Lawrence and Archie swap disbelieving looks and frowns.
“You s-s-sure, Glory?” Archie checks with me.
“I remember Jess telling us about that day,” says Lawrence. “She said she was just playing around with him. He was chasing the butterflies, wasn’t he?”
I nod, remembering.
“Jess said he was cute, and reminded her of her kid brother, Tommy. Sort of … different from the rest of her brothers and sisters.”
“T-T-Tommy’s her f-f-favourite,” adds Archie.
So, Jess has a brother who’s a bit like Rich?
Now I’m more muddled than ever.
I got it wrong, didn’t I? Same as I was wrong about what happened in the farmyard the day Rich went up there. Jess doesn’t just like Rich, she might be one of the few people who actually understands him…
“Hey, want to go and see your sister, Glory?” Lawrence suddenly asks, brown eyes twinkling. “She’s working in the back field with Harry today. We can take a shortcut if we go over there, through the sprouts.”
He might be talking about something silly and smelly as sprouts, but it’s as if Lawrence has suddenly offered me a gift.
“Yes, please!” I say, grinning so wide I feel the tug of the scar on my cheek.
“Let’s go, then,” he says, and breaks into a run, following the direction Rich and Jess ran in. “Last one’s a cowpat!”
And so I run and laugh, and forget to feel muddled.
“Well, this is certainly easier with someone here to help,” says Auntie Sylvia, unravelling a man’s knitted blue pullover and wrapping the wool around my hands. “Thank you, Glory.”
“That’s all right,” I say, sitting on the footstool in front of her. “I do this for Mum sometimes too.”
The sitting room is very cosy this evening. Auntie Sylvia has lit a fire, and Rich is lying in front of it reading one of his comics and humming along to the song on the wireless.
“Your mother won’t mind me knitting a jumper for Richard, will she?” Auntie Sylvia asks.
“No, of course not,” I reply, surprised that she’s thinking that way.
“Oh, good. I don’t want Mrs Gilbert thinking I’m, you know, trying to take over from her. It’s just that this wool is so very nice, and since my father doesn’t exactly need his pullover any more…”
“Did he pass away a long time ago?” I ask softly, hoping my question won’t upset her.
“Oh, a long time ago, Glory! I was only twenty-one when he had a heart attack.”
I realize now, in the soft, warm light, that Auntie Sylvia must be around the same age as my parents. I used to think she was older, but it’s just because of the sober, old-fashioned way she dresses.
“He was a lovely man, but I didn’t see much of him when I was growing up,” Auntie Sylvia says, staring down at the wool as she talks. “He was the manager of a bank in Basildon, and worked very long hours. Even at weekends he’d often be at the writing desk here, working away. So I had to be a good girl and stay quiet for him!”
She nods to herself as she recalls her childhood.
“But he looked after me and Mother very well,” she continues. “He made some investments, so when Mother took ill and I had to give up teaching, there was enough money for us to live on. Not a fortune, mind you. I won’t be buying a fur coat and new hat any time soon!”
Auntie Sylvia is gently joking – I’ve never heard her do that before. It suits her. Her whole face changes, softens, when she smiles.
Which makes me feel terrible all over again for sneaking off to meet my friends this afternoon. And I didn’t much like the way Harry snorted at the very mention of Auntie Sylvia’s name when we caught up with him and Lil in the back field this afternoon. “Sitting down to dinner with stuffy Saunders?” he’d laughed when Rich checked that Lil remembered her invitation on Saturday. “I’d rather eat with the cows!”
And I hated swearing Rich to secrecy, telling him on the way home to pretend we bumped into Lawrence and the others by accident. He’d nibbled on the raw Brussels sprout he’d plucked from a towering stalk of them in the field and asked me why he had to shush and not tell about twenty times…
Suddenly, I dip my head down, so Auntie Sylvia doesn’t see the guilt written all over my face.
“You must miss them,” I say chattily, hoping to continue the conversation and banish my bad thoughts.
