The Lost Days of Summer (12 page)

Nell plumped herself down on the sofa and regarded the contents of the room with delight. She would have a grand time exploring up here! She reached for the nearest books, banged them together to get rid of the dust, and examined the titles. The two largest were leather-covered editions of
Bleak House
and
David Copperfield
, the second of which she happened to have read at school, so she guessed that the other too would be exciting and enjoyable. Unfortunately it was also rather large, which meant it would be difficult to hide from her aunt’s inquisitive eye, and Nell had no intention of letting the older woman know that she had visited the attic.

A little further down the pile she discovered two slimmer volumes:
The Farming Year
by Harold Ewart and
A Shepherd’s Calendar
by J. K. Ross. Flicking through the dusty pages, she realised that both volumes were crammed with fascinating information for anyone eager to learn about farming. Smiling to herself, she tucked both slim volumes inside her sensible woollen vest, a garment her aunt had handed on to her and which she had regarded with scorn until she came to appreciate its unglamorous but delightful warmth. Now, turning back to the rest of the room, she thought smugly how surprised Auntie Kath would be when she began to air the knowledge culled from the two books.

Having selected reading matter sufficient for at least the next few days, Nell returned to the sofa, placed both volumes of Dickens on the cushion beside her, and examined the rest of the room. Broken chairs, cushions worn threadbare, an ancient sewing machine, cracked crockery and an enormous number of boxes filled to overflowing with old clothes and other such things met her interested gaze. There were tennis rackets with broken strings and cricket bats with their handles unravelling. Children’s picture books rubbed shoulders with farm ledgers so old that they had all but disintegrated. With a wriggle of sheer excitement, Nell pulled one of the big wooden tea chests towards her, and soon discovered that there were a great many toys up here, boxes of them, as though each generation, having tired of their playthings, had banished them to the attic without apparently considering that younger members of the family might enjoy them. There were dolls with perfect porcelain faces, teddies so worn and patched that Nell could see how dearly they had once been loved, train sets, model cars, picture books, paint boxes, coloured crayons – oh, all sorts.

Rummaging through one box, Nell unearthed a doll’s china tea set so delicately lovely that she gasped, remembering the cheap celluloid ones sold by the stallholders on the Scottie. Owain and his sisters – or perhaps she should have said ancestors, Nell thought – had indeed been fortunate. There was a doll’s house too, but it was empty, and Nell was rifling through a large box which seemed to contain all manner of things – lead soldiers, chess men, playing cards – when she came across more books. She opened the first one and it proved to be a photograph album. Dull stuff, Nell thought to herself, flicking over the pages. Old men and women in the clothes of a bygone era; occasional portraits, very stiff and formal, of young men or women in uniform, standing self-consciously before potted plants, or with one hand resting on the head of an embarrassed-looking dog.

Nell laid the album down and fished out a brightly decorated object which she could see further down the box. It appeared to be a telescope and was very heavy, so she carried it across to the nearest window, knelt down, and pointed it at the distant white-covered meadows.

Immediately, a picture formed, though not the one she expected to see. Strange geometrical shapes, brilliant colours which reminded her of the stained glass she had sometimes seen in church windows, red, green, yellow, blue . . . every time she moved the telescope even a little, the colours and shapes changed.

Nell took the telescope away from her eye and stared at it. It was very heavy, and very brightly coloured on the outside as well as inside. She jiggled it thoughtfully in her palm, and then the penny dropped. It was a kaleidoscope! One of the cousins had had one; she had played with it when she was six or seven and had been intrigued by the variety of tiny pictures it could make. Even when one of the older boys had explained about mirrors and reflected light, she had been intrigued, and always dived on the toy to have first go when she visited the cousins’ house.

She turned back to the window once more and this time saw something she had missed on first examining the view. Very distant, but clearly defined against the white of the snow and the dullness of the sky, was a line of dark slate blue, fading to grey. It was the sea! Staring, she remembered the plans she and Bryn had made to visit the coast when summer came. Knowing that he was likely to be aboard ship when the fine weather arrived, he had promised to tell her the best and quickest way from Ty Hen to Church Bay, which was his favourite beach. Nell drew in an ecstatic breath. Bryn’s descriptions had made her long to know the bay as he did, but of course it would be far more fun if they could go there together. Putting the kaleidoscope down, she told herself that ships go to and from their home ports pretty regularly; surely Bryn would be given enough leave to enable them to spend time together? It would be rather mean to visit the bay without him when he had so patently longed to show it to her.

