by a tiny, wizened old lady, who stood back and waited for them to enter.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rusty.

  The old lady bowed. ‘I’m Mrs Grace,’ she whispered.

  A sing-songy voice came tinkling from a room at the side. ‘This way, dears.’

  How weird, thought Rusty, that her grandmother hadn’t come out to meet them. Maybe she had leg trouble. Rusty dragged the luggage into the hallway. Her mother glanced gratefully at her. The old woman showed them into a drawing room, where tea was laid on two low tables.

  Mrs Dickinson Senior was sitting upright, on an old-fashioned stuffed chair. She smiled regally at them. Her grey hair was scooped neatly back into a bun, and fastened at the throat of her beige silk dress was a pale cameo brooch.

  ‘Now, now,’ she said sweetly to Charlie, who was half asleep in his mother’s arms. ‘Big boys don’t need to be carried, do they?’

  ‘That one does,’ said Rusty. ‘He’s pooped.’

  Her grandmother glanced quickly at her.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rusty. ‘I’m Rusty. I mean, Virginia.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘Your granddaughter.’

  Her grandmother stared at Rusty’s shoes and slowly worked her way up to her head. Though her mouth was smiling, her eyes were not.

  ‘I gathered that,’ she said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ added Rusty, stretching out her hand.

  Her grandmother ignored this action and looked up at Peggy, who had begun whispering in Charlie’s ear.

  ‘Tea is waiting,’ she said firmly.

  Peggy lowered Charlie gently into an armchair. He gave a murmur and then opened his eyes.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Mrs Dickinson Senior. ‘Now sit up straight like a proper gentleman.’

  Then, to Rusty’s utter amazement, she leaned forward and said, ‘Where did she pick up that frightful accent?’ and she gave a short laugh. ‘Well, I suppose school will knock it out of her, and the sooner the better, eh!’ And she gave a conspiratorial little smile and leaned back.

  ‘What’s wrong with the way I talk?’ demanded Rusty.

  ‘It seems,’ said her grandmother, ‘that you didn’t learn any manners while you were in America.’

  ‘It seems,’ said Rusty, emphasizing the word, ‘that you never learned them here. In America we treat our guests with good grace.’ If the old bag was going to be pompous, she’d darned well be pompous back.

  Her grandmother’s eyes blazed for a fraction and her voice became even quieter. ‘We?’ she repeated. ‘You are English, my dear, though unfortunately one would never think it.’

  ‘Mother,’ interrupted Peggy, ‘we’re all terribly tired. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘It has for me, too. I’ve been waiting since four o’clock for you to arrive.’

  ‘I explained that we’d probably be late. You know how the trains are. They’re full of demobbing troops.’

  At that Mrs Dickinson Senior smiled. ‘Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry, dear. I suppose I was just a little anxious.’ And she waved to Mrs Grace, who had been hovering by her armchair. ‘I think we’ll have that tea now, Mrs Grace,’ she said lightly.

  Tea was a miserable affair. Because they hadn’t yet been able to change to the shops that would accept their ration books, there was little butter or milk to g
o around, and Rusty’s grandmother did little to conceal her annoyance that they hadn’t brought some with them.

  ‘But then you always have been a little helpless,’ said Mrs Dickinson Senior, in jest.

  If Rusty hadn’t caught her mother’s eye, she would have exploded again. She really tried to be friendly to her grandmother, but every time Rusty opened her mouth she could see the older woman visibly flinch.

  ‘My dear,’ she said at one point, ‘you don’t have to speak so penetratingly loud.’ And sweetly, ‘We have a saying here. It’s “Don’t speak until you are spoken to”.’

  Rusty glanced at her mother, who was gazing stupefied at the antique furniture and ornaments, and at the large floral curtains at the high windows.

  ‘How on earth did the army manage to keep this all in such good condition?’ she exclaimed.

  ‘After the house was requisitioned, I had the furnishings stored away. I left the army to find their own furniture. Good Lord,’ she added, ‘it was enough that they were allowed to take over the house.’

  ‘But all that curtain material,’ Peggy murmured, ‘lying somewhere unused.’

