Rock Me Gently (26 page)

I hugged myself as a chill wind swept over the sea. ‘I hope my mum can let me stay with her for a while. If not, I’ll probably have to go to another boarding school. But nowhere could be as bad as the convent, could it?’

Ruth looked at me. ‘I’ll feel lonely without you. Let’s make a pact to meet up one day when we’re grown up. We’ll have a God’s own beano and then we can talk about what’s happened and do something about it.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘We’ll meet in Trafalgar Square and eat a packet of cornflakes together.’ We both sighed at the thought.

The sea looked cold and black. Heavy lumps of seaweed, the occasional stick of wood, the odd broken beer bottle, rusty tin cans, a solitary old leather shoe, bits of plastic, corks and straws had washed up on the shore.

Grown-ups were so destructive. There was no kindness in them, not even towards nature.

I was too hungry to sleep. We huddled together for warmth in the shelter of a beach hut. The endless night slowly retreated. I awoke with a start, filled with dread, shivering and uncomfortable, unable to remember falling asleep. The dawn inched up, lighting the sky, streaming over the poisonous bottle-green sea, mottled with seaweed. The salt wind smarted on my lips.

Ruth was sitting up, staring out across the dark wash of water. She began to cough: a steady hack, hack, hack towards the sea. An old man went stooping down to the shore, very slowly, turning the stones, picking among the dry seaweed and shingle for whatever rubbish he could find. The gulls, which had stood like wax candles down on the scummy sand, rose winding and screaming in the sunlight. The old man picked up a boot and stowed it in his sack as the gulls swooped down on a broken crab - half vultures, half doves.

‘Let’s walk into town and buy some food,’ Ruth said, swivelling her eyes on me and continuing to cough.

‘With what?’

She jingled something in her pocket. Then with a grave gesture she extended a hand and, smiling, opened it slowly to my gaze. Two silver half-crown coins shone in her palm. ‘See, I’ve got five shillings. I’ve been saving it for a rainy day, but I didn’t know it was ever going to get this wet.’

Huge white clouds sagged and sailed in a blue sky. The stooped figure on the beach looked up at us as we left. We walked down flowering lanes, listening to the gab of birds. The high hedges were thick with dog roses, mostly a clear pink, sometimes white with yellow-gold centres. The roses were thickly entwined with wild honeysuckle trailing and weaving among the pink and gold. Neither of us had ever smelt or seen such wildflowers in so small a space.

‘We’ll have to decide later when to go back to the convent. Or if,’ said Ruth.

The convent. The convent. It was like a poison jetting through the nerves. Until that moment, it had seemed to recede from my thoughts and its influence upon me had seemed to wane, but now I felt empty, as though the day itself had lost its colour.

We wandered slowly into the town, which had still not awoken. Birds jabbered everywhere - from eaves, trees, on telegraph wires, rails and fences. We walked through the dozy streets like waifs who had emerged from the sea, shrugging off seaweed and water. We walked past old bow-fronted houses, their sea-view doors sealed tight. Trim gardens squatted tidily in neat rows along hilly streets.

I imagined eyes peering at us from behind net-curtained windows. Ruth laughed. She said she could hear someone snoring in one house.

‘It sounds just like a giant pig slobbering and snorting making the windows rattle.’

I managed a smile. ‘The beds shake.’

‘Getting up too early in the morning is like a pig’s tail. It’s twirly.’

A church clock struck faintly in the distance, like a sound from another world, but I didn’t count. The wind cascaded over us, sweeping time away.

The day was growing sultry, and in the windows of a shuttered baker’s shop loaves and cakes lay bleaching next to the sleeping form of a large tabby cat. To our surprise the shop was open and we bought some biscuits and bread rolls which we ate hungrily as we wandered through the quiet town. We couldn’t find a dairy, so we went into a newsagent’s shop and bought a big bottle of lemonade. The sun went in behind some clouds and left us to our jaded thoughts and the crumbs of our feast.

Up the street, outside a dilapidated public house, we smudged the pane of the window, white noses flattened, gazing at the sunlit bar. The gilded-lettered mirror behind the bar where wine and ale glasses shimmered flashed our own images back at us: two shabby strays. Even in the street the bar sent out whiffs of beer and stale cigarette smoke. At the back of the bar, the clock said twelve o’clock. Twelve o’clock was opening time. ‘I bet the hands of that clock have stayed at the same time for the last fifty years,’ said Ruth. ‘It’s always opening time in this pub.’

