When Marnie Was There

by Joan G. Robinson

  The girl nodded. “Hush! Voices carry over the water.”

  Anna lowered her voice. “I had a feeling you were. Sometimes I even looked round to see who it was, looking and looking like that – but you were never there.”

  The girl laughed softly. “I was!”

  “Where?”

  She leaned forward on the oars and pointed upwards. “In my window. The last one on the end.”

  Anna nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. I should have known. I saw you there. And I saw you last night. You were having your hair brushed.”

  “I saw you, too.”

  Anna was surprised. “But you were standing sideways, you couldn’t have. You never showed—”

  “No, of course I didn’t— Ssh! Don’t shout.” – Anna had thought she was talking quietly – “Didn’t you know, you’re my secret? I’ve not told anyone about you, and I’m not going to. If I do they’ll only spoil it.” She leaned forward and touched Anna’s knee. “Promise you won’t tell about me either? Not ever?”

  “Oh, no, I won’t!”

  Anna loved being asked. Here was someone just like herself. This was the one thing she would have chosen – to have a secret friend, a friend no-one else knew about. Someone who was real, and yet not quite real…

  “What were you doing on the marsh this morning?” the girl asked dreamily.

  “Picking samphire. Why, did you see me then, too?”

  “Yes. I wondered if you were picking sea lavender… I love sea lavender…” Her voice had dropped so low that Anna could barely hear the last words.

  The boat grated gently on the shore and she leapt out. She stood holding the bow for a moment, not speaking, unwilling to say goodbye. The girl, in her light dress against the dark background of water and marsh and reeds, looked like a small, pale ghost now. It had grown quite dark. There was silence all around except for the soft lapping of the water at Anna’s feet. She looked up and saw overhead the enormous sky, peppered with stars. Yes, she thought, this is all a dream…

  Then the girl said – her voice wavering a little – “You look like a ghost, standing there so still. Anna – Anna, you are real, aren’t you?”

  Anna laughed with relief, and the girl laughed too.

  “Come here,” she said.

  Anna leaned over towards her, and the girl kissed her quickly on the cheek. “There,” she said, “now I know you’re real. Give me a push off quickly, before you turn into a ghost again!” Then, as Anna shoved the boat off, she called in a low voice, with what sounded like a chuckle, “And next time I’ll teach you how to row! Goodbye – don’t forget your shoes!”

  Anna raked about on the dark shore until she found her shoes – she would have forgotten them if the girl had not reminded her; that proved she was real! – and ran home trembling with excitement. She had sworn she would never get to know the family when they came, yet now she was as pleased as if she had never met anyone of her own age before.

  But this girl was different. There was something almost magical about her. She realised suddenly that she did not even know her name, and slowed down to a walk for a moment, wondering confusedly why ever she had not asked. Perhaps there had not been time. She could not remember. She only knew that something wonderful seemed to have happened.

  She ran up the little road towards the cottage, hearing in the distance the voices of the Bingo players coming home down the lane, laughing and talking, and calling goodnight to each other as they dropped off in ones and twos at their own gates. She raced ahead, pushed open the scullery door and saw the light burning, the kettle boiling on the stove, and the cocoa cups already laid out by Sam, and it seemed like another world…

  Chapter Ten

  PICKLED SAMPHIRE

  AT BREAKFAST NEXT morning Anna caught Mrs Pegg looking at her with a puzzled expression. Then she remembered about the Bingo. Mrs Stubbs would have been there and she would have told her about Anna and Sandra.

  Well, she was not going to think about that now. She had something far nicer to think about. She ate her breakfast quietly, smiling to herself as she remembered her adventure of last night; that strange girl, and her lovely little boat… Would she be down on the creek again tonight? She had forgotten to ask! Dismayed, she held a forkful of fried bread with a small piece of tomato balanced on top, halfway to her mouth and stared at it intently. Then she remembered that the girl said she would teach her to row next time. She smiled again, pushed the fork into her mouth, and looking up, caught Mrs Pegg’s eye.

  “Well, you like your breakfast, any road,” said Mrs Pegg. “That’s one comfort.”