  ‘I’m not a charity!’ exclaimed Mrs Dickinson Senior.

  Peggy could not help thinking of Beatie, who bit by bit had given away all her curtains to the W.V.S. so that clothes could be made from them for bombed-out families.

  ‘Good job I did,’ continued her mother-in-law. ‘They’re impossible to obtain now. Roger can come home and find the place just as he left it.’

  Peggy blanched.

  Eventually, Rusty carried up the cases behind her mother who, ignoring her mother-in-law’s protests, had picked Charlie up again. Her grandmother didn’t help at all. She just stood at the foot of the stairs, suggesting that ‘Charles’ should walk up them.

  Rusty had a bedroom all to herself. It had been her bedroom when she was seven, but she didn’t remember it at all. It was a dark, cold room with furniture to match.

  ‘It’s a bit bleak up here,’ said her mother, ‘but I’ll decorate it for you while you’re at school, once we’re settled.’

  ‘Can’t I do it myself? I could paint the walls and then put some stencils in the corners, and –’

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ said her mother.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s enough, Virginia.’

  Rusty climbed into bed. The sheets were freezing. ‘Mother,’ she said hesitantly, ‘is Grandmother going to be living with us?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘Doesn’t she have anywhere else to go?’

  ‘No.’

  They looked at one another.

  ‘Why is she so mean?’

  ‘Virginia! That’s a terrible thing to say!’

  ‘But she doesn’t like me, does she?’

  ‘Nonsense. Of course she does. She’s just old, that’s all, and–’

  ‘So’s Gramps and Grandma Fitz, but they aren’t mean.’

  ‘Things are bound to be a little difficult at first. Your grandmother’s not used to having children around. She’s still a little Victorian, you know – “Children should be seen and not heard,” that sort of thing.’

  And sometimes, thought Rusty, they shouldn’t even be seen. She wished so much that Aunt Hannah was with her. She would have at least sat on the end of the bed and listened. All her mother ever said to her was ‘Nonsense’ or ‘Do as the Romans do’.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said her mother awkwardly. ‘Tomorrow we’ll be buying your uniform. I did order some from last year’s measurements, but I’ll have to get you a larger size now.’

  Rusty studied her mother’s face. She looked exhausted.

  ‘Why do I have to go away to school?’ she persisted. ‘Why can’t I go to a regular one? With boys?’

  ‘There’ll be quite enough time for all that when you’re older,’ Peggy said tautly. She opened the door.

  ‘But why are you sending me away again? I just got back.’

  Peggy whirled around, irritated. ‘So that you can catch up on your education. You’re far luckier than most young girls. At least you’ll be coming back here every weekend.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘I don’t wish to discuss it any further. Now you’d better get some sleep. We’ve a busy day ahead of us.’ And she closed the door firmly behind her.

  Rusty stared at the panels of the door, her eyes blurred. ‘You just don’t want me around, that’s all,’ she muttered.

  Her grandmother didn’t have breakfast with them. Rusty thought it was weird, but was secretly relieved. Down in the kitchen, Charlie’s sheets were soaking in a large bucket. He had wet his bed. Poor kid, thought Rusty.

  They sat at the dining-room table. Charlie pushed aside his toast and slumped his head on his arms. The toast was dry, but for a scraping of margarine, and the milk was powdered, but Rusty was so hungry that she forced it down.

  ‘I’ll have our ration books sorted out as soon as I can,’ her mother said. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to hand yours over to Benwood House. That’s your school. Never mind. From next week, everything will be a bit more settled.’

  Charlie raised his head.

  ‘When am I going back to nursery school?’ he said.

  ‘In a couple of weeks’ time,’ said Peggy brightly. ‘It’ll be a different one.’

  ‘What kind of animals have they got?’

  ‘It isn’t like your other school. They don’t have animals at this one.’

  ‘They don’t have them?’ he said, amazed. ‘Not any?’

  ‘No, I told you. It’s different. It’s more grown-up.’

  ‘Why don’t they have any animals?’

  ‘Because it’s a town school and, well, it’s unusual to have animals in a school.’

