by Gina Wilson
In the back of my mind, of course, nagging away so persistently that it eventually worked its way to the fore, was my feeling of guilt for what I had subjected Cora to. And it was after I’d accepted this and recognized her complete blamelessness from the start of the party to its catastrophic conclusion that I decided to do my best to make things up to her. On Sunday afternoon, while Mother and Father were gardening and thinking I was indoors listening to the wireless, I sneaked out of the house and went looking for her.
I was pretty sure that I knew where to find her and I was right. As I picked my way nervously round the side of the church, there she was, spreadeagled in the sunshine beside her mother’s grave. She was staring up at the sky and didn’t see me at first but continued singing some folk-song I didn’t know in lark-like tones:
“So bury me where the boughs hang low,
And the sun-cast shadows come and go,
And, ’neath the grass, while the seasons pass,
I’ll join the love that I long for so.”
She sensed my presence, stopped abruptly, and sat up, rubbing her eyes and focusing on me. “Becky!”
“Hello, Cora! I thought you’d be here.”
“Mmmm.”
“Cora, I’m sorry about that mess-up at the end of the party. And thank you so much for the painting.”
“What d’you think of it?”
“Beautiful.”
“I chose her forget-me-not on purpose, you know.”
“I guessed you might have.”
“Yes. I don’t want you to forget we’re friends, whatever happens when school starts again.”
“It’s going to be hard, Cora. I promised the others I wouldn’t speak to you again.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Well, I thought you’d done something bad to Dory. For a moment I believed all the stories about you. The others were so upset and hated me for asking you to the party at all.”
“Oh, I thought they were almost putting up with me.”
“I think they were at one stage, but then when Mrs. Briggs kicked up that hullaballoo …”
“Your Dad was very nice to me, you know.”
“Yes, I’m not surprised. He stuck up for you after too. But it’s no good. Mummy says I’ve got to get rid of you. She says she doesn’t want us losing everybody’s friendship on your account.”
Cora shrugged. I thought this was a good place to be breaking all this bad news to her; she always had a special strength here. “Is that it, then?”
“Well, no. Perhaps it needn’t be. But we can’t be normal friends. I thought perhaps we could still be secret friends.”
The idea seemed to appeal to her. She smiled mischievously. “You’ll get yourself tied in awful knots, Becky,” she said, “and if the others find out they’ll hate you like anything!”
“Oh, I know,” I said anxiously. “Are you trying to put me off? Do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s all that marvellous,” she said bluntly. “Who’d want to be tucked in on the sly? I’d much rather you chose me rather than them. That would really be one in the eye …”
“I can’t do that, Cora,” I said. “Firstly I like them and secondly I’ve promised Mummy not to make things awkward …”
“O.K.,” she said. “I’ll take whatever’s offered. I might as well. It’s better than nothing. Now, tell me what Mrs. Briggs said after I’d gone.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Mummy and Daddy didn’t want me to hear. They’re quite fair really, you know. Mummy’s only wanting to fit in here; it isn’t that she believes you’re bad.”
“Mmmm.”
“I think Mrs. Briggs got quite hysterical and told them you were … pretty bad …”
“A Devil Child. I bet that’s what she said.”
“Well—yes—something like that. I think it’s dreadful, Cora. And I think you’re very brave not to be terribly upset by her.”
“I am,” said Cora. “Upset, I mean.”
“Oh, Cora. I am sorry. You’ve had such a rotten time,” I said. “What does your father say?”
“Not much. He ignores people. Says he doesn’t need them any more than they need him.”
“Oh dear … By the way, why did you take Dory in the airing-cupboard?”
“We were hiding. He saw me go in and kept pulling at the door. I thought he’d give me away, so I just took him in beside me. He’s so sweet—I love babies. We’d never have dozed off if you’d found us quicker.”
“Mrs. Briggs thought you were trying to suffocate him.”
“I know. Your father told me. He said it was a silly place to hide but not really dangerous. I knew that—there are ventilation holes in the door. I know all about oxygen and that—Actually he said I shouldn’t be too upset because it was really all your fault.”
