Abigale Hall (3 page)

Aunt Bess sat in the kitchen, smoking, when they emerged. Eliza helped Rebecca carry her luggage to the door, where Mr Drewry waited. Rebecca had become vacant, the way she often did after a fit, and made no protest when Mr Drewry took her arm. Before Eliza could wrench her sister from him, Aunt Bess called from the table. Eliza would not look at her.

‘Aren't you going to say goodbye?' Aunt Bess asked.

Eliza picked up both suitcases and motioned for Mr Drewry to exit the flat.

‘No.' She closed the door calmly as she left. Mrs Hodgkins was carrying a bin bag downstairs.

‘Going on a trip, love?'

Eliza ignored her.

Outside, a cab waited for them. Mr Drewry opened the taxi door and climbed inside with Rebecca. Eliza followed with the suitcases. Their escort sat close to the driver while the girls settled in across from him. A layer of grime coated the floor, and the thin seats had little cushioning left. A spring jabbed into Eliza's upper thigh. She tucked in her legs and arms, attempting to touch as little of the filthy car as possible. As the cab drove off, Eliza saw a tall, skeletal man enter their building – Mr Mosley.

‘May it be an unhappy union,' she muttered, and looked away.

With Rebecca leaning against her, Eliza stared out of the window as the cab made its way through the streets. She watched the buses and pedestrians, admired the old Victorian homes now pockmarked from bomb blasts and glanced down narrow side streets where spivs stood selling their wares. She watched the damp pavements speeding alongside her, empty of queues now the shops had shut.

Eliza watched it all as the cab took them further away from home. She was still here yet missing it already. She did her best not to think about Peter. As soon as she could, she would write to him. Rebecca kept silent. She wasn't counting, at least not aloud. It was the best Eliza could hope for. Mr Drewry also remained mute, staring out of his window for the duration of the ride. If he was familiar with London, Eliza couldn't tell. He expressed neither the interest of someone visiting the city for the first time nor the apathy of someone who'd seen it all before.

The cab stopped outside Paddington Station. Mr Drewry paid the driver then led Rebecca out, leaving Eliza with the suitcases. When Peter went on holiday, would he leave from here, she wondered as she followed Mr Drewry and Rebecca inside. Would Peter think of her as he travelled alone, or would there be another girl at his side?

She followed Mr Drewry to Platform 4, where a train awaited them underneath the high, vaulted arches. The ticket collector directed them to a first-class carriage, for which Eliza was grateful. Returning to London after the war, she and the other children were packed in the coach compartments so tight there was no room for anyone to sit. A little boy had vomited on her only pair of shoes.

Mr Drewry chose an empty compartment and slid the door shut behind them. Only then did he help Eliza with the luggage. Together, they lifted the pieces onto the racks above their heads, his solitary arm proving remarkably strong. Once finished, he sat across from the sisters and went back to staring out of the window. Eliza could no longer bear the silence.

‘My name is Eliza. This is Rebecca.'

She waited. He said nothing.

‘What part of Wales are we going to?'

No answer.

‘Could you at least tell us how long the journey will take?'

‘Seven hours, fourteen minutes,' he replied. Eliza expected his voice to be soft, lilting and Welsh. Instead, it was hard and English. Possibly Northern, though it was difficult to tell since he spoke so little. She thanked him then leant Rebecca against her shoulder and began her silent goodbyes to home.

*

It did not take long for the city to disappear. Eliza watched as the lights faded away into fog. Once they were rolling through darkened fields, she felt Rebecca's heart beat faster.

‘Better than last time we left, isn't it?' she said. ‘Don't have to worry about bombs falling on us before we get there. And no awful luggage labels on our coats, either.'

Despite Eliza's words, Rebecca remained tense and unresponsive.

Now three hours had passed since the train left. Eliza thought Mr Drewry would fall asleep, maybe pull his hat down to block out the carriage lights, like Father used to do on long journeys, but Mr Drewry did nothing. Every once in a while he'd smoke a cigarette but that was all. He didn't appear to mind Eliza and Rebecca talking, however.

‘Why don't you read to me?' Eliza asked when, for lack of something to do, Rebecca began kicking the underside of her seat. She pulled the tattered copy of
Mrs Miniver
from her handbag and gave it to her sister.