She had not yet investigated even a tenth of the boxes awaiting her attention, but some slight sound from downstairs came to her ears and she rose hastily from her knees, prepared to run like a rabbit if it was her aunt returning. However, a little thought convinced her that Auntie Kath could not possibly be back already. Listening hard, she realised that there had been no noise of any sort save for the creaking of the floorboards when she moved in order to see more clearly through the low window. It was my imagination, she told herself. I knew I shouldn’t be up here, so guilt made me believe I was about to be discovered. But why should I worry, anyway? Auntie Kath told proper lies about the attic when she said first that it was full of rubbish, and next that it was riddled with woodworm and death watch beetles. They were real untruths, not just little white lies. Still, it’s probably about time I went down and got dinner on the go. I’ve not even peeled the spuds yet!

She thought she would take one last look at the kaleidoscope before leaving. She picked it up and turned the eyepiece. It was rather stiff, as though it did not want to be turned to its full extent, but she persevered and suddenly it moved, and she was looking, not at geometrical shapes or brilliant colours, but at a photograph, brown with age, a photograph of a young man!

Nell was so surprised that she nearly dropped the kaleidoscope; what on earth had happened? But now that she thought back, she remembered that it was possible to insert something other than coloured glass into the instrument. She and Benny, one of her cousins, had unscrewed the end piece of their kaleidoscope and tipped out some of the contents, replacing them with flower petals and small leaves to create their own pictures. Presumably, whoever had owned this toy had done the same. Only whoever had done it had made a far better job of it than she and Benny had managed, for the coloured glass did not intrude upon the photograph, and vice versa.

Thoughtfully, Nell gave the kaleidoscope a shake, twisted the eyepiece to the left and saw once more the glittering glass. Then she twisted it to the right, but for some reason the photograph of the young man would not appear again, and after a couple more unsuccessful tries Nell replaced the kaleidoscope in its box, covered it with the photograph album and pulled up the sleeve of her jersey to examine Bryn’s watch. Heavens, she had better get back to the kitchen or Eifion’s dinner would be late indeed.

She was about to leave the attic when the movement of the two slim volumes hidden in her underwear reminded her that she could take something else with her provided it was small enough to be easily hidden. She would have liked the kaleidoscope, but it was a bit too big. She gazed round her, spoilt for choice as her mother would have said. What should it be? Oh, what should it be? Her chances of revisiting the attic were ruled by her aunt’s absence . . . she might not be able to climb that narrow, ladder-like stair again until summer came and her aunt visited friends or went into the village or did whatever else she did when the weather became clement. Should she take another book, or one of the games? Too big, impossible to hide. She could not play chess, but she could play snap, or gin rummy, so the cards . . . but to play rummy, or even snap, one needed an opponent. She dithered, eyeing the books wistfully. If only
Bleak House
were not so big! But perhaps she could sneak up here at night when her aunt was asleep, and have a crafty read, or look for the photograph in the kaleidoscope again; or even risk taking the Dickens and hide it deep in her feather bed during daylight hours.

Abruptly, however, her mind decided for her. Her hand shot out and she grabbed a pack of miniature cards. She could play patience without involving anyone else and she was sure that other card games would occur to her once she had had time to think. Nell stuffed the cards down to join the farming books hidden in her vest and set off down the steps, closing the trapdoor behind her. On the landing, she nipped into her bedroom and hid the books and cards in her underwear drawer, telling herself that her aunt was unlikely to so much as enter the room. In one of her more relaxed moments, she had told Nell that everyone needed a place of their own where they would not be disturbed, and Nell appreciated her aunt’s thoughtfulness. Having disposed of her booty, she went down to the kitchen where she began preparations for dinner with an unpleasantly thumping heart.