  Anna pulled herself together. “Yes, thank you. It’s very nice.”

  Mrs Pegg looked at her with her head on one side, thoughtfully. “Did you forget what I asked you yesterday morning?”

  Anna looked up defensively. Mrs Pegg had asked her to be friendly to Sandra, and she had tried, and it had not worked. But she was not going to show she cared about that.

  “Not that it matters all that much,” Mrs Pegg was saying, “only Sam said to me after you’d gone, ‘There,’ he says, ‘I could have just fancied a bit of pickled sanfer again’—”

  But Sam, suddenly realising what was being said, interrupted. “No, no, leave the lass be, Susan. I can pick me own sanfer if I’ve a mind. Happen she’d other things to occupy her mind, hadn’t you, my biddy?”

  Anna looked up vaguely, only half listening. What were they talking about? Samphire? Then she remembered. She had left it behind the outhouse after meeting Sandra and had forgotten all about it. Without a word she got up and went out to fetch it, carrying it in and putting it down just inside the door.

  “There now, what a surprise!” said Mrs Pegg, all smiles. “And us thinking you’d forgot! I suppose you didn’t think to ask Miss Manders about the jars as well, did you, my duck?”

  Anna, still standing by the door, said cautiously, “Yes, I did. She said she’d look them out later.” She watched Mrs Pegg’s face but saw no change in her expression, which was still one of pleased surprise. “I’ll fetch them now if you like, and the vinegar,” she added, trying to sound neither sullen nor ingratiating, just ordinary.

  Mrs Pegg said that would be real kind, but no need to hurry as she’d plenty to do first. But Anna preferred to go straight away. She took down the string bag from its peg behind the door and went out, leaving the two of them smiling and shaking their heads at each other. She was a queer one and no mistake.

  So Mrs Pegg did not know yet. Anna wondered why, then reminded herself she did not care anyway. And it was as well she had reminded herself, because the first thing Mrs Pegg said, when she came back and they were unloading the jars, was, “I’ll be going up to the Corner tonight, so maybe I’ll take a jar with me. Mrs Stubbs used to be partial to pickled sanfer.”

  “Did you see her at the Bingo?” Anna asked, as casually as she could.

  Mrs Pegg shook her head. “No, we was at different ends of the room, but she says to me at the door after, ‘Come over to mine tonight,’ she says, ‘there’s something I want to see you about.’ It’ll be about them patterns her sister’s brought from Lynn, I’m thinking – for the chair covers. She’s been promising me this long time. I thought Mrs S didn’t look too pleased neither – because I didn’t go the first time she asked me, I suppose. Any road, I said I’d go tonight. So you don’t mind if I’m a bit late back, do you, my duck?”

  No, Anna assured her, she did not mind at all. She liked being on her own best of all; and she hardly noticed the surprised glance Mrs Pegg gave her.

  It was dusk when Anna went down to the creek that evening. All afternoon Mrs Pegg had been busy, washing and pickling the samphire, and now, in her best blouse and with a jar, filled and sealed, in her hand, she had gone off to Mrs Stubbs-up-at-the-Corner. Anna had watched her go, doggedly closing her mind to the hurtfulness of the situation – poor Mrs Pegg going all unsuspecting with her little gift, only to be scolded by Mrs Stubbs about Anna’s bad behav
iour. Once upon a time she might have found some roundabout way of warning her beforehand, but this evening she had not even allowed herself to think about it.

  She was dismayed at first to find no boat, and the water still halfway down the staithe when she got to the creek. Then she remembered that of course the tide would be nearly an hour later tonight. She hung around, sitting on the slope of the bank, and searching the shore for signs of shells or sea urchins, but finding only pieces of cork, some tarred rope, and a broken bottle top. Then it grew dark.

  Depressed, she leaned up against the post where the little boat had been tied up, and told herself the girl was not coming. Already the tide had crept up the shore and was beginning to swirl sluggishly round the foot of the post. Perhaps she had imagined her after all. Perhaps the whole thing was a silly dream… And then, suddenly, there was a soft plashing of oars, the rhythmic rattle of rowlocks, and there she was, as real as real, coming nearer and nearer. Anna splashed into the water to meet her.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t be here,” the girl said. “Jump in quick and we’ll go for a row.”

