Time to Say Goodbye (13 page)

‘Rufus is just fine; in fact he’s curled up by your satchel,’ he said breezily. He looked hard at Imogen and the taunting grin softened into doubt. ‘Are you all right? If you’ve had enough we’ll go down together; me first so you don’t have to look at the drop. It wasn’t nice of me to tease you. Not many girls would have even got past the rope, let alone reached this far up.’

Imogen longed to take him up on his offer, for she had felt dizzy a couple of times, but having got so far she realised that she did want to see the view, so she shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, Woody, but I reckon having got this far I might as well go the rest of the way. Only if you wouldn’t mind coming up behind me . . .’

‘Sure thing,’ Woody said, and together they finished the climb and reached a sunny spot from where gaps in the foliage enabled them to see for miles, and for a moment Imogen simply sat on the branch, catching her breath, marvelling how Woody had managed to discover such a perfect lookout. But then she saw the view, and it was every bit as good as Woody had promised. Below them, tiny aeroplanes were scattered over the green grass; tiny men moved back and forth; there were huts with corrugated iron roofs, office buildings and no doubt air raid shelters, though these would be underground. It was a world in miniature, Imogen thought with wonder. Neither said anything for a few minutes, but then Woody heaved a sigh and pointed up into the blinding blue of the sky above. ‘I know I told you the lookout was at the top of the tree, but the upper branches are too whippy for comfort,’ he admitted with a wry grin. ‘Still, it’s pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I would. I can’t imagine how you came to find it because you don’t realise it’s the tallest tree around until you’re up here, but if I had a hat I’d take it off to you,’ Imogen said, and meant every word.

Woody grinned. ‘Luck,’ he admitted. ‘And I read an old diary, written by one of Mrs Pilgrim’s sons – she has two – when he was twelve or so, which mentioned a great view from the tallest beech. Only there was no airfield in those days, of course. If you can help me to nail some planks across the branches to form a solid wooden floor then it’ll be as good as any tree house, only a whole lot higher.’

Imogen stared at the model airfield until her eyes watered and she had to look away into the shadow cast by the uppermost branches. ‘I’m game,’ she said. ‘Who climbed up first, you or Josh?’ she asked idly after a few moments. ‘You don’t seem to have any fear of heights at all; I suppose Josh must be the same.’

She was looking at Woody as she spoke and noticed the appreciable pause before he answered, and when he did so he was grinning. ‘Oh, well, I can see I’ll have to tell you the truth because if I don’t you’ll find it out anyway. Josh hates heights. He doesn’t think much of tree climbing, either. He’s a great guy, as the Yanks say, but he’s never been up to the lookout . . . never even seen the airfield. So if the Huns do invade he’ll have to do his sniping from the ground.’ He looked at her, a grin hovering. ‘There’s a nice little hut down by the river which some kids made out of willow wands; I reckon he can hide in there and pick the enemy off as they cross the river.’

‘Hey! It wasn’t kids who made the willow cabin, it was us girls, and if anyone’s going to hide in it to snipe at the Jerries it’ll be us,’ Imogen said. ‘Well, it’ll be Rita and me, because Debby wouldn’t hurt a fly, not even a German one.’

‘She would if she became a member of the resistance group I’m thinking of forming,’ Woody said. ‘As for your den by the river, it’s really good. You must tell me how you wove the wands to form the walls and roof sometime. And now we’d better be getting down, because I reckon it takes longer than going up.’

‘Right,’ Imogen said. ‘You go first as far as the rope.’

It was several minutes later before her hands closed on the rope once more, and she saw Rufus’s face, not tiny as a wild pansy but its normal size, staring up at her with what looked very like anxiety in his golden-brown eyes. He was certainly delighted to see her, prancing around and uttering little yips of excitement, and Imogen was glad to collapse on the soft moss and clasp the dog in her arms, for it hid the fact – she hoped – that she was shaking all over and could not have stood up to save her life.

Seconds after she had landed on terra firma Woody joined her. He patted her shoulder, and sank down beside her. ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘Tell you what, you should have been a boy. Any of that lemonade left?’

‘No, it’s all gone. But Auntie put a couple of barley sugars in the front flap thing, so we’ll have one each whilst we recover,’ Imogen said. She giggled. ‘Isn’t it odd? You tell me I should have been a boy and I know it’s meant as a compliment, but if I said you should have been a girl you’d be mad as fire!’

