I was really really scared, but I didn’t tell. I couldn’t. And I don’t think my lie was malicious; it couldn’t harm anybody except myself. I told it so my friend wouldn’t be sent away to be blown up or shot. How malicious is that?
- Seventy
Asra
I WAKE UP again and look at my watch. It is morning, seven o’clock, though it is still dark. Six hours have gone since I switched off the lantern. I am sleeping all this time. Six hours, five hundred miles an hour is three thousand miles. Mother and Father are in our country now.
But I will not weep again – there are things to do. I must get up, dress, have something for breakfast. Then I must put all of my things inside the chest so if anybody comes, it will look like nobody here.
First I need the lavatory. In the house is no bathroom. I take the lantern to the yard. All round the yard is buildings, low like the huts but of stone. I go from one to another, pushing broken doors, shining my light on machinery, sacks and straw. In one is coal. I find the lavatory in the last one. It is very disgusting and will not flush, but I don’t care.
In the kitchen is a sink with a tap, but no water comes out. To wash I pour bottled water over my hands and rub my face. Not a good wash, and too much drinking water gone. When it comes light I will look for water.
I am cold, even in all of my clothes. Breakfast is pressed dates, biscuits and water. Just now my people are walking to the mess for porridge and toast, scalding tea. If I was with them I would even eat some porridge.
When I have eaten and hidden all my things, I go upstairs. It is coming light. I sit on my chair and look to the hut roofs in the distance. Nobody is on the airfield, because no mushrooms in December. Soon I hear a noise like a motorbike and see a brilliant star coming across the sky. It is very strange till it flies closer, then I see what is happening. A silver helicopter is catching the rays of the sun, which has risen up there but not down here. It is beautiful to see, but I wonder if maybe it is looking for me. I leave the window and listen to it pass over. It flies on and I sit down again, waiting for the sun.
Here’s a funny thing: the sun comes up, but its light comes down. It is true. First it touches the very tops of the trees I hid under yesterday – the thinnest twigs. Slowly, slowly it slides down each twig till it reaches the branches, then creeps down them to the trunks. It’s like somebody is pouring golden syrup to see it trickle down. When it reaches the trunks it is touching the hut roofs too.
I watch till it falls on the grass. A splinter finds my window and lays a slanting ribbon down the wallpaper. I shift the chair so it falls on me but it doesn’t warm me much. I look down into the muddy yard and see how the outbuildings will prevent the sun from ever falling there, at least in winter. I’m about to look away when I notice something. Beside the lavatory door a thin grey pipe sticks out of the ground. It is less than a metre high, clamped to the wall by two brackets. At the top is a small brass tap.
Water? As I stand up to go and investigate, my eye is drawn to movement on the airfield. Three men are coming this way. One is Cave-Troll Cleaver.
- Seventy-One
Asra
IF ONLY I seen the men sooner I would have ran outside, hidden in the long grass till they went away. But they are coming in the yard already. There is only one thing to do. In the wall beside the chimney breast is a tall yellow door. Through the door is a cupboard – I think so it was a wardrobe. I have looked inside: there is nothing. I put myself away and shut the door.
I am listening hard, but nobody is coming in the kitchen. In the wardrobe is very dark. I open the door a bit. I dare not come out though. I wait and listen. Still nobody comes. I get more braver, creep out, go to the room door. From here I can see the stairs. There is nobody, and no sound from the kitchen. I tiptoe to my window, not too close, and peep to the yard. The men are down there. Cave-Troll Cleaver is closing the door of an outhouse; the other two are watching him. The bags they were carrying have gone.
I watch, ready to run to the wardrobe if they are coming to the house, but they don’t. One opens his pants and does a pee on the outhouse wall, which make his friends laugh very much. Then they leave the yard. I sit on the chair and watch. I think so they are heading to Mushroom Gap. I will go down to the yard and look at the tap, also at the outhouse where the men have put the bags, but not yet. Not till I know Cave-Troll Cleaver is far away.
I better not see you though, Miss Saber, he told to me in Mayfields, and I hope so he won’t. I fear him more than any man in England.
