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  ‘It shows what a kind family you stayed with, to make you feel so at home.’

  She turned to the others.

  ‘Time for tea, everybody!’ and she dashed back into the house.

  Charlie and the little girl scrambled barefoot down the branches to the old rope that was connected to the tyre.

  They stood inside the tyre and swung backwards and forwards.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ said Peggy. ‘Come inside and wash your hands.’

  They giggled and rocked, ignoring her.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I suppose we’ll have to eat those chocolate cakes ourselves.’

  ‘Chocolate!’ they screamed.

  They leapt off the tyre and skipped wide of the vegetable patches.

  ‘He’s real husky,’ said Rusty, trying to find some complimentary adjective for her brother.

  ‘Husky?’ said her mother, startled.

  Ivy laughed. ‘That’s what Harvey Lindon used to say, wasn’t it?’

  Her mother nodded.

  Charlie and the little girl ran towards them and stopped abruptly. They took one look at Rusty and started to giggle.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rusty.

  They giggled again.

  ‘Susan,’ said Ivy, ‘shake hands with Virginia. Oh,’ she added, ‘would you prefer to be called Rusty?’

  ‘I don’t care. I guess Rusty is what I’m used to.’

  The little girl held out a grubby hand. Her straight brown hair hung untidily from a side parting. Her faded blue dress was tucked into a pair of heavy black knickers.

  ‘How do you do?’ she said politely.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Rusty, shaking her hand.

  ‘Charlie?’ said Rusty’s mother.

  Charlie had stuck his hands into his pockets and had been scrunching up the flannel in them. One hand appeared from underneath his shorts.

  ‘Oh, not another hole, Charlie.’

  He swung from side to side. ‘Only a little one.’ He looked up at Rusty. ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hi,’ said Rusty.

  They stared awkwardly at each other.

  Suddenly Beatie leaned out of the dining-room window.

  ‘Come on, you slowcoaches,’ she yelled.

  It was obvious that a lot of effort had. gone into the sparsely set table. Six small chocolate cakes stood on a plate next to two platefuls of buttered grey bread. A jar of jam and a saucer of whipped cream completed the picture. Next to each plate was a paper hat made out of painted newspapers. The white linen tablecloth was patched in several places.

  ‘This looks swell,’ said Rusty, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  She eyed the bread as she sat down, hoping that the jam would drown the taste.

  ‘The National Loaf,’ said Beatie. ‘There’s a shortage of flour. It’s not very nice, but it’s better than nothing.’

  ‘I’ve had some already. It’s O.K.’

  Beatie and Ivy sat at either end of the table. Facing Rusty sat Charlie and Susan. Rusty’s mother seated herself beside her.

  Charlie gazed silently across at Rusty, picked up his hat, and pulled it on.

  ‘Now you’re the King of the Castle,’ said Peggy.

  ‘And she’s the dirty rascal,’ he said, pointing to Rusty and pursing his lips.

  ‘Charlie!’

  He scowled and looked aside at Susan. .

  ‘When you two have finished eating,’ said Peggy, feeling it was wiser to take Charlie’s remark as lightly as possible, ‘there’s a surprise for you from Uncle Mitch.’

  ‘Is it ice-cream?’ exclaimed Susan.

  ‘It’s a secret.’

  ‘Isn’t there a present from Uncle Harvey?’ said Charlie.

  ‘No.’

  Charlie fell silent and peered at Rusty out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘Uncle Mitch is going to be my dad,’ said Susan suddenly, ‘and I’m going to be a bridesmaid, aren’t I, Mum?’

  ‘Am I going to be a bridesmaid too?’ said Charlie.

  ‘No,’ said Peggy. ‘You’re going to be a page.’

  ‘Like in a book?’

  Peggy smiled. ‘No. A page is like a boy bridesmaid.’

  ‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘Will Uncle Harvey be my daddy too?’

  Peggy blushed. ‘No, Charlie, I’ve told you before. You already have one.’

  ‘Why is Susan having another one, then?’ he said crossly.

  Rusty could feel the atmosphere tighten up. She didn’t know for sure, but she guessed Susan’s father had been killed.

  ‘Susan,’ she said, ‘when you go to America you’ll have lots of ice-cream.’

  Ivy gave a relieved smile. ‘So Mitch tells me.’