Woody, accepting the barley sugar, laughed with her. ‘Yeah, it’s a funny old world,’ he agreed. He peered upward through the branches. ‘Look, the sun’s beginning to sink, and I reckon it really is time we were heading home. We might as well walk together as far as this Linnet place. Aren’t you lucky to have an auntie willing to take you in? I reckon that’s why they allowed you to be evacuated to a pub, because it’s the first time I’ve ever heard of kids going to licensed premises.’

They had made their way out of the beech wood and were skirting a pasture where a couple of horses grazed. Imogen chuckled. ‘It’s plain you’re a newcomer to the district,’ she commented. ‘Auntie isn’t any relation to me or Debby and Rita; she’s really Miss Marcy, but everyone calls her Auntie. I
think
it’s because she and her niece Jill run the pub together, and since Jill is her real niece she’s probably always called her Auntie, and everyone else follows suit. Tell you what, if you don’t mind going a tiny bit out of your way you can come into the Canary and Linnet and meet Auntie and Jill for yourself. You’ll like them; they’re two of the nicest people I know. But tell me about yourself. Do you have brothers and sisters? And though you do a pretty good Scouse accent, I don’t believe you’re from Liverpool. Where do you come from when there isn’t a war?’

‘Southampton; and I’m an only child,’ Woody said briefly. ‘But ports are dangerous places in wartime, which is why the whole school was evacuated, even the masters. Me and Josh have been best friends ever since we started at St Hilliers, and of course it’s a boarding school, so I didn’t see that much of my parents except during the hols. Dad’s in the Navy and my mother’s wrapped up in local affairs, so I don’t see much of them even then, but by a great piece of good luck Josh lives next door so the pair of us do just about everything together.’ He looked enquiringly across at her. ‘You?’

‘I
am
from Liverpool, the youngest of five, two brothers and three sisters; they’re all much older than me and living away from home.’ She pointed to the horses, who were coming over to see if the children had carrots or sugar lumps. ‘Wish I had a pony,’ she said. ‘The Pilgrims have several horses; perhaps one day they’ll teach us to ride them.’ She sighed deeply and hitched her satchel higher up her shoulders. ‘Wonder what Rita and Debby are doing now. They were going to the market too; wouldn’t it be odd if they’d met your Josh?’

When the high-sided cart, pulled by Magnum the great shire horse, drew up outside the Canary and Linnet, Debby and Rita were ready and waiting. Debby had never ridden in the farm cart, but Rita assured her that it would be a delightful experience. Jill had decided to come along with them as well, leaving Jacky and Herbert to look after the pub. Auntie had announced her intention of buying some soft drinks for the bar, if she could find any, and Jill had a list of groceries – mainly cooking ingredients – which she hoped she might be able to purchase in the larger town.

Debby and Rita had come along for various reasons, mostly to buy anything they could find in the way of sweets, since they seldom had a chance to spend their pocket money in the sparsely stocked village shop. Clambering into the cart behind Jill and Auntie, and greeting Mrs Pilgrim, they took their seats on the wooden ledge which ran along the inside of the cart and prepared to enjoy the ride. Mrs Pilgrim was an essential user, so had a petrol allowance, but the old Morris Minor was so small that when Mrs Pilgrim shopped she was unable to take casual passengers, which made the trip into town a rare treat.

Rita settled herself comfortably, patting the blue gingham skirt of her best dress and adjusting the angle of her panama hat, and Debby noticed Auntie and Jill watching her friend with amused smiles. Rita looked up and caught the amusement on Auntie’s face and guessed the cause. ‘You never know who we might meet in town,’ she said gaily. ‘Oh, I do like an outing! And I like looking neat and wearing my best dress, ’cos we don’t often get the chance at the Linnet, do we?’

Auntie smiled rather grimly. ‘All you’re likely to meet is a family of pigs with a net over them so’s they can’t escape, or a couple of rabbits, their noses wiffling at you through chicken wire,’ she observed. A sudden thought seemed to strike her. ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered; I suppose you’re fishing for one of the lads at Hemblington Hall.’ She made a tutting sound. ‘You’re starting young, my girl.’

The cart swung into motion and Rita, who had been straightening up indignantly at such a suggestion, squeaked and clutched her hat. ‘I don’t care about boys; boys are stupid,’ she said scornfully. ‘All they think about is playing football or whacking cattle with sticks. I don’t like boys and nor does Debby, do you Debby?’

Debby had been writing a shopping list before the cart had picked them up and now she bent her head and examined it. ‘I don’t know any boys,’ she mumbled. ‘But I expect they’re all right, really.’ She too was wearing her best cotton frock and Jill had marked the occasion by tying back the soft, dark brown curls with a piece of satin ribbon, so she felt her appearance would not let the side down.

