The Runaway Children

by Sandy Taylor

  ‘I’m hungry,’ said Olive.

  I took out the bread and cheese and divided some of it between us. ‘We must save some for later,’ I said.

  With dry clothes on our bodies and food in our tummies we began to feel better.

  ‘Now lay down and have a kip,’ I said.

  Olive went to sleep almost immediately. I stared down at her. What had I done to put her in such danger? I got up quietly and went to the door. I scanned the fields, willing Jimmy to appear, but there was no sign of him. I had no plan, just an urgency to get away from the farm. It hadn’t seemed to matter when Jimmy said he was coming with us but now I felt sick and scared. Maybe I should just hand myself in and be done with it, but that scared me even more. I lay down next to Olive and cuddled close to her for warmth. What if Jimmy didn’t show up? How could I do this without him? I suddenly felt so very alone. I wanted my mum, I wanted my dad, and I wanted Jimmy. But there was one thing I knew for sure: if we could make it back to Bermondsey we would be safe because Bermondsey took care of its own.

  I lay there listening to the sounds of gentle rustling in the hay – mice or, God forbid, rats, but I guess they had as much right to be there as we did. I didn’t expect to sleep but surprisingly I did. A deep, deep sleep that lasted until morning.

  The first thing I did when I woke up was look around for Jimmy. I felt sure that he must have come in the night. I looked in all the stalls but he wasn’t there. I got up and went outside. The sun was shining but I felt cold and shaky. I looked around the barn and over the fields but there was no sign of him. I couldn’t understand it. He’d said he’d come so why wasn’t he here? Were we in the wrong barn? Was there another barn just across the next field where Jimmy was waiting for us? Maybe he didn’t want to leave Martha – but that meant that a cow was more important than me and Olive. But I knew in my heart that Jimmy wouldn’t choose Martha over us, however sick she was. No, something had prevented him from leaving and I dreaded to think what that was.

  I heard Olive calling me and went back inside the barn.

  ‘Is Jimmy here?’ she said, rubbing her eyes.

  I shook my head.

  ‘What are we going to do then?’

  ‘I haven’t got a clue, Olive.’

  ‘Well, that’s a nice bloody kettle of fish then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Language, Olive,’ I said automatically.

  She stood up and looked around her. She looked over the wooden partition, she looked up at the rafters and she spun around.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked, confused.

  ‘I’m looking for the vicar, Nell.’

  ‘Uncle Dylan?’

  ‘That’s the feller.’

  ‘But Uncle Dylan’s not here, is he?’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said, grinning at me. ‘So how come I have to stop swearing?’

  So there we were in an abandoned barn, with very little food and no idea what to do next, and we were bent over double, laughing our heads off.

  ‘Oh, Olive,’ I said, wiping my eyes. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘Gawd knows,’ she said, grinning.

  Olive took Auntie Missus out of the pillowcase and rocked her in her arms. ‘She could have suffocated in there, Nell. Did you nearly suffocate in there, Auntie Missus?’

  ‘She’s a doll, Olive, not a person.’

  ‘She might not be a person to you but she’s a person to me,’ said Olive, smoothing the doll’s hair.

  I smiled. ‘Of course she is, Olive, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I forgive you, Nell, because you don’t understand how much I love Auntie Missus.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ I said.

  ‘She’s thirsty, Nell, and so am I.’

  I was thirsty too. I took the two tin cups out of the pillowcase and we went outside. It had been raining so much the previous day that I knew there must be fresh water somewhere. We found a barrel just outside the door and I dipped the cups in it, hoping there was nothing awful lurking at the bottom. Olive sat down on an old bench and I went back inside and got the bread and cheese. The bread was a bit hard but at least it was food.

  We sat together in the sunshine and ate our meal.

  ‘I think we should stay here another day and if Jimmy hasn’t come by tomorrow we will have to go without him,’ I said.

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘To the farm?’