‘Like my Dad’s used to be.’

‘You’re too young and too early to be going in there!’ boomed a bone-rattling voice behind us. We turned, and saw a large policeman looking down at us. ‘Not running away, I hope?’ He smiled so widely it was a wonder his teeth didn’t drop out.

‘Morning, constable,’ Ruth smiled, imitating his smile with lots of teeth. ‘No, we haven’t run away. We’re visiting my aunt.’

‘You’d best come along and tell that to the sergeant at the station,’ he said in his buttoned, blue voice, and taking us both awkwardly by the hands he led us round the corner, up the stone stairs and into the little bare over-heated room where Justice supposedly waited.

‘Handcuff House,’ whispered Ruth to me mournfully.

Justice was a bald-headed sergeant trying to hide a tin of fruit drops behind a telephone. He showed his tartar-coated teeth in a fatherly smile and sent the constable to fetch two glasses of milk. Opening his desk drawer, he hastily pushed back a half-eaten sausage roll on a saucer and brought out a pad and pencil.

‘Names?’ he asked stabbing the paper fiercely. At Ruth’s reply of ‘Margaret Rutherford’, he raised his head and said sombrely, ‘I’m a very busy man and have no time for games.’

There were two trays on his desk marked In and Out, but the Out tray was empty and all the In tray held was a copy of a newspaper. Waving his pencil at Ruth, he said, ‘Listen, I’ve been a policeman for thirty years. Thirty years. I’m not Sherlock Holmes and all I need from you is the answer to certain questions. Now then, I’ll take a guess that you’re a couple of runaways from the convent. Don’t you girls know it’s unsafe to be roaming the streets on your own?

‘We’ll ring the convent up and say you’re safe. They’ll fetch you very soon. The nuns have enough to worry about without having to deal with runaway kids as well.’

The constable who placed two glasses of milk before us watched us closely, noticing when Ruth winced away from questions.

‘What made you run away? Playing truant, eh? Think how anxious your parents will be.’

‘I don’t have any,’ Ruth said.

That question went home. I pictured the Mother Superior’s eyes looking down on me accusingly. I began to cry.

‘Now, now, now,’ the sergeant said. ‘No need to get hysterical. That’s not going to do anybody any good now.’ He obviously didn’t know what to do.

‘Don’t you think it’s funny,’ the constable said, ‘that there haven’t been any reports of missing children from the convent?’

‘They think they’re tucked up in bed.’

‘You’re scared, aren’t you?’ the constable said. ‘What scared you?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Somebody scared you, didn’t they?’

‘I’m scared of the nuns,’ I said. I felt a catch in my throat, for even to speak the word ‘scared’ was to feel it, and summon up the awkward questions, the nuns, St Joseph’s cupboard and the shadows of the night. The responsibility for keeping it all hushed up weighed on me heavily, making me miserable with the unfairness of life. I didn’t want to keep any more secrets - I was finished once and for all with grown-ups. Never, never again would I share their companionship or trust them.

Ruth was staring at me, begging, pleading. ‘No, sergeant, I told you, we’re visiting my aunt.’ Her voice wavered out unconvincingly. ‘She’s ill. My friend’s crying because she wants to get back to her.’

The sergeant rolled his eyes. ‘I think perhaps we’d best find a police car to drive you both back to the convent.’

Ruth looked frantically around the police station. ‘Wait. There she is.’ She pointed to a thin woman standing outside. ‘There’s my aunt, she’s come to look for us.’ The smile returned to her face, the show of teeth. She ran outside, waving and yelling. The woman raised a small gloved fist, yawned gently, tip-tapping her open mouth and looked blankly at Ruth.

‘She doesn’t seem to know you, does she? I think you’d best wait here while I go and speak to her.’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ Ruth said.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ said the policeman, grabbing her arm. ‘You both wait here.’

But we were already through the door as he approached the woman, Ruth glanced at me quickly, and we both charged across the forecourt with our heads down. A car horn blared as we ran across the main road, a car swerved to avoid us, and I glimpsed the angry man at the wheel, and the frightened face of the woman beside him.