‘Where should I start?'

‘Oh, why not the beginning?' Eliza replied, closing her eyes. ‘We have plenty of time.' She heard Rebecca open the book and fold back the pages.

‘“For my girls. No day is complete without a story. With love, Father.”'

Eliza smiled. Rebecca turned the page.

‘Eliza, does Aunt Bess hate us?'

‘Hate is a very strong word. I think maybe she grew tired of us.'

‘Do you hate her?'

Eliza sighed and opened her eyes. ‘Right now, I'm very cross with her. But I don't know if I've ever hated anyone.'

‘You hate Hitler.'

‘Well, that's true.'

‘For what he did to Mother.'

‘For what he did to lots of people. Now go on and read. I can't remember how it starts.'

Rebecca began the opening chapter but stopped after the first paragraph.

‘I hate Aunt Bess,' she said.

‘You're too young to know if you hate anyone.'

‘No I'm not. And I do, I hate her. I hate her and I'm not sorry for hitting her.'

‘Well, if you're not sorry now then you will be,' Eliza said.

‘Why?'

‘Because you'll realise it was wrong. Are you going to keep reading or shall I do it myself?'

Rebecca continued then stopped when she reached the end of the page.

‘Liza?'

‘Yes, dearie?'

‘Will you grow tired of me?'

Eliza wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders. ‘I can't. It's against the law for sisters to grow tired of each other.'

‘It is not.'

‘Is too. Mr Attlee passed it through parliament just the other day.'

‘You're fibbing,' Rebecca giggled.

‘Am not. The king asked for it. The princesses had an argument and he wanted to make sure that – no matter what – they would always remain friends.'

‘Liar.'

‘Saw it in the papers.'

‘Well, I don't believe you.'

‘Well, I think you should keep reading.'

They shared a smile and Rebecca returned her attention to the book, reciting page after page as the train continued forward through the fog.

*

Eliza rummaged through her purse. All she had was £2 12s 8d. Pay day would never come after all.

‘I'm hungry, Eliza.'

‘I know.'

‘We didn't get dinner.'

‘I know.'

‘I haven't had anything to eat for ages!'

‘Hush!'

Mr Drewry appeared to have fallen asleep, and Eliza was afraid of waking him. Slowly, she rose, pressing her finger to her lips to keep Rebecca quiet. Her hand was on the carriage door when a train thundered past in the opposite direction. Mr Drewry shot up in his seat, using the stump of his missing arm to search for something at his side. When he couldn't reach, he looked at the missing limb as if seeing it for the first time. The panic only lasted a moment, already dissipating when he saw Eliza at the door.

‘Would it be all right if we went to the dining car?' Eliza asked, hoping he wouldn't notice they had already been leaving. Mr Drewry glanced at the floor then at the window, touching his hand to the glass.

‘Mr Drewry?'

‘Suit yourselves,' he said, keeping his gaze on the window.

Eliza thanked him then exited the compartment with Rebecca. They had just passed the five-hour mark of their journey and Eliza's legs were cramping, her back stiff. A headache was brewing and her stomach sent hunger pains up into her chest as her dry eyes itched. She wanted a bed – a double, no a king – where she and Rebecca could both stretch out and fall asleep and not wake for a very long time.

Instead, she stood in the dining car, Rebecca clinging to her arm for support as she pleaded with a waiter.

‘Please, sir. We didn't realise what time the kitchen closed. We'll take anything you have. It can be cold. I do have money. We'll pay for anything. Please. My poor little sister is famished.'

As they spoke, the train pulled into a station.
Swansea
, read the sign. On the platform was a telegram office.

‘How long will our stop be?' Eliza asked.

‘At least half an hour. We're changing engines here.'

‘Rebecca, wait here.'

‘Where are you—?'

‘If Mr Drewry comes, tell him I went to the toilets.'

Eliza ran out of the carriage and onto the platform.

‘Please, please be open,' she whispered to herself as she weaved her way through the crowd of disembarking passengers. The telegram office was indeed open. A bored young man waited behind the counter.

‘How much to send a message to London?' she asked, digging through her small purse.