  ‘What’s “unusual”?’

  ‘Different.’

  ‘But you said this school’s different.’

  ‘Oh boy,’ said Rusty, and she ruffled his hair. ‘You’re the end.’

  ‘Now, Charlie,’ said her mother hastily. ‘I want you to look after Grandma today while I go and buy Virginia’s uniform.’

  ‘Don’t want to,’ he said, and he thrust a ringer in Rusty’s direction. ‘She can stay with Granmer.’

  ‘I have to go with Mother,’ said Rusty, ‘so I can try the clothes on.’

  ‘Go away,’ he said grumpily.

  As Charlie ran out of the dining room, he collided into his grandmother. ‘Walk, don’t run,’ she said gently.

  He thrust his fists into his pockets and scowled at her.

  ‘What a baby,’ she said sweetly to him. ‘Mrs Grace tells me you wet the bed last night. That was very naughty, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Mother,’ said Peggy, ‘it’s his first night here.’

  ‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘that’s no excuse, is it?’ She leaned down towards him and smiled. ‘Big boys don’t wet the bed, do they?’

  Charlie swung round. ‘Where’s Beatie?’ he said.

  ‘She’s in Devon,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Is she coming here?’

  ‘No, darling. Devon’s her home.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘Is this our holiday?’

  ‘No. This is our home now.’

  ‘No it isn’t,’ he stated. He took a brief glance at his grandmother. ‘Don’t like you,’ he said, and he stalked out of the room.

  The saleswoman, who was a well-spoken woman in her fifties, knelt down and checked that the hem of Rusty’s gymslip fell to the centre of her knees. ‘Perfect,’ said the woman.

  Rusty liked her.

  As Rusty turned to look in the full-length mirror, she heard the woman whispering discreetly to her mother. ‘By the way, madam,’ she said, ‘I’d just like to remind you that the Headmistress has obtained a licence from the Board of Trade allowing us to sell second-hand school garments without taking coupons.’

  ‘Oh, that’s marvellous,’ said Peggy. ‘She’s such a sensible woman. She’s already said that if my daughte
r has an overcoat we needn’t buy the school cape.’

  Rusty gazed into the mirror. The gymslip was dark green and an awful shape. It fell in wide box-pleats from the bust, around which she had to wear the coloured girdle of the House she was in. Hers was red.

  Underneath the gymslip she wore a beige blouse. Around her neck was a green tie with a beige-and-red stripe running through it, the red again indicating the colour of the House.

  ‘That’s providing that it isn’t above eightpence for stockings or woollen socks, or undergarments, a shilling for footwear, and two shillings for anything else.’

  Rusty watched in horror as the woman proceeded to lay out the most archaic underwear she had ever seen. Pairs of long green bloomers were held up against her.

  ‘You don’t mean I have to wear those?’ she said.

  Her mother nodded. ‘AH the girls do. It’s part of the uniform.’ She picked up what looked like a pair of ordinary heavy white underpants. ‘These are called linings. You wear them underneath the knickers.’

  ‘Ugh!’ Rusty picked up a long woolly garment with short sleeves. ‘And this?’ she asked. ‘Is this an undershirt?’

  ‘Yes. It’s what we call a vest. They should keep you warm.’

  The woman straightened Rusty’s tie and pinned a tiepin on to it. ‘And now,’ she said, glancing at Rusty’s long hair, ‘I’d better find some ribbons.’

  Her mother sighed.

  ‘Yes, madam,’ said the saleswoman, ‘it never ends, does it?’

  ‘I can wear it like this,’ suggested Rusty.

  Her mother shook her head. ‘If you have long hair, you have to wear it away from your forehead in plaits. The ribbons have to be the regulation colour and width.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  While the woman began to unravel and measure some dark-green ribbon, Rusty glanced at the coupon books on the counter. All the clothing coupons inside had tinted backgrounds with different letters and numbers on them. Her mother had explained that some of them were worth three points while others were worth only one, and that each person was only allowed so many points a year. There was a General book, a Child book and a Junior book. It all looked very complicated.

  ‘Here,’ said her mother. ‘Try this on.’