My legs were shaking as we passed a parade of shops, and my hands felt strangely light, as though I’d lost some vital ballast. We ran past fish-and-chip shops, stationers selling newspapers, dingy hotels with open doors. Only when a woman at a bus stop carrying a parcel called out to us, did I realise that I was making a lowing sound, like a sick animal. Ruth and I didn’t exchange any words; we were desperate to keep moving through the streets until we could find somewhere to hide. We caught up with a knot of children running away from something or somebody, laughing as they ran; we were whirled with them round a turning, then abandoned.

We couldn’t have been more lost, but Ruth hadn’t the stamina to keep on. At first I feared that someone would stop us; after an hour I hoped someone would. We couldn’t find our way back to the police station or the convent, and in any case I was more afraid than ever of the nuns. I felt like a terrible coward for almost breaking my promise to Ruth and spilling the beans to that police constable at the station. We wandered aimlessly through back streets. Families were sunning themselves in doorways, the rubbish bins had been put out and bits of rotting vegetables were squashed on the pavement. Further up the street, a washing-line with two crucified shirts fluttered in the breeze. The air was full of voices, but we were cut off; these people were strangers and would always now be strangers; we were marked by the nuns’ behaviour and shied away from them.

We sidled past another police constable, a young man who was chewing nervously at the chinstrap of his helmet as he directed the traffic. He started to walk towards us. We decided we didn’t trust him; he wasn’t a match for the nuns. Ruth grabbed my hand and yanked me down a side street.

‘I don’t think he’s following us,’ Ruth gasped.

‘Look again!’

‘Don’t run. Just walk normal.’

‘I think we should run.’

‘Come on,’ said Ruth. ‘Just keep walking.’

We veered round a corner and came to a large cornfield. My feet were tired by pavements. We did not speak or look or stop, but plunged on through the cornstalks. Our feet made swoosh noises going through it and then another noise burst in front of us. We stopped as a long bird shot up out of the corn, almost brushing against our faces. I could feel its wings beating. We watched it flyaway and, when we thought we were safe, we sat down in the quiet field and looked at each other.

‘We’re up the creek,’ said Ruth.

I glanced over at the tall, dense rows of corn, the blue sky above. Insects crept in the dust, their backs and heads powdery with dirt.

‘I think maybe we should hide again tonight.’

‘Hide? Hide where?’ Ruth looked around.

‘Anywhere,’ I said. ‘We’ll lie low. When it’s dark enough and late enough we’ll slip away.’

‘No, Judith. We’re bound to be caught eventually. I’ve decided to go to Guildford and find my godmother. I’d rather die than stay in that prison camp. In fact, I have to go before I do die.’

‘Can I come with you? I’ll be no trouble, I promise.’

She looked at me without smiling, but the severe mask was changed, softened into a sort of regretful relieved exhaustion. She looked suddenly very relaxed and tired, like someone who had travelled a long way.

She said, ‘A person only has a chance to get clean away if they’re by themselves. You’d better go back to the convent. Your mum is bound to take you away from that dump when she sees the newspapers. Remember the old Latin motto:
Illegitimus non
carborundum?’
*
“

Her words touched me so poignantly that I was even more determined to cling to her.

‘If you’re not going back, neither am I! I’ll be no good without you. What’s the matter? You’ve got guts, haven’t you?’

Abruptly, I stopped. What was I saying? This was Ruth, one of the nicest, bravest people I knew. She was just being sensible on my behalf. But something told me that sensible made no sense in this situation.

Ruth looked at me intently. I could tell she was hurt. She shook her head and then stood up. A flock of birds exploded from the field. ‘Come on, I’m so hungry I could eat the dates off a calendar. See them red berries over there.’

‘They look scrummy,’ I said.

‘Well, if you eat them you’ll get guts-ache and die. They’re deadly nightshade and they’re poisonous. Let’s find a blackberry bush, but don’t eat anything till you’ve shown me. Look, there’s a good one,’ she said pointing to a hedgerow dripping with blackberries. ‘You pick there, I’m off to find a patch of my own.’

An hour later, after scratching our arms and legs and staining our hands and mouths with juice, we sat down in the grass and passed the bottle of lemonade that we had bought earlier back and forth.

‘Ruth,’ I said softly, ‘I’m sorry.’

She burped and, putting her hand up to her mouth, said mechanically, ‘Manners! I blame the radishes.’

‘I still think that maybe we should hide for another night,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘I’m telling you, no! The police won’t give up until we’re caught and then there will be hell to pay.’