“My fault!”
“Yes. He said he hadn’t given you permission to start a game of hide-and-seek over the whole house and he never would have done. He just pretended to smack me on the bottom and sent me down to play with you lot.”
“Well, he wouldn’t realize the state the others were in. Susan was crying and Hermione went all white and trembly.”
“She would! Oh, I knew that that would be the end of it. Blast Mrs. Briggs! She’s always going to wreck things for me, isn’t she? She’s a right witch herself—don’t you think so?”
“I know what you mean. I hate her. But half the village seems to think she’s someone special. Mummy quite likes her …”
“She’s just a gossipy, malicious, old bag.”
“Cora!”
“—And she’s got it in for me. She hates me. She thinks I make people die. Everything I do, she twists it round to look as if I’ve meant harm. And people always believe her.”
“I don’t think they do really. Not deep down. But you can see how everything fits in … and she’s terribly convincing.”
I couldn’t stay long. I didn’t want Mother and Father to know I’d slipped away at all. We agreed not to acknowledge one another publicly, not to be friendly at school. Cora said it wouldn’t be any different from usual for her, nobody at school ever was friendly except for one or two of the teachers. I said I’d talk to her whenever it was possible, whenever nobody was watching. That sounded so grudging and mean that I promised to try and come to some sort of arrangement whereby we might meet privately in the evenings or something. I left her humming to herself and stroking the grass idly with the back of her hand. I stopped to wave as I went round the side of the church and she waved back as if nothing were amiss. I felt unkind and unfair—I had offered her a crumb of friendship and she’d accepted it as better than nothing. But she deserved far more than that.
On Tuesday school started. I dressed up in my brand-new uniform—Mother had even bought me new underwear—and was so excited that I couldn’t manage much breakfast. The uniform was beige and blue; beige blouse, blue gymslip, beige and blue striped tie, and a blue cardigan with beige stripes round the cuffs. There was a blue tweed coat and a blue velours hat for wearing outside. The whole lot had been rather expensive and Mother had bought everything on the big side to allow for growth, but I still felt very smart. Mother said she’d take me, as it was the first day, but we met Hermione as we passed the bottom of her drive and I sent Mother home as I felt I didn’t need her. She looked a bit abashed and I realized then that she’d really wanted to take me. Anyway, she said goodbye, and Hermione and I went on to school together, talking and smiling and becoming best friends. There was a moment of awkwardness as we passed the end of the road that led up to St. Matthew’s Church and the common. Cora was running down the hill, coat flapping. She could easily have joined us, but we both deliberately ignored her and carried on talking to each other. Hermione was undoubtedly relieved at my reaction, but neither of us said anything. Cora eventually overtook us and ran on ahead to school. She didn’t turn to look at me once.
Hermione showed me where to hang my coat
and then we went to our form-room. There were seventeen in the class and most of them seemed to have arrived already. There was much banging of desks and noisy argument between any who wanted the same one. Barbara had arrived early and claimed a block of four beside one of the windows towards the front of the class. She and Susan were to have the front two and the two behind were reserved for Hermione and me. The desks were of dark brown wood and had inkwells and heavy lids with initials scratched and carved into them. Miss Dingwall called me to the front after a while and welcomed me. Then to my embarrassment she hushed the class to introduce me officially.
“This is Rebecca Stokes,” she said. “She’s joining us this term and I hope we’re all going to help her settle in very quickly.”
I blushed and looked round the roomful of blank faces. Only Barbara and Hermione were smiling helpfully. Susan was giggling at my discomfort and Cora, in the least popular desk right under the teacher’s nose, was staring at me unblinking with her sharp, black eyes. It was the first time she had looked at me; I suppose she thought it would be safe to as everyone else would be.
“You can sit down now, Rebecca,” said Miss Dingwall. “I imagine they’ve all taken you in.”