As the cart swung into the road, Mrs Pilgrim shook the reins and adjured Magnum to increase his pace. ‘Better get a move on,’ she remarked to her passengers, ‘’cos we’ve a deal of shopping to do before lunch.’

Auntie turned to smile at the children. ‘I hope you’re bringing good appetites to market as well as those fancy dresses, because I mean to take you both to the King’s Head for meat and potato pie and chips. You too, Mrs Pilgrim. If it wasn’t wartime someone would be selling ices, but I doubt they’ll do so today, hot though it is.’

‘I say, thanks, Auntie,’ Rita said in an awed voice. ‘I wondered why you only made a packed lunch for Imogen.’ She grinned delightedly at Debby. ‘Wait till we tell poor Immy that we’ve had a proper grown-up lunch at the King’s Head! She’ll be mad as fire.’

Auntie and Jill both chuckled, but Debby looked up and shook her head. ‘She won’t be mad at all, she’ll just say “Lucky old you” and start telling us what a wonderful day she’s had,’ she said. ‘Not everyone is like you, Rita. You shouldn’t always criticise, it’s not nice.’

Auntie’s eyebrows shot up at this remark from the gentle Debby, but Jill gave a subdued cheer. ‘Well done, you,’ she said, pointing at Debby, and then, turning to Rita: ‘Never judge others by yourself, Rita. Debby is quite right: there isn’t a mean bone in Imogen’s body; she’ll not grudge you your day out, I promise you. And there are nice boys and nasty ones, just as there are nice and nasty girls.’

Debby, watching, noticed Rita’s cheeks flush at the reproof and burst into speech before Rita had a chance to reply. ‘Jill’s right. My brother was nice – he was ever so kind . . .’

‘Oh, you!’ Rita interrupted scornfully. ‘Brothers are different; they’re family, and you have to like family whether you want to or not. Look at poor Immy with two older brothers and three older sisters. I suppose she likes them . . . not that she mentions them often.’

Jill interrupted. ‘I think we’ve had enough talk about relatives,’ she said gaily, and Debby, who had ducked her head, looked up quickly, then reached out and squeezed Jill’s hand.

‘Where will we go when we reach the town?’ she asked, and was glad to hear her voice was steady. ‘I’d like to go round the market; if I’ve got enough money I might even buy a pet. Could I, Auntie?’

‘Ooh, I’d like that,’ Rita said at once. ‘Not a chick, but perhaps a duck – a duckling rather – to swim on the pond which the RAF men are going to dig for us. I’d love a duckling of my own.’ She turned to Jill. ‘Laurie and Dave did offer to dig a pond out for us, didn’t they? I’m sure they won’t have forgotten.’

‘Or a rabbit,’ Debby said softly, following her own train of thought. ‘I do love Pandora the piglet, but she isn’t cuddly. A rabbit or a guinea pig would be nice.’

Chapter Five

WHEN THEY REACHED
the market Mrs Pilgrim unloaded three of her passengers, Auntie reminded the girls that they were to meet at noon outside the King’s Head, and then she and Mrs Pilgrim drove off to the feed merchant’s. Jill was just suggesting that Debby and Rita might like to go round the indoor market where poultry, rabbits, guinea pigs and various other small creatures were being sold when a familiar voice hailed them, and Debby looked up and smiled as Laurie came towards them.

‘Well, fancy seeing you,’ Jill said, and Debby realised that there was no surprise in Jill’s voice, or in the glowing face she turned towards Laurie. ‘I know you said you’d try to come into town today, but I thought you couldn’t possibly arrive until after lunch.’

‘Special dispensation,’ Laurie said breezily. ‘The Hurricane needs some work on her before we can take off tonight, and I’ve been flying pretty continually lately, so I had a word with my squadron leader, and provided I’m back on the station by seven o’clock I should be okay.’ He tucked Jill’s hand into his arm as he spoke and Debby smiled to herself.

Rita had commented only the previous evening, as the girls got ready for bed, that she rather thought Jill had her eye on the handsome young pilot officer. But Imogen had disagreed. ‘You’re wrong,’ she had said loftily. ‘He’s too old for her. Why, Jill’s only seventeen, and Laurie’s really old, twenty-two or three at least, I should think.’

‘Oh, you. Just because you think the sun shines out of Jill, no one else is good enough for her,’ Rita had said scoffingly. ‘Besides, she’s not even pretty. Oh, I don’t deny she’s ever so nice . . .’