- Seventy-Two
Ruby Tanya
MR KERSHAW SEEMED DISPLEASED, said Ramsden when he got back from showing the policeman out. Were you not able to help, Ruby Tanya?
I couldn’t answer his question, sir, I replied.
I see. Pity. Still, if you couldn’t you couldn’t. Off you go.
I reckon the head knew. Knew I knew where Asra was, I mean. That’s why he didn’t grill me himself. As a head teacher he couldn’t openly show sympathy for a fugitive from the law, but I think in his heart he was on our side. I’d go so far as to say I know he was.
I spent the rest of the day wondering what Asra was doing. At least the sun was out – she might not be too cold. I was glad when half-three rolled round though, and I could get off to Gran’s. And I was even gladder when I got there, because she’d found her old stove and bussed it to Danmouth for gas bottles.
I bought five, she said. One always seemed to last me an age, but I only used ’em for half an hour in the morning and half an hour at night. Your friend’ll need ’em more than that.
I didn’t hang about, didn’t want Mum to know I’d called anywhere. I crammed the stove and gas bottles in my Adidas bag and rode home, wobbling a bit with the weight. I left bag and bike in the garage.
Hi, Mum. She was blending veg for soup. Is it all right if I take my homework round to Millie’s after tea? I hadn’t cleared this alibi with Millie. I hoped Mum wouldn’t check.
I expect so, Ruby Tanya. She looked at me. You won’t stay till ten though, will you?
I shook my head. No chance, her mum’d have a cow.
Have a cow? She rinsed off the blender under the tap. What on earth does that mean, young woman?
I shrugged. Dunno, Mum. Bart Simpson says it.
Ah, Bart Simpson. Mum hates The Simpsons, says it’s dumb, but that’s because she’s never really listened to the dialogue. You’ve got to listen.
Dad came home in a foul mood, chuntering about vandals having no respect for other people’s property. Turned out somebody had torn down the banner he’d strung across the Danmouth Road and set fire to it. Driving home he’d noticed it wasn’t there, pulled over and found the charred remains in the ditch.
I was glad. I wasn’t daft enough to say so, but Mum’s a bit of a kamikaze lately and waded in. What d’you expect, Ed? she asked. Did you really think those people were going to let their children suffer that offensive message every morning on their way to school?
He went mental of course. Alien vandals was only one of the forces ranged against him, he told the whole street. He’d a disloyal wife to contend with as well, and a subversive daughter, and a local police force that backed invaders against the locals. He was taking a stand here, a patriotic stand for Queen and country, and fat lot of thanks he was getting for it.
He stormed up to his office and slammed the door, which was good in a way because it saved me getting his OK to go out. I dried the dishes for Mum, collected my bike and bag and took the golden road to Mushroom Gap.
- Seventy-Three
Asra
THE TAP WILL not turn. It is crusted with hard green stuff. I need something to bash it with. I look round the yard and find nothing. I go to the gateway to look out – I am thinking the men will return. Nobody is there, but the wall has loose stones. I pull a lump out to bash the tap with. I am not hopeful, but it works. Some of the green stuff crumbles off, and when I twist the tap it moves. A thread of water appears. When I turn th
e tap as far as it will go, the thread becomes a rope that splashes into the mud and spatters my jeans.
I make the palm of my hand into a cup, stick it under the tap and lift it to my mouth. The water tastes of metal, but it is a clean taste. I am very happy; now I can wash properly and drink all I want. I can rinse clothes too, but I don’t know how I’ll get them dry. A line of washing is not so good if police is looking for you.
I turn off the tap and have another look in the gateway. Nobody. Now I will open the door Cave-Troll Cleaver closed. Early this morning there were just some lumpy, half-rotten sacks and a heap of straw. It looks the same now, but somewhere must be three bags. I glance to the gateway, then hurry inside the outhouse.