The rest of the morning was occupied with assignment of cloakroom peg numbers, pens, nibs, pencils, checks on name-tapes and dictation of the time-table. There were breaks for milk at eleven and lunch at a quarter to one. We started lessons in the afternoon with English, taught by Miss Dingwall, and Scripture, taught by Miss Todd, the headmistress. At the end of the lesson she called me to the front as the others packed up for the day and started to leave. She said a lot of polite things about being pleased to have me at the school and hoping I’d soon feel at home, and I smiled politely too, and said: “Thank you.”
That was it! The first day over. Hermione and the others had lingered behind for me and we went along and put on our coats together. I was looking forward to the walk home. I wondered if Barbara or Susan would ask me in for a bit before tea as I hadn’t been to their houses yet and I knew they both lived in the village. But Mother was waiting at the school gate. I felt terribly angry with her. I didn’t want to see her at all. Of course the others all smiled and said, “Hello, Mrs. Stokes. Goodbye, Becky, see you tomorrow,” and hurried off together. I was left with Mother.
“You didn’t need to meet me.”
“I thought on the first day …”
“Look, they’ve all gone off now. I wanted to be with them.”
“I’m sorry, dear. You’ll see them tomorrow. How did it go?”
I couldn’t be bothered telling her a thing. Trust her to come fussing round!
There was the sound of pattering feet overtaking from behind. “Hello, Mrs. Stokes.” It was Cora, not stopping or hanging on, just passing the time of day in a friendly fashion.
Mother jumped. “Oh, hello, Cora, dear. Did you enjoy your first day back?” she said, trying to be friendly but not actually stopping.
“Yes, thank you,” said Cora. She trotted on past us.
“I hope she hasn’t been hanging round you all day,” whispered Mother.
“No, she hasn’t. I haven’t spoken to her at all if you want to know.”
Suddenly Mother lost her temper. “You can really be a selfish little brat, Becky. You nasty, mean girl to treat me to this temper when I’ve been thinking about you all day and hoping things were going well.”
“I didn’t need to be met. You’ve just got in the way.”
“Well, I certainly shan’t again! It’s a lot of bother parking the boys somewhere for half an hour—and I’d much rather have their company than yours when you’re like this!” I think she’d have stormed off and left me, but she looked round first, not wanting our row to be observed, and Miss Todd was approaching with the deputy head. They stopped to exchange greetings and welcomes and Mother and I had to stop glaring at each other and simper. After they had gone, I apologized for being mean and gave Mother a detailed account of the day, including the lunch menu. She was particularly interested in that.
The term seemed to get quickly under way after that first fragmented sort of a day, and I soon found that I was well up to standard academically. My favourite lessons were English and gym. I was always keen and attentive in those, but my concentration wavered a fair amount in the other lessons and I doodled with bits of poetry and wrote notes to Susan, trying to make her laugh. Hermione and Barbara were fairly strait-laced and good during class but Susan and I notched up one or two order marks and detentions as the term went on, nothing too disgraceful though.
There was one very naughty girl in the class. Her name was Georgia Jamieson. I didn’t like her very much as she seemed such a show-off, but she could be very funny and cheeky, and I often found myself hoping she’d start up some sort of diversion to get us all through a particularly tedious lesson. Once I found her all swollen and blotched in the cloakroom. She’d been sent to the headmistress by Miss Bayliss, the art teacher, who’d finally had enough of her insolence and tomfoolery. Some time later I had asked permission to fetch a hanky from my coat pocket in the cloakroom, and there was Georgia, sobbing away, her face buried in her coat. I was absolutely amazed. I couldn’t understand how she could carry on being naughty if she was so upset by the resulting rows and trouble.
“What’s wrong, Georgia?”
“Nothing. Miss Todd said awful things, that’s all.” She brought her wet face out from her coat. Her eyes were very red and her breath came in gasps.
“What things?”
“Oh, that they were all sick of me, she wished she’d never taken me into the school, I was a menace, other parents had complained …”
“Oh, Georgia! That’s awful!”
“I’m not so bad, am I?”
“Well, I don’t think so. But the teachers do seem to get irritated. Perhaps you should make a real effort to be good.”