  ‘The farm isn’t home, is it? Anyway, we can’t go back there, can we?’

  ‘Where are we going then?’

  ‘We’re going back to Bermondsey, Olive. We’ll be safe there.’

  ‘Do you think Mum will be cross that you’ve killed Albert?’

  ‘I don’t think it’ll make her day.’

  ‘Still, there’s worse things you could have done.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Olive was concentrating very hard. Then she said, ‘Nothing springs to mind, Nell, but I’m sure there’s something.’

  ‘That’s made me feel a lot better, Olive.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, smiling.

  We spent the day exploring the barn. The tarpaulin bundled up in the corner was dry, so we dragged it across to one of the stalls and laid it down, then gathered armfuls of straw and piled it on top.

  ‘That should be more comfortable,’ I said.

  ‘We’re good at this, aren’t we?’ said Olive, lying down and testing it out.

  ‘Good at what?’

  ‘Runnin away.’

  ‘Are we?’

  ‘Yep, we’ve got food and we’ve got water and we’ve got a nice soft bed. All we need now is Jimmy.’

  ‘I’m not sure that Jimmy is going to come, Olive.’

  ‘We’ll just have to manage without him then, won’t we?’

  ‘I suppose we will,’ I said sadly.

  We walked to the top of the hill and looked out across the fields. We waited and we waited, but he didn’t come and I had to accept that he was never going to. We had no food left; tomorrow we would have to leave. We would have to find our way home.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We left as soon as the sun came up over the hill. I wanted to get as much distance between us and the farm as I could. I had no idea which direction we should be going in, so I just made a decision and started walking. We had to find food and we had to find a village or a farm; that’s what we had to do. The sun was warm on my back as we walked and there was a soft breeze ruffling my hair. Olive skipped ahead of me, Auntie Missus dangling from one arm as if she was on some kind of holiday, instead of on the run from the law.

  Despite the sun I was cold and numb inside. I couldn’t wait to get back to London, to the flats and the river and everything I knew. I never wanted to see another cow or chicken or sheep as long as I lived. I wanted the smog and the damp, I wanted to be amongst my own kind. I wanted to sit on the old bed in 59 Edison Terrace with my friend Angela and watch the kids climbing over the rubble. I wanted to watch the girls from the custard factory shaking the clouds of yellow dust from their headscarves. But most of all I wanted to be back in Rannly Court with my family. This place that I had fallen in love with had become a prison that I had to escape from. All the good things that had happened here were soured by what I had done.

  I’d slept badly, vivid dreams that took me to terrifying places. One minute I was living at the vicarage, only in my dream it was owned by Mrs Hacker and it was dark and dirty. Then I was watching the German plane flying low over the cottages in Glengaryth, but this time the plane didn’t land in a field, it landed on top of Lottie, and I burnt my hands trying to drag her out from underneath it. I tried to scream for help but no sound came out of my mouth. I waved to Gerraint and the boys, who were standing outside the bakery, but they just turned away laughing. I tried to run after them but, although I was running as fast as I could, I was getting nowhere; it was as if I was running backwards. And then the blood – rivers of it flowing from Albert’s head, running out of the bar
n, covering the yard. I woke up shaking, covered in sweat, and knew that I had to get away from this place as fast as I could.

  We walked all day. Olive kept asking questions and I was irritated by her – I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to get as far away as we could. I knew she was hungry and thirsty and the responsibility of caring for her was dragging me down.

  Olive was running ahead of me. ‘There’s a house down there,’ she shouted.

  I caught up with her and stared down at the little white cottage nestling between the trees. It was pretty – all that was missing was the roses round the door. Otherwise it looked as if it had just jumped out of the pages of a storybook. I took Olive’s hand and we ran down the hill.

  We stood in the shadow of a tree while I decided what to do. I couldn’t see any movement but that didn’t mean there was no one there. We approached the cottage slowly.

  ‘You have to be very quiet, Olive,’ I said, crouching down and peering through the fence.