‘Six pence per ten words.'

Eliza grabbed the form. Mr Drewry grabbed her arm. Rebecca stood outside the office, the suitcases beside her.

‘I . . . I was . . .'

‘We're changing trains.' He took the blank form from her hand and set it on the counter then pulled her from the office. Eliza looked for the young clerk, but he had disappeared.

On the platform, Mr Drewry shoved Eliza's suitcase towards her with his foot. It bounced against her shins. He picked up Rebecca's case and walked to the platform opposite. Eliza took Rebecca's hand and the other suitcase and went after him.

As they waited in the bitter cold for the connecting train, she glanced often at the telegram office. One message, that was all Peter needed and he would come running after her. How else would he be able to find her? And who would help Mrs Hodgkins carry her shopping, or look after Mr Pendleton's canary when he went to Blackpool? She was to meet Jessie on Saturday for tea. How long would she wait at the Corner House before deciding Eliza had abandoned her?

There was so much left unfinished and nothing she could do as their new train pulled into the station. Only a handful of passengers climbed aboard its four coaches. They settled into an empty compartment in the last car. Mr Drewry lapsed back into silence, but Eliza could see he was keeping a closer eye on them. Once they were seated, Rebecca elbowed her. In her hand was some cold ham and bread wrapped in newspaper.

‘When he saw Mr Drewry,' she whispered, ‘he said we could have it.'

Eliza grabbed a piece of the bread and took a bite, closing her eyes as she chewed slowly.

‘God bless the waiters,' she sighed.

*

Click-clack-clack
.

Eliza listened to the rhythm of the train as it carried them deeper into Wales. It was well past midnight. Usually, she would be home from work now.

Click-clack
-clack.

Rebecca was already asleep, but Eliza fought to remain awake. She wanted to stay alert. She could sleep when they arrived.

Click-clack-clack.

She had to keep an eye on Mr Drewry. She had to pay attention.

Click
-clack-clack.

She had to stay awake.

*

Rebecca did not scream. Even as Eliza shouted, Rebecca said nothing. Nor did she move. Eliza grabbed her, tried to push her up the stairs. Eliza did not want to look. All she could hear was her own voice, crying. All she could smell was dust. Dust and marrow liqueur, spreading across the cellar, the brown syrup seeping into the dirt floor. Dust and marrow and . . .

Her screams became the screeching of the train lurching to a stop. Eliza jolted awake and placed a hand to her throat. It was not bruised. Nor should it have been, she reminded herself.

‘Only a dream,' she whispered. Rebecca stared at her. Eliza looked away and saw that they had stopped at a dimly lit station.

Mr Drewry pulled their luggage down from the rack then carried Eliza's suitcase out of the cabin. Eliza took Rebecca's case in one hand and Rebecca's hand in the other then followed him onto the platform. As the train pulled away, Eliza realised they were the only ones to disembark. The tiny station had one sheltered waiting room where a solitary lantern hung above a rotting door. The name
Plentynunig
was painted in whitewash on an old wooden sign. Mr Drewry led them down a few creaking stairs that led to a patch of grass beside an unpaved road.

Across the way was a pub, a light still on despite the lateness of the hour. Mr Drewry headed directly for it. He set down the suitcase and rapped several times on the pub door. Eliza heard the bolts being thrown back. The door cracked open. A balding head appeared, saw Mr Drewry and nodded. The door then closed; the bolts slid back in place.

Mr Drewry picked up the suitcase and walked the girls back to the road.

‘Eliza,' Rebecca whispered. ‘I'm still hungry.'

‘Me too. I'm sure they'll have something for us when we arrive.' She squeezed her sister's hand. It was colder here than in London, and Eliza found herself pulling her coat tight around her. A chilling wind cut through the stillness of the night and a light mist coated the girls in fine droplets of rain. Eliza remembered when she was evacuated, how the Littletons had immediately filled her with Ovaltine and sponge cake and told her she was going to be just fine as she warmed herself by the fire. And she had been, until her evacuation ended.

Around the corner of the pub came an open-top carriage driven by the balding publican. He stopped the weary grey horse in front of the trio and hopped down. Mr Drewry handed the man some money then tossed the girls' luggage into the back.