Eventually, however, her heart resumed its usual steady beat and she laid the table before popping the meat pie into the oven. She lifted the hob and pulled the potato pan over the flame, but she still felt as though she had escaped from something unpleasant; from what, exactly? Was there a horrid secret waiting to be discovered, such as had confronted Bluebeard’s sixth wife – or was it his tenth? – when she entered the forbidden room? If her aunt found she had been in the attic she would think that her niece was a nosy, ungrateful girl and probably tell her off, but she would come round, particularly if Nell spun her a yarn about a bird’s being trapped. She could even say she had released a starling, which had fallen down the chimney, no doubt addle-witted by the terrible cold. No, not the chimney; there was no fireplace in the attic so far as she could remember. She would have to invent a broken slate, or a window not properly closed. Either would do at a pinch. Nell told herself that it was all very well to say that her aunt had lied – she had – but in going directly against her aunt’s wishes she had done wrong, and done it knowingly, furthermore. But if Ty Hen was to be her home until the war was over, then she should be able to explore it without guilt.

She stuck a fork into a potato, then checked that the meat pie was warming through. She made some gravy and brought the milk and the Bird’s custard powder from their place in the pantry, then fetched a bottle of her aunt’s home brew for Eifion and a glass of lemonade for herself. Do stop nagging me, Nell Whitaker, she told herself as she checked that she had done all that was necessary. Remember, Auntie Kath knew there were books in the attic, because who else but she would have sown the place with mothballs? I shouldn’t have
had
to trespass if she’d popped up there and brought me a couple of books to read, or even some of those old farming magazines. I don’t intend to let her know that I’ve been in the attic, though, and I mean to go there again whenever I’ve a mind, she concluded as the back door creaked open and Eifion’s ruddy face appeared round it. He grinned at her, displaying bare gums.

‘Dinner ready yet, Miss Nell? It’s desperate cold out here.’

‘It’ll be ready by the time you’ve shed your coat and cleaned up,’ Nell said cheerfully. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘Honest to God, Eifion, I don’t know how you do it! You must have a clock in your inside!’ She repeated aloud the words she had thought earlier that day. ‘I’ve noticed that at five to one you’re scraping the snow off your boots, at three to you’re hanging your coat to dry in front of the range, at one to you’re washing—’

‘That’s enough, you cheeky young varmint,’ Eifion said, but Nell saw he was grinning. ‘At one o’clock you should be dishin’ up, not argufying wi’ your betters.’

‘I am, I am,’ Nell said, draining the vegetables over the sink. ‘My, doesn’t that meat pie smell good? One of these days I’m going to persuade my aunt to give me more cookery lessons. My mam was always too busy; we had shop stuff as a rule.’

Eifion sat himself down at the table and, when his full plate was before him, began to eat, not fast but with obvious pleasure. ‘Shop grub is rubbish,’ he said when he had swallowed his first mouthful. ‘If you can get your aunt to show you how to cook like her, your husband will be a lucky man.’

‘First catch your hare,’ Nell said, grinning. ‘Some chance I have of meeting a husband, stuck away out here.’

‘Oh, there’s fellers not that far away, as you’ll discover when summer comes,’ Eifion said. He took a long draught of his beer. ‘Any one of ’em would be pleased to wed a cook like your aunt, even if she was ugly as a pan o’ worms.’

‘Thank you, you are too kind,’ Nell said sarcastically, helping herself to another potato. ‘I’ve a good mind not to tell you what’s for afters.’

Auntie Kath returned safely from her trip to Valley, though she was rather later than she had intended, and despite telling herself over and over that her aunt was a very independent woman and would not do anything so foolish as to fall into a snowdrift or break her leg Nell had got rather worried as it began to grow dark. However, her aunt came breezily into the kitchen just as she and Eifion were sitting down to a cup of tea and an enormous pile of bread and butter, and pooh-poohed any suggestion that she might have run into trouble.

‘It all went just as I hoped, and Tommy reckons the stuff will sell like hot cakes,’ she said complacently, taking off her coat and boots and sinking into a chair. ‘Ah, you’re a good girl, our Nell; a nice cuppa is just what the doctor ordered.’