  ‘Is it true,’ interrupted Susan, ‘that you can go to a special place and eat the ice-cream on a high chair?’

  ‘Uh-huh. And you can get all kinds of ice-cream. You can have it with chocolate and crushed nuts on, or a malt ice-cream or with milk all whipped up and served in a tall glass with a long spoon.’

  Charlie scowled. ‘Mummy,’ he said, ‘she sounds like Uncle Harvey.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Peggy. ‘I thought that, too.’

  ‘I guess Uncle Harvey must have spent a lot of time here,’ said Rusty.

  ‘I’ve never seen a man adore children as much as that man,’ said Beatie. ‘He drew children to him like a magnet.’

  ‘Mitch too,’ added Ivy.

  ‘They were quite a pair.’

  ‘Where is Uncle Harvey?’ said Charlie, insistent.

  ‘I told you, he’s had to go away.’

  ‘Doesn’t he like us any more?’

  ‘Of course he does, but he has to go where he’s sent.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’s a soldier, and soldiers have to do what they’re told.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they do, that’s all.’

  Charlie glared at Rusty.

  ‘Couldn’t we swap her for Uncle Harvey?’

  ‘Charlie!’ said her mother. ‘Virginia’s come all the way from America, and she’s been looking forward to meeting you, haven’t you, Virginia?’

  Rusty swallowed. ‘Sure.’

  After wading through the bread, jam and cream, Rusty bit into her chocolate cake. It tasted like sawdust. She gulped frantically at the milk in her glass in an attempt to rid herself of the sickly dry sensation in her mouth, but it was all she could do to keep herself from spitting that out, too.

  ‘It’s powdered, I’m afraid,’ said her mother. ‘Once I get your ration book, we’ll be able to buy milk for you.’

  ‘Now,’ said Beatie, clapping her hands, ‘for the ice-cream.’

  ‘I knew it was ice-cream,’ said Susan. ‘I knew it was ice-cream.’

  ‘Can we come and help you?’ cried Charlie.

  ‘As long as you don’t eat it all up while you’re carrying it.’

  As soon as they had left the room, Peggy leaned towards Rusty.

  ‘I’m sorry about Charlie,’ she said quietly. ‘He doesn’t understand. You’ll have to be rather patient with him, I’m afraid.’

  Charlie and Susan entered, clutching old chipped bowls filled with ice-cream.

  ‘You’ll spill it!’ shrieked Susan.

  ‘No I won’t,’ said Charlie. ‘I got it tight.’

  As everyone tucked into the ice-cream, Rusty withdrew into herself. She was vaguely aware of her brother and Susan making jokes that no one else thought funny. It was only when she heard her name being mentioned that she began to listen.

  ‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Beatie. ‘She’d settle down splendidly there. A lot of it is based on the work of an American educationalist.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ said her mother. ‘I think she’ll concentrate far better in an all-girl environment.’

  Beatie caught Rusty’s eye.

  ‘You were co-ed in your American school, weren’t you? Boys and girls?’

  ‘Sure. Isn’t that how the schools are here?’
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  ‘Beatie,’ said Peggy in a warning voice, ‘I don’t think this is the time and place to talk about it.’

  Outside, suddenly it started to rain. Without warning Charlie and Susan gave a loud shriek and leapt from the table, followed hastily by Beatie, Ivy and Peggy.

  ‘What...’ began Rusty.

  She followed them out into the hallway and watched as Beatie and the two children emerged from the kitchen carrying saucepans and a copper bowl. Ivy and her mother leapt up the first flight of stairs two at a time, and within seconds had dived into the bathroom and reappeared with tin buckets.

  Rusty stood in the hallway as they thundered to the top of the house. She listened to the sound of their laughter, then turned hurriedly away and returned to the dining-room table alone.

  Beatie was the first to stride back in. ‘Oh dear,’ she said breathlessly. ‘One of these days we won’t get there in time. I suppose,’ she added, ‘you’d better know what to do. We’ll have to find you something to carry up. Leaks in The roof, you see. Can’t afford to fix it yet. Fearful nuisance. Your mother managed to mend part of it, but she’s been so busy.’

  Rusty stared down at her empty ice-cream bowl. She wasn’t really interested. If they weren’t interested in her, why should she be interested in them?