The sacks are in a line against one wall. The light is not good and the place stinks. I open the top of a sack. It is full of slimy black lumps that were potatoes long ago. I leave the sacks and walk on the straw, feeling with my feet. Straight away I find a bag. I don’t feel for the other two, but carry this one to the doorway. It is very heavy. After another glance to the gateway I squat and open the zip.
I don’t understand. The bag has bricks of plasticine wrapped in polythene – the same stuff we have in the craft area cupboard at school, except this is all the one yellowish colour. I don’t think so Cave-Troll Cleaver is making little models out of plasticine. And I doubt it is for his children: if Cave-Troll has children he will eat them, I think.
I don’t stay long wondering. Ruby Tanya will come tonight, I will ask her what she thinks. I zip up the bag, bury it in the straw and wrestle the door shut. I hope I am leaving it just as Cleaver left it.
I know what I will do now. I will use an empty mineral water bottle to carry water from the tap to the sink in the kitchen. It will take lots of trips to fill the sink, but it will pass the time and keep me warm. And of course I will go many times to the gateway.
- Seventy-Four
Ruby Tanya
SHE WAS WAITING in the porch with a blanket round her shoulders like a little old lady in a shawl.
I’ve got it, I cried, patting the bag. We’ll have some tea if there’s enough water.
She laughed. I think so there’s enough, Ruby Tanya. She told me about the tap.
I got the stove lit. There were two pans with it, shallow oblongs that stacked and had foldaway handles. Asra filled one at the sink and put it on. We sat on the chest and watched the strong blue flame, listened to its hiss. I had three visitors, said Asra.
What? I gasped.
She smiled. Don’t worry, they didn’t know they were visiting me.
She told me about Cleaver and his friends, the bags in the outhouse, plasticine.
Plasticine? I frowned. Are you sure that’s what it is, Asra?
She pulled a face. A bit sure, she said. D’you want to look?
I shook my head. Suppose they came to collect while we were snooping?
Oooh, don’t! She shivered. Cave-Troll Cleaver in the dark: I think so police is better.
I wondered how Cleaver and his mates knew the ruins existed, and decided Dad probably told them. He’s an estate agent after all; he’d know about empty properties on his patch. In need of slight attention, he’d say if he was selling this one.
I’d looked forward to this, sipping and yarning over the stove like swagmen round a campfire. I’d imagined the two of us relaxed, Asra warm for once, enjoying each other’s company, the real world far away in the dark. Now she’d told me about the visitors I felt jumpy, vulnerable, far from help. I kept getting up, lifting a corner of the blanket, peering out. All I saw was my own face and the reflected glow from the stove, but it didn’t stop me doing it. I was unhappy at the thought of leaving Asra here at night. I had to mention it.
Asra, why don’t you come and sleep at Gran’s? I don’t like the idea of you being here by yourself, now that horrible man’s been.
Asra smiled, shook her head. I’m fine, Ruby Tanya, honestly. He doesn’t know anyone’s here, he didn’t come in the house, and I don’t think so he’ll come at night. I’ll be very careful.
I couldn’t budge her. She was chuffed with the stove, the water supply she’d found. She mentioned washing. I said I’d take it to Gran’s. I promised to bring tins of beans tomorrow; other tins as well. I made her promise to keep a careful lookout, especially when fetching water or going to the loo. I left at half eight, with bits of her laundry in my bag to drop off at Gran’s.
Biking down Long Lane under the moon, I thought about the men’s visit to the ruins. Why would a bunch of dodgy guys carry stuff right out there and hide it in an outhouse? I could’ve understood if the bags were crammed with dosh or loot of some sort, but plasticine? What was in the other bags, and would Asra be tempted to take a peek in the morning? I hoped not.
Gran took the bits and bobs of washing, no sweat. She gave me beans and tomatoes in tins, and a packet of dried pasta. I didn’t tell her about Cleaver and his mates, the plasticine. No point worrying her.
Get it all done, sweetheart? goes Mum when I walk in. For a second I think she’s sussed everything, but she means homework.
Yes, thanks, I said. Where’s Dad?
Upstairs doing his homework.
Huh?
Practising his speech for Monday.
Oh, right.