  ‘I will,’ she whispered.

  ‘And if we get caught, don’t tell em anything, okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nell, I won’t tell em you bashed Albert over the head with a shovel and he’s a deader. Me lips are sealed.’

  ‘Good girl,’ I said.

  I opened the gate and we crept into the garden. Running down one side was an allotment full of fruit and vegetables. My mouth watered. Olive put Auntie Missus on the ground and we started filling the pillowcase with carrots, tomatoes, lettuce and rhubarb. We desperately needed water – my mouth felt dry and my lips were sticking to my teeth. I looked around and spotted a tap under the window. I knew I was taking a chance – we could run now before we were spotted – but we weren’t going to get much further without water.

  I grabbed the tin mugs.

  ‘Stay here, Olive,’ I said, ‘and keep down.’

  She nodded and I walked towards the window. I turned on the tap and filled each mug to the brim, drank mine quickly and filled it again. I’d just started walking back towards Olive when I saw the woman. She was kneeling on the ground in front of Olive and she was smiling. She stood up when she saw me.

  ‘We were hungry,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m sorry we stole your stuff.’

  ‘You’re welcome to it,’ she said. ‘I’ve got plenty, you’ll be doing me a favour.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s all right then,’ said Olive, taking the mug of water and gulping it down in one go.

  ‘You should drink more slowly,’ said the woman. ‘Or you’ll get a tummy ache.’

  I didn’t like how familiar she was with Olive – I was the one who looked after her, not this stranger.

  ‘She’s fine,’ I said.

  I can’t explain the look the woman shot at me then. Was it anger?

  And then her face changed and she was smiling. ‘Of course she is,’ she said.

  For some reason I wanted to put the food back. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling like I wanted nothing from this woman. I mean, I knew nothing about her and I suppose she’d actually done nothing wrong; maybe I was just finding it hard to trust anyone.

  ‘Would you like to come inside?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Olive, skipping up the garden path towards the front door. But I stood where I was.

  The woman turned back. ‘There’s just me,’ she said. ‘You’ll be quite safe here.’

  What made her think we needed to be safe? Had Olive said something?

  ‘Well, it looks as though the little one has already made up her mind for you.’

  I was being silly; here was someone happy to share her food with us. I was going to have to trust people some time – London was a long way away and we were going to have to rely on strangers to help us.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  Olive was waiting for me by the door. I took her hand and together we followed the woman into the cottage. It was lovely inside, just like you would imagine a cottage to look like. The walls were white and the curtains were cornflower blue with a scattering of white daisies. There was a window seat in the same fabric. Sun was streaming through the windows, making the room look light and bright, and there was a vase of flowers on the table.

  ‘Please sit down,’ said the woman, ‘and I’ll get you something to eat.’

  I put the pillowcase on the floor and sat down at the wooden table. Olive stood beside me, looking warily around the room. I put my arm around her.

  ‘My name’s Clodagh,’ said the woman, smiling.

  I decided not to tell her our real names. ‘I’m Angela,’ I said. ‘And this is my sister Aggie.’

  ‘What?’ said Olive.

  I gave her a warning look and luckily she understood. It was reassuring to know that there was still a bit of Bermondsey left in her: she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  The woman started putting food on the table. A big loaf of crusty bread, a wedge of cheese and a bowl of red tomatoes. There was yellow butter in another dish. It looked and smelled lovely. I could sense that Olive wanted to dive in but I nodded at her to wait.

  ‘Don’t wait for me,’ said the woman, sitting down with us. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

  It was the best food that I had ever tasted. The bread was soft and delicious; I smothered it in the creamy yellow butter. The cheese crumbled in my mouth and the tomatoes were sweet and crisp. Where did she get all this lovely food? There was a war on and everything was rationed, wasn’t it? The food at the vicarage was yummy too, so I guessed that things must be different in the country. I had a weird feeling that the woman had been expecting us, but I knew that was daft because of course she couldn’t have known we were going to come here.