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” said Anna.

  “I know. I forgot about the tide being later. I couldn’t come the other way, they’d have seen me go past the windows.”

  She turned the boat and pulled away from the shore, upstream.

  “Don’t let’s talk,” she said. “I’ll tell you why after, but first you must have a rowing lesson.”

  Anna took the oars, and the girl sat opposite her in the stern, leaning forward and guiding her hands. Every now and then she looked up into Anna’s face, laughing silently, and took her own hands away; then Anna found she was not rowing so well, after all. But soon she was managing the oars almost alone.

  She stared straight ahead of her as she rowed, her eyes wide and unblinking, straining through the darkness to take in every detail of her new friend. She saw that her straight fair hair was plaited tonight, and hung over her shoulders in two long braids which swung to and fro every time she bent forward. Under her cardigan she was again wearing a long white dress which reached almost to her feet. It would have looked strange on anyone else, but Anna accepted it almost without question. It seemed right that this girl should look like the character out of some fairy story.

  At the top of the creek, where the boat could go no farther, they shipped the oars silently, and sat almost enclosed by rushes and tangled water weed, listening to the small, night sounds – a frog croaking on the bank, water dripping from the reeds, and the plop of small fish as they rose to the surface then sank again. They sat so still that each of them might have been alone. Then the girl leaned forward, and said in a half whisper, “Now I’ll tell you why I said we wouldn’t talk.”

  Chapter Eleven

  THREE QUESTIONS EACH

  ANNA MOVED NEARER and the girl said, still in a half whisper, “You remember I said last night that you were my secret?”

  Anna nodded. “I knew just what you meant. You’re mine.”

  “Well, that’s it! Don’t let’s spoil it by gabbling at each other, and asking a whole lot of questions, and arguing, and perhaps end up quarrelling. Let’s go on like we are.”

  “Yes – oh, yes!” said Anna, then hesitated. “But I don’t even know your name yet.”

  “Marnie.” The girl seemed surprised. “I thought you knew.” Anna shook her head. “Listen,” she went on, “there are all sorts of things I want to know about you; why you’re here, and where you live, and what you do all day – things like that – and yet, in a way, I don’t want to know them at all—” she broke off and laughed quickly. “No, that’s wrong! I do want to know. But I want to find them out slowly, by myself, as we go along. Do you know what I mean?”

  Yes, Anna did know. This was just how she felt.

  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do!” said Marnie. “We’ll make a pact to ask each other only one question a night, shall we? Like wishes in a fairy story.”

  “They’re usually three,” said Anna doubtfully.

  “All right, we’ll make it three. I’ll start. Question number one – why are you here at Little Overton?”

  This was fun. Anna drew a deep breath and told her about coming to stay with the Peggs instead of going back to school, because Dr Brown had said it would be good for her and she was underweight. And then, because Marnie looked so interested, she told her about not-even-trying, and Mrs Preston being worried about her future. “But it’s not just that,” she said. “They don’t know that I know, but it’s because they want to get rid of me for a bit. I’m a sort of worry to them.”

  “Oh, poor you! But are you sure? Sometimes it feels like that, I know, but it isn’t really true.”

  “No, I do know. One day I’ll tell you how I know, but not tonight. Is it my turn now?” Marnie nodded. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?”

  “Me?” Marnie was amazed. “None. Why should you think I had?”

  “Do you mean you’re the only one?” Anna’s voice sounded quite shocked. She was disappointed. What about the boys and girls in navy blue jeans and jerseys? She had been so sure they belonged to The Marsh House too…

  Marnie gave her a little push with her elbow. “What’s the matter? Aren’t I enough for you? – And that’s not a proper question, by the way.”

  Anna laughed. “Yes, but I always thought you were a big family.”

  “Well, I suppose we are, in a way…” Marnie began counting on her fingers, “There’s me, and Lily, and Ettie, and Nan, and Mother, and Father…” she hesitated – “and Pluto.”