“I do try—but I never seem to manage it. They pick on me a bit.”
“I suppose they’re expecting you to do something bad all the time—I’ll have to go, Miss Bayliss’ll be wondering where I am. Are you coming back to art?”
“No, I don’t want to see anyone like this. I’ll go and wash my face.” By the time she rejoined the class for the next lesson she looked just the same as usual. I had the utmost difficulty convincing Hermione and Barbara and Susan of the state that the irrepressible Georgia had been in in the cloakroom.
“She gets my goat a bit,” said Hermione. “She overdoes it all the time. It’s not really all that funny.”
“Mummy says she’ll get herself expelled if she doesn’t look out,” said Barbara. “Mummy and Daddy met her parents one parents’ night. They’re very nice and it’s a great mystery to them why Georgia’s always in trouble. Mrs. Jamieson told Mummy she dreads the parents’ nights because she never knows what she’s going to hear next.”
Cora, to my surprise, was very quiet and industrious at school. She seemed to be quite a favourite with the teachers. They didn’t appear to share the local hostility to her at all. I wondered if they knew what a sad and difficult life she’d had and if they were trying to compensate her in some way. At any rate, she didn’t cause any difficulties in class and at breaks just kept herself to herself. If I hadn’t seen and heard all I had during the holidays it would have taken me weeks to notice her at all. As it was, I was fairly well aware of her most of the time and it wasn’t very long before we began to exchange a few covert glances. After about ten days I found a note from her in my desk.
“Shall we meet?” it said. “Say when and where.”
The obvious time to suggest was Thursday, after my piano lesson. I stayed late at school for that; all the other days I had taken to walking home with my three special friends. I suggested one of the old air-raid shelters in a field near the school for our secret meeting place. There were about a dozen shelters in the field. They were half sunk into the ground and entered by steps at one end or an iron ladder through a hole in the roof
at the other. I don’t know why they had been left standing. The field couldn’t be ploughed because of the huge hummocks they made on the surface of the ground; cows were grazed there sometimes.
I felt strangely nervous and excited as I darted out of school after my piano lesson and ran down the hill towards the field. It was a sunny day, birds were singing loudly and the hedgerows were still thick and green and flowery. There was nobody about. I threw my music-case and satchel over the five-bar gate and began to climb over myself, pausing at the top to scan the field for Cora. She wasn’t in sight. She must be in one of the shelters but I didn’t know which; I foolishly hadn’t specified any particular one. I didn’t like the field; the grass was long and full of nettles and thistles, and the bumps made by the shelters looked like giant graves. I’d only been in once before, with Hermione and the others. The shelters were dark inside and it took moments to adjust to the gloom; drops of moisture constantly seeped through the arched roofs and splattered on the floor. Hermione said her mother said they weren’t safe, as odd bricks had started to fall out of the ceilings. I always wondered if madmen or murderers might lurk there and usually scurried past at top speed on Thursdays when I was on my own. I imagined the war, and the terror of bombers going over—screaming women and children, explosions, blood everywhere! In fact, I believe the shelters were scarcely used at all and only one stray bomb landed on Okefield during the course of the entire war.
I wished desperately that I had had the sense to tell Cora exactly where to wait for me and almost thought of abandoning the meeting and going on home. But it didn’t seem fair to leave her sitting alone in one of these dark, derelict tunnels, so I gingerly retrieved my music-case and satchel and picked my way through the tough, weedy grass to the entrance of the nearest shelter. I hurried down the steep brick steps and peered in. I couldn’t see a thing. “Cora,” I whispered into the pitch blackness. No answer. Just the noise of my own breathing and the nervous pumping of my heart as I paused for a few seconds. Then up the steps I dashed and on to the next shelter. I was becoming terrified by my own imaginings. The grass was so tall I could hardly struggle through it. What if someone jumped up suddenly and grabbed me? I was getting further and further away from the lane; nobody would hear my screams. Cora wasn’t in the second shelter or the third. I was almost sobbing with fear as I emerged the third time and looked around.