“I … I … suppose I do,” Auntie Sylvia says after a moment’s silence. “Although it wasn’t always easy. My mother was quite a difficult person. She was, you might say, a bit of a tyrant at times.”
I think back to the moment in the attic a few days ago, when it occurred to me how lonely life sounded for Auntie Sylvia. If only it could’ve been different for her. If only she could have married the boy in the picture…
“Your, um, soldier sweetheart,” I begin, hoping what I’m about to say won’t sound too forward. “Did your parents like him?”
“Oh, my goodness, no. Far from it,” says Auntie Sylvia. “Not that it came to anything, obviously, because of the war. Which is something they were very glad of, I’m sure.”
She’s quiet and thoughtful for a few seconds, and I worry that I’ve made her sad.
I’m even more positive of that when she stands up quickly, putting the knitting on the armchair, and leaves the room, muttering something about being back in a minute.
“Is she getting us some supper?” Rich says hopefully, glancing up from his comic.
Auntie Sylvia has taken to bringing us buttered toast and a mug of hot milk at this time in the evening.
“Maybe…” I reply, but I can hear noises that don’t sound much like supper sounds. There’s a clunk of a cupboard door, a rattle of something, and now Auntie Sylvia’s brown shoes are clack-clacking back through the passage towards us.
“Here!” she says, holding up a large pottery jar.
I think I’m as confused as Rich.
“I keep pennies in here,” she says, sitting back down on the chair and unclipping the lid. “Spare change for treats and the like.”
She spills all the coins out on the small table by her side, and Rich immediately jumps up at the clatter and comes to investigate.
“Only I never spend it on treats. I usually just wait till it’s full and take it to the bank whenever I’m in Basildon.”
I blink at her, still unsure what she’s saying.
“Can we spend it on treats now?” Rich asks with his usual well-meant bluntness.
“Yes! Yes, I rather think we should, Richard,” Auntie Sylvia beams. “Why don’t we celebrate my new job with fish and chips when your sister comes for dinner? I spotted the sign saying the van is coming to the village on Saturday.”
Rich jumps to his feet, whoops, and does a happy little dance to the song playing on the wireless.
“You Are My Sunshine…” he sings along merrily, out of tune as usual.
Auntie Sylvia breaks into a smile of delight, and begins to clap along as he dances and sings.
I do the same, but even as my brother twirls and jigs, my mind is drifting elsewhere … to the photo of the soldier in the attic, his dark eyes twinkling with life and laughter, just like Lawrence’s.
A thought drifts into my mind.
What must it be like to be in love?
“Can I go on my own? Can I?” asks Rich, pointing at the long, winding queue snaking along the road.
People stand in it, chattering excitedly, holding the newspapers they’ve brought from home to wrap their fish and chips in.
Lawrence, Archie and Jess have already got theirs and are sprawled together under the oak tree on the green. If my brother is happy to buy our tea, it’ll give me a few precious minutes to sit and chat with them.
“Of course. Here,” I say, passing the purse to Rich.
; Auntie Sylvia’s never gone to the fish and chip van in all the years it’s been coming, she said, and she’s not about to go now. Instead, she’s at home, laying the table and buttering the bread, all ready for Lil’s arrival.
“What, snobby Saunders let you buy chips, Hope ’n’ Glory?” says Jess as I tuck my skirt under me and sit on the cold, hard earth next to her and the boys.
“Seems so,” I say, taking a hot chip from the wrap she’s holding out to me.
“Are you allowed to come to see the film later too?” Lawrence asks, in a hopeful sort of way.
“No – Lil’s coming, remember?” I say.
“Aww,” he moans, sounding disappointed. I know he’s only fooling around, but I still feel strangely pleased.
“Hey, g-g-guess what’s happening next Saturday, Glory?” says Archie. His bright blue eyes are sparkling with a secret.
“What?” I ask, blowing on my chip to cool it down.
“My m-m-mum’s coming to visit! F-f-first time I’ve seen her in for ever!”