  When tea was over, Rusty began clearing the table. Beatie, noticing how quiet she had become, whisked the bowls out of her hands.

  ‘No you don’t,’ she admonished. ‘Not today. You’ve had a long journey. Charlie,’ she said, ‘show your sister the back garden and the river.’

  Charlie gave a weary sigh. ‘Can Susan come, too?’

  ‘Of course she can,’ said Rusty.

  ‘I weren’t talking to you,’ he said crossly. ‘I were talking to Beatie.’

  ‘Now, Charlie,’ said Beatie, ‘don’t be an old prune. These should fit you,’ she added, handing Rusty a pair of large rubber boots. ‘You don’t want to spoil those marvellous socks and shoes.’

  She had actually noticed them!

  ‘They’re all the rage back home.’ She stopped. ‘Sorry, it slipped out again.’

  ‘Oh tosh,’ said Beatie, waving her arms about. ‘It’s good to have lots of homes. Means you can make one anywhere.’

  ‘That’s what Grandma Fitz says. She says if you put your heart and hands and back into a place, then it’ll be home.’

  Beatie smiled.

  She has such a beautiful face, thought Rusty. All the wrinkles around her eyes swooped upwards as though she’d laughed them all there.

  ‘I’ve heard such a lot about you from your mother,’ said Beatie warmly. ‘She’s been so looking forward to having you back.’

  ‘I guess,’ murmured Rusty.

  ‘It won’t be easy,’ Beatie whispered. ‘But if you follow your grandmother’s advice – Oh, Lor’.’ She laughed. ‘Now Pve started. I mean your American grandmother -you’ll be fine. Now,’ she said, ‘go and explore.’

  By the time Rusty had put the boots on and stepped outside, Charlie and Susan had run off by themselves. She could hear them giggling conspiratorially behind one of the large hedges.

  Apart from a tiny crooked path of grey flat stones, the large back garden was made up of several vegetable patches. Surrounding the garden were numerous fruit bushes and apple trees. From a shed came the sound of clucking chickens. A smaller shed stood near a coal bunker. Rusty pushed open the door. Inside were logs and uncut branches. She was about to make her way down to the river when she heard her name. She ducked swiftly behind the woodshed and peered out.

  By the open window, Beatie and her mother were doing the dishes. They were talking about school again, and obviously disagreeing.

  ‘She’ll be home every weekend,’ her mother was saying.

  ‘You’d be a fool not to stay here,’ said Beatie.

  ‘I’d love to, you know I would, but I can’t possibly let her go to that school. It’s out of the question. Roger would be horrified.’

  ‘You don’t mind Charlie going to the nursery part of it.’

  ‘But that’s just playing. I want Virginia to have a chance of catching up with her education and not leave school unqualified like I did. There’s a competitive atmosphere at this school, and I think it’ll help her to settle down.’

  ‘But if she’s coming home every weekend, why haven’t you chosen a day school?’

  ‘I don’t want my mother-in-law and her friends getting their hands on her. I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but the War was one of the best things that happened to me. Look what a state I was in when I arrived in Devon. I’m so much happier and more confident since I’ve been here.’

  ‘I know, Peggy, so why on earth go back?’

  ‘Roger’.’

  There was a long silence.

  Rusty was dying to peep out and see what their faces were saying, but she didn’t dare risk it.

  ‘He was born in that house.’

  “Bout time he left it then, dear,’ said Beatie jovially.

  ‘Look, Beatie, he’s looking forward to picking up the pieces there again. It’s going to be hard enough as it is for both of us to adjust to each other after having been separated for nearly five years. I think it’s important we start from a familiar base.’

  ‘But you hate that house – you’ve told me a hundred times. I’m sure Roger could find a job near here.’

  ‘Oh Beatie, don’t,’ said Peggy. ‘It’s going to break my heart enough as it is, to leave here. I…’ She stopped.

  ‘Come on, dear, let’s go and have a sherry.’

  As soon as they had left the kitchen, Rusty came out of hiding and headed for the river. A rowing boat was tied up alongside a tiny makeshift jetty. Rusty slid down a muddy bank and stood at the river’s edge. As she gazed at the trees, leafy still with summer, she suddenly felt very cold.