That night I had the weirdest dream. I was queuing to get into one of the outhouses at the ruins. That was where Dad was due to speak. There were hundreds of people in the muddy yard. Cave-Troll Cleaver was on the door. Before he’d let you in, you had to stick your feet under a running tap and wash the mud off your shoes. It was taking ages but nobody minded, they were all laughing and joking. The outhouse was fifty times bigger inside than outside, like the Tardis. There were no seats, you stood on straw. On the platform, three men sat behind a long table. One of them was Cleaver, even though he was on the door. When it was time, the place went dark, like the lights going down at the pictures. Only the platform was bright. We all went quiet, but instead of Dad appearing the three guys started singing, swaying from side to side in time with the music. What they sang was, Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full. Just the one line, over and over. A few people in the audience started to join in, and soon we were all singing our hearts out, clapping to the beat. At this point, a Union Jack the size of a football pitch came drifting down from somewhere above and settled on us, pressing everybody to their knees. It was hot and heavy in the folds of the flag, impossible to breathe. I kicked and writhed but there was no way out, I was suffocating.
I woke gasping, flinging back the duvet. There was a smell like plasticine. It was ages before I got back to sleep.
- Seventy-Five
Ruby Tanya
THURSDAY BREAKFAST MUM asks, Is there something you’d like to tell me, Ruby Tanya? Dad had left for work, thank goodness.
I played dumb. What sort of something, Mum? I knew what was bothering her, she’s not daft.
Your friend Asra. I just wonder if you know more than you’re telling.
I don’t know what you mean.
Mum sighed. I care about Asra too, sweetheart, but have you thought about her parents, what it must be doing to them, knowing their daughter’s missing in a strange land a thousand miles away?
I shrugged. They didn’t want her to live in their country, Mum, and she isn’t.
No, but you see, they don’t even know she’s alive. A child of twelve, wandering the countryside. Anything might happen. A killer, for instance. They’ll be imagining all sorts of dreadful things. I know I would be.
I must admit I hadn’t thought of that. Couldn’t tell Mum though, could I? In fact I didn’t know what to say. She gave me a moment, then said, If I had a friend in Asra’s position, I think I’d try getting a message to her mum and dad. Not sure how – I don’t suppose they’re on the internet. I might try a local paper: they’d find a way, I’m sure. Anyway – her tone became brisk – this won’t get the baby bathed. She stood up, started stacking plates. There’s no baby, it’s jus
t her way of saying, time to get on, things to do.
I was puzzled. One minute she seemed about to interrogate me, really push it, and the next she’s dropped the subject in favour of washing up. She spoke with her back to me. Your father seems to be coming to his senses, by the way.
How d’you mean?
He’s decided to drop those new pals of his, Feltwell and Cleaver.
Hey, I smiled. Does that mean he’ll stop picking on the people up the camp?
She shook her head. ’Fraid not, sweetheart. When I say coming to his senses, I don’t mean he’s going to be sensible. Bridge too far, that’d be. No, he’ll go ahead, but without any more help from Feltwell and Co. I’m relieved: they seem a sinister bunch to me.
And me, I nodded. Especially that Cleaver. Cave-Troll, they call him, Asra’s scared stiff of …
Yes, well. She didn’t turn to see my blush. If I had a friend like Asra, I think I’d suggest she might be safer giving herself up than remaining at large with creatures like him prowling about. She slotted a plate in the rack. If I knew where she was, I mean.
- Seventy-Six
Asra
I AM NOT so tired Thursday morning. I left the stove on low all night; it kept me warm a bit and was company. I take down the blanket and look out at the yard. It has been frosty.
I have hot tea for breakfast, and toast. Is not so good the toast: my stove is not a toaster. I wish I would carry in some coal from the outhouse and make a fire, but I daren’t make the chimney smoke. What if somebody seen it? Instead I get six flat stones out of the wall and stack them under the sink. I put the stove on top of the stones. In the sink is water. I hope so the stove will warm the water. While it is doing this I go out to the toilet. Then, I don’t know why, I go look at those bags again. I must be crazy.
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