“That’s great,” I say, really pleased for him. It’s been hardly any time at all since I’ve seen Mum and Dad but already it seems like for ever. I can’t imagine what it’s like for Archie, never seeing his mother since the beginning of the war.
Then I sneak a look at Lawrence, who can’t have seen his mum in years. Will he tell me about her sometime? Maybe when we’re alone?
“Here, look at this,” Archie carries on, reaching into the pocket of his long grey shorts.
He pulls out a small dog-eared photo of a very glamorous-looking woman sitting on the knee of a grinning man with a moustache, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. She has her head tilted back in a laugh and is kicking up her long legs in front of her.
“Are these your parents?” I ask him, taking in the woman’s high heels, swept-up hair and heavy make-up. Lil would swoon with envy.
“J-just my mum. That’s her b-boyfriend,” Archie says, frowning now. “Or at least it was the one b-b-before last.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I pay his mother a compliment instead.
“She’s very, er, good-looking.”
“Isn’t she?” he says, brightening again. “Gorgeous as any H-Hollywood movie star. Wait till everyone here s-s-sees her. Then they’ll be sorry.”
“Who’ll be sorry for what?” I ask, confused.
“When we first arrived here, everyone teased Archie about his stammer,” Jess answers for him. “Same as they teased me about my clothes.”
She holds up her tartan skirt, and I can see that the material is even more threadbare than I thought. I suppose there’s not a lot of money to go round in a family of seven, living in the East End.
“You’re lucky you’ve only had a year of it, Jess,” Lawrence laughs wryly. “Everyone round here has always looked down their noses at me and my family, ’cause of my mother running off…”
After he says that there’s an awkward silence for a second. Do Jess and Archie know more of this story? Or is it just another of Thorntree’s muddles and mysteries?
“Hey, you do realize that no one in the village is going to talk to you either, Hope ’n’ Glory,” Jess suddenly bursts out cheerfully. “Not now you’re our friend.”
“You’re one of the outsiders,” says Archie, managing not to stumble over his words for once.
“Hey, The Outsiders! Sounds like the gang in a Western film, doesn’t it?” Lawrence points out, cheering up.
“Hold on – I have an idea,” Jess suddenly announces. She lays her chips down and fiddles with something on her skirt. It’s a kilt pin. “Right, thumbs up, everyone.”
“What? What’s happening?” I ask warily, as Jess brandishes the sharp pin.
“We’re a gang. The Outsiders,” she says. “So we should make an oath to each other and be blood brothers. Everyone hold up your thumbs!”
“No way!” yelps Lawrence, waving the kilt pin away.
Archie backs away, laughing and shaking his head.
“Stop being so soft,” Jess sneers at both boys. “I don’t see Hope ’n’ Glory making a fuss. She’s survived a bomb. She’s made of tough stuff.”
I blush at Jess’s compliment and go to touch my ugly scar, my reminder of that day. But in truth I’m just as horrified at the idea of taking a blood oath. Some of the boys did it my street once. Little Jack Wilkins must have got dirt in his cut because I remember his thumb swelling up to the size of a plum the next day, and it was the same colour as one too.
“Chickens!” mutters Jess, giving up and putting her pin back in her skirt.
“But we can still take an oath,” I suggest, holding my thumb out to the others.
Lawrence grins, understanding my meaning. He leans in, touching his thumb against mine.
“The Outsiders!” he announces.
Archie and Jess see what we’re doing and join in, till our four thumbs press together.
“The Outsiders!” they call out.
“And we press thumbs together as our signal, every time we meet from now on,” says Jess, getting back into the spirit of it. “Deal?”
“It’s a deal!” I say to her suggestion, and Archie echoes me.
Strangely, Lawrence doesn’t.
It seems he’s been distracted by someone coming towards us.
“Hello, boys,” says a very pretty red-haired young woman. She’s wearing the same Land Girl outfit Lil had on and is holding a steaming newsprint bundle, fresh from the fish and chip van.