  4

  Rusty was woken by the sound of a telephone ringing from downstairs. She sat up and glanced down at her narrow canvas bed. Beatie had called it a camp bed. Surrounding it were several boxes and pieces of broken furniture. She was in a tiny attic room, on the landing where the roof leaked. The windows were fixed into a sloping alcove in the ceiling, so Rusty had to stand on a chair to open them.

  Rusty liked being tucked away at the top of the house. Already, as she sat cross-legged in her spotted pyjamas, she was mentally redecorating the room. The wallpaper was brown with fussy patterns on it. The wrong kind of paper for a room so small. ‘Now,’ she whispered, ‘I could paint over it, or pull the paper off and paint the wall underneath.’

  Aunt Hannah had helped her decorate several of the rooms in the Omsk house. Together they used to make cardboard models and paint them to see how they’d look, and then maybe add some stencils. They’d sit in Aunt Hannah’s studio and mix colours, and then, when they thought they had hit on a nice idea, there would be a family discussion and everyone would chip in and say, ‘Ugh! Not that colour. That’d drive me nuts,’ or ‘Say, I like this colour combination.’ But when Rusty reached eleven years old and Alice took over Jinkie’s room and Kathryn needed to have the room to herself so she could walk up and down and learn her lines in peace, Aunt Hannah and Uncle Bruno said, ‘The spare room’s all yours,’ and, best of all, ‘You can decorate it how you like.’ She’d loved decorating that room!

  Her suitcase was lying open on the floor. She leaned down and picked up a little box that was wedged in among her clothes. Inside was a special blunt knife, plus a little sharpening device and some stubby brushes. They were for her stencils. Grandma Fitz had given them to her.

  Also in the box were some jars of paint – barn red, dark green, and a mustardy yellow, which Aunt Hannah called ochre.

  Rusty closed the box and slipped it back under her penny loafers. The loafers were from Aunt Hannah. Aunt Hannah had begun to give her a monthly clothing allowance like the older girls when she’d reached twelve, even though her birthday had only been in the June.

  ‘I know it’s only a
month before you go back,’ she had said, ‘but while you’re still here, I’ll treat you girls all the same.’ And she had handed her the money and then turned her back to tidy up something on a shelf that didn’t need tidying at all.

  Downstairs, the front door slammed. Rusty sprang out of bed and climbed up on to the chair to look out through the window. Her mother was hurrying out in her green outfit, her overalls thrown over her shoulder. She climbed into the Bomb and backed it out of the front garden in a cloud of smoke.

  Rusty turned and leaned against the wall, amazed. Her mother was just carrying on as if she wasn’t even there! She might just as well have stayed with the Omsks. She leapt down, grabbed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers out of her suitcase, and angrily flung open the door.

  She noticed that the door to Beatie’s bedroom was ajar. She tapped on it lightly, but there was no response. She slipped inside.

  It was what Aunt Hannah would have called a south-facing room. One that got a lot of sun. That would mean that the room she had slept in must be north-facing. Perfect for a studio, since the light would stay pretty much the same. She took in the hideous mud-green wallpaper with its mottled purple and pale-green flowers. Over by the door where the ceiling sloped, it hung in damp lumps.

  ‘That roof,’ her mother had said, as they had sat down to a supper of imitation hamburgers and a tasteless blob called Spotted Dick, which was supposed to have been Rusty’s favourite dish when she was aged seven, ‘is my first priority before I leave.’

  ‘Oh tosh,’ Beatie had said. ‘I can always sleep in a mackintosh with an umbrella over the bed.’

  Rusty imagined what it would be like to decorate Beatie’s bedroom. She looked at the drab brown chairs and bed, and the dark faded carpet. ‘A few of Grandma Fitz’s rag rugs on the floor would cheer it up.’

  She let her fingers glide down the black curtains that hung raggedly at the sides of the bay window. A startled spider scuttled rapidly from the folds and along the window-seat.

  ‘It’s like someone just died,’ she muttered.

  She gave the curtains a deft flick and watched the dust rise up into the sunlight.

  Her sneakers and clothes in her arms, she tiptoed out on to the landing, down the stairs, past the two bedrooms on the next landing, and down a smaller flight of stairs. She slid her hand along the sturdy wooden banister. Neat to slide down, she thought.