  Something about the way her eyes suddenly darkened made Anna ask quickly, “Who’s Pluto?”

  “No, no, you’re cheating! It’s my turn now. Question two – are you an only, too?”

  Anna considered. Did Raymond count or not? He was not really a brother or a cousin or any relation at all. “Sort of,” she said at last.

  “What do you mean, sort of?”

  “Now you’re cheating! It’s my turn. Who’s Pluto?”

  “Our dog.” Marnie looked suddenly solemn. “I’ll tell you a secret. I hate him really. He’s big and black, and quite fierce sometimes. He lives in a kennel outside most of the time. Father said he’d be good company for me, but he’s not. I wanted a kitten, a dear little fluffy kitten that I could nurse on my lap, but Father said Pluto’d be good for guarding the house when he’s away. He wasn’t so bad when he was a puppy, though even then he was too big and rough, but he’s awful now. He eats raw meat, think of that! Don’t tell anyone, but secretly I’m frightened of him.” She gave a little shudder, then in an instant became merry again. “It’s my turn, isn’t it? What’s it like, living at the Peggs’?”

  Anna opened her mouth to answer and found, to her surprise, that she could not remember. Perhaps it was because she had been thinking about Marnie’s answer, and wondering whether it was Pluto she sometimes heard barking in the night. What was it like at the Peggs’? Not one single thing could she remember. It had all gone out of her head as completely as if someone had wiped a sponge across a blackboard. Marnie, who had seemed only half real, had now become more real than the Peggs. It was odd.

  She glanced across at Marnie, who seemed to have sunk into a dream of her own while waiting. She was sitting huddled in the stern with her feet up and her head bent, her face in shadow.

  Anna tried again. She must remember about the Peggs, otherwise she would not be able to tell Marnie anything about them. She closed her eyes and saw – faintly at first, then clearly – the scullery, the kettle on the stove, and through the door, Sam’s armchair with the broken springs in the corner. The Peggs and their cottage came to life again. Relieved, she opened her eyes and saw – no-one. Marnie had gone! She was alone in the boat.

  She gave a little cry and sprang up, the boat rocking beneath her. At the same minute, from somewhere behind her, she heard Marnie’s voice saying in a startled whisper, “Anna! What’s the matter? Where are you?�
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  “I thought you’d gone!” said Anna. “What are you doing out there?”

  Marnie was standing on the bank behind her. In her long white dress, with the reeds standing up all round her, and the moonlight shining on her pale hair, she looked more than ever like someone out of a fairy story. She came nearer, and Anna saw that she was looking quite frightened.

  “Oh, you gave me a shock!” she was saying. “You shouldn’t have run away. I got out to look for you. I thought you must be hiding in the reeds.” She took hold of Anna’s hand to steady herself and stepped back into the boat. “Don’t do that again, Anna – dear.” Her voice was almost pleading.

  “But I didn’t! I didn’t do anything!”

  Marnie sat down again and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, you did,” she said primly, “you played a trick on me. It wasn’t fair. I asked you a question and you never answered. Instead you ran away and hid—”

  “Oh, I remember now!” said Anna. “But I didn’t run away. You asked me about the Peggs and what it was like there. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s…” her voice faltered. “It’s…” She had forgotten again. It was extraordinary.

  Marnie laughed gaily. “Oh, don’t bother! What do I care about the Peggs? I don’t even know who they are. It was a silly question anyway. Let’s talk about something real. Have you got a watch on?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I think we ought to go back soon. It was late when we came out. They might discover I’d gone. Shall I row?”

  Anna nodded, and they changed seats and pushed out from the reeds into the stream.

  “You didn’t have your last question,” said Marnie.

  “No, but I wasn’t able to answer yours,” said Anna, still wondering.

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter! I’ll ask you another instead. Where do you live?”

  “In London,” said Anna quickly. “Twenty-five Elmwood Terrace.”

  Marnie nodded approvingly. “You were able to answer that one, anyway. Now you can ask your last.”