“Hello, Sally,” Lawrence answers. Archie gives her a nod and a wave.
“Which one of your little girlfriends is Glory?”
I feel Jess bristle beside me, horrified at being called anyone’s little girlfriend.
“I’m Glory,” I tell her.
“Oh, you don’t look much like your sister,” laughs the pretty girl, as she tears the paper apart to get at her chips. “Anyway, I’ve got a message from your Lil. She says sorry … she can’t come to dinner at yours tonight. We’ve got too much work to do up at the farm.”
She’s telling me this with a smirk on her face, as if she’s quite enjoying giving me the bad news. I don’t much like this new friend of Lil’s.
I’m half-aware too of Lawrence and Archie swapping what looks like puzzled glances, but don’t get much time to dwell on that, since Rich is now weaving his way through the cabbages towards us, clutching his own newspaper package.
“Glory! I did it, look!” he yelps excitedly.
“I have to go,” I say hurriedly as I get up to meet my brother.
He’s going to fall to pieces when I tell him that Lil’s not coming, and I’d rather that happened well away from the prying eyes of the village…
Auntie Sylvia is doing her best to stare straight ahead at the screen, even though nothing is on it yet, as the church hall is still filling up.
She’s acutely aware that for most of the people already here, she’s as good as a newsreel. There was shock today in the village of Thorntree when resident Miss Sylvia Saunders came to a village event for the first time in living memory…
“What did you say this film is called, Glory?” she asks me.
“Kit Carson,” I tell her. “It’s about a cowboy helping lead a wagon train in pioneering times.”
“It’s got Red Indians in it!” Rich joins in excitedly.
He’s been wildly excited for the last hour, ever since Auntie Sylvia heard the news about Lil and went off to get her jar full of change. At the time, he’d been crying so much it took him a minute to hear what she was telling him; we were going to see the film. All of us. Auntie Sylvia included this time, since we couldn’t go on our own in the blackout.
“Red Indians indeed,” Auntie Sylvia mutters, as if she’s never heard of anything so frivolous. I just smile and think I could hug her rig
ht now, for giving Rich such a lovely treat.
“Auntie Sylvia, they’re doing lemonades at a table over there,” says Rich, now wriggling around in his seat and staring at the back of the hall, where our school desks have been piled up. “Can we have one? Can we?”
“Rich!” I shush him. “Auntie Sylvia’s already paid for fish and chips and coming here tonight. Don’t be so greedy.”
“Here…” says Auntie Sylvia, surprising me by passing me her little purse. “Go and fetch one for yourself and Richard. And I may as well have one too.”
Her face is stern, and her lips are in their familiar tight line, but underneath I think Auntie Sylvia is quite looking forward to the lights dipping, and sitting in the darkness watching a film.
“I’ll come!” Rich pipes up.
“No, you will not,” says Auntie Sylvia, grabbing on to his arm as I get up to leave. I don’t think she wants to be left on her own…
As I squeeze past groups of people filing in, trying to find enough seats together or just standing chatting, I spot Jess on the far side, sitting with a woman who must be Mary the pub landlady. She gives me a wave, looking pleased and surprised to see me here. There’s no sign of Lawrence or Archie yet, but they did say they were coming.
“Can I have three lemonades?” I ask the lady behind the table, and count out the correct money from the purse.
Balancing the three cups in my hand, I carefully turn – and nearly bump straight into someone.
“Oops, sorry, sweetheart!” says a familiar voice.
I glance up – and come face to face with Lil.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, frowning at her.
“What a welcome, eh, Harry?” Lil laughs nervously, turning to gaze into the face of Lawrence’s big brother, who’s standing right behind her. “Look, sorry I couldn’t come for dinner tonight, Glory.”
“It’s my fault,” Harry says, holding his hands up to show he’s guilty. “I had to deliver something in the next village this afternoon, so I asked your sister to come with me, and we went to a tea shop, and then a pub –”
A pub? My sister was in a pub?
Catching Falling Stars Page 12