  ‘Can I ask why you’re both so hungry, Angela?’ said the woman.

  Before I could stop her, Olive said, ‘Cos we’re on the run.’

  ‘That sounds very dramatic.’

  ‘Not really,’ I said quickly, glaring at Olive, who went red in the face. ‘We’re evacuees, we just weren’t happy in the place we were staying. We’re making our way home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘London,’ I said.

  ‘Can I have some water, please, missus?’ said Olive.

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather have milk, Aggie?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  The woman filled a glass with milk. ‘Here you are,’ she said, putting it in front of Olive.

  Olive gulped it down so fast that it dribbled over her chin. She grinned and I could see a white moustache on her upper lip.

  ‘Gosh, you were thirsty, do you want another one?’ said the woman, who seemed to be hovering over her.

  ‘One’s enough for her, thanks,’ I said.

  ‘Milk is good for her, Angela.’

  ‘It makes her sick,’ I said.

  ‘Well, we don’t want that, do we?’ said the woman, barely looking at me.

  ‘You won’t tell the coppers about us, will you?’ said Olive.

  ‘I’m not a snitch,’ she said, winking.

  I thought that was an odd thing to say, because most adults would have been worried for our safety and felt it was their duty to let someone know about us.

  ‘Do you promise?’ said Olive.

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Cut yer throat and hope to die?’ said Olive.

  The woman was staring at Olive as if she couldn’t get enough of her; she barely paid me any attention at all. ‘Cut my throat and hope to die,’ she said, smiling.

  I should have felt relieved but the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right was still niggling away in my head.

  ‘Have you had enough to eat?’

  We both nodded. ‘That was the best food ever,’ said Olive, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  The woman picked up our empty plates and took them over to the sink. ‘Why don’t you stay the night? Have a little rest before you go on your way.’

  Olive’s eyes lit up. The thought of sleeping in a proper bed was pretty inviting but I
just wasn’t sure.

  ‘Just one night,’ said the woman. ‘I have two spare rooms, it would be no trouble.’

  I looked at Olive, who had a pleading kind of look on her face. ‘Do you want to stay, Aggie?’

  ‘Yes, Angela,’ said Olive, emphasising the word ‘Angela’. ‘I’d really like to stay.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘but just for one night.’

  ‘Why don’t you go into the garden while I get the rooms ready.’

  Me and Olive went outside and sat on a bench. The sun was still warm and the garden smelled of flowers and fruit and vegetables. The fields and hills stretched away in front of us.

  ‘She’s nice, isn’t she, Nell?’

  ‘Try not to use my name, love.’

  ‘Sorry, Nell, but she’s nice, isn’t she?’ said Olive, skipping down to the bottom of the garden.

  It was so peaceful here, I should have felt safe – but I didn’t. I listened to Olive chattering away to Auntie Missus. She looked so happy now that her tummy was full of the good food, so why didn’t I feel happy too? I couldn’t put my finger on what was bothering me. It was perfect here. Maybe that was the trouble, maybe it was too bloody perfect. Maybe that was it.

  We waited in the garden until the woman came to get us. ‘All ready,’ she said, in a sing-song voice.

  The three of us went back into the cottage and followed her upstairs. She opened a door and said, ‘This is your room, Angela.’

  I put my head round the door. There wasn’t much furniture in the room, just a bed and a small chest of drawers. She closed the door quickly, walked along the landing and opened another door. ‘And this is your room, Aggie, right next to mine. I hope you like it.’

  I could see at once that it was a child’s room, a little girl’s room. The walls were pink and the small bed was covered in a pink bedspread. There was a white bookcase with lots of colourful books in it and sitting against the cushions was a brown teddy bear.

  I looked around the room. ‘Have you got a little girl?’ I said.

  ‘No, no, I haven’t.’ She didn’t say anything else, she just stood there looking at me. I got the feeling that she didn’t like me, that she wished I wasn’t there.