kilt, thick knitted socks.
“So, does that mean I’m…” She blinked at Pete, then at her own hands, turning them over. Pete knew what she was thinking.
“…a ghost?” they both whispered together.
“Wonder if I died in an air raid?” Beth’s voice was tiny. She shrugged. “Suppose that means I didn’t go away after all. Hurray!” Beth managed a watery smile. “So I’m a ghost. BOO!” She flung her arms up at Pete, but he didn’t flinch.
“You’re too real,” he said, “and look –” Pete poked Beth’s arm, “– my hand doesn’t pass through you. And I bet you can feel this.” Pete poked again, harder.
“Ouch, you!”
“See? A real ghost wouldn’t feel that. And you’re not even scary.”
“Know a lot of scarier ghosts down in London, do you?” Beth flicked her plait.
“Seen hundreds on TV actually,” said Pete.
“On what?” Beth’s mouth was down-turned.
“Television? Telly? It’s this big flat electronic—”
Beth flapped her hand at Pete to interrupt. “Wait; I’ve heard of that! I have. You switch it on and it heats up so you can watch the pictures in your house instead of going to the Pictures. It’s coming to Scotland one day.”
“It has. Was invented here. John Logie Baird.”
“Who?” Beth scoffed. “I think you just like making things up, silly.”
Pete shook his head. “You can watch all the filmsyou want, play games…” Pete stopped talking. Where to start with the technology he could tell Beth about? She’d definitely accuse him of making things up if he went down that road!
“You listening? Yoo-hoo!” Beth was snapping her fingers. “I said even if I could watch a film at home I’d rather go to the Pictures.”
“I do that too,” Pete said. He added, “with Dad,” instead of adding, “to the IMAX.” Explaining that would be waaay too complicated right now: 3D, surround sound, special specs…
“We go every Saturday. D’you go? To the funnies?”
“I wish. Just special occasions.”
Beth was looking sorry for Pete. “I’m there twice a week,” she said. “Me and my friends.” Pete noticed her lip tremble. “I mean the ones who haven’t—”
Pete interrupted, “You’re lucky. I’ve to swim every Saturday.” For a minute he could feel his own lip go. “Well, I used to…”
“Funny,” Beth said, although neither of them looked like laughing. “You’ve just come and I’m leaving. Tomorrow.” She shook her head. “Up north till the air raids stop or someone kills Hitler.”
“Is that why you keep crying?” asked Pete. He wanted to add that the war finishes in 1945 and Hitler kills himself, but he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure of either fact.
“I hear you through the wall,” he said instead, and was about to add, but I don’t understand why cos Dad said your house was bombed , but Beth’s face was bright.
“D’you hear my ‘Skye Boat Song’? Been learning it for the school concert next month.” She sat back onher heels, sighed all the way down to her toes. “Except I won’t be in it now. Mummy sent me down to find a trunk.”
As Pete watched Beth howling into her hands yet again, he was glad he hadn’t told her what happened to her house. This time, when he went to pat her shoulder, she didn’t pull away, so he kept patting till she gave a deep, snottery and very ungirly snuffle.
“You want to see my special things Mummy packed?” Beth wiped her nose on her sleeve and scrabbled backwards through the tunnel. Seconds later she returned pushing a shoebox across the floor towards Pete.
“Open it, silly. Don’t worry; it’s not shoes,” Beth tutted, lifting the lid herself before Pete could do it.
At the top of the box lay a red cotton napkin, edged with gold thread. Beth unfolded it to reveal a tiny elephant.
“That better not be ivory.” Pete ran his finger over a delicate carved tusk.
“Course it is, silly. It’s from Africa,” Beth snorted.
“But you’re not allowed to kill
“So, does that mean I’m…” She blinked at Pete, then at her own hands, turning them over. Pete knew what she was thinking.
“…a ghost?” they both whispered together.
“Wonder if I died in an air raid?” Beth’s voice was tiny. She shrugged. “Suppose that means I didn’t go away after all. Hurray!” Beth managed a watery smile. “So I’m a ghost. BOO!” She flung her arms up at Pete, but he didn’t flinch.
“You’re too real,” he said, “and look –” Pete poked Beth’s arm, “– my hand doesn’t pass through you. And I bet you can feel this.” Pete poked again, harder.
“Ouch, you!”
“See? A real ghost wouldn’t feel that. And you’re not even scary.”
“Know a lot of scarier ghosts down in London, do you?” Beth flicked her plait.
“Seen hundreds on TV actually,” said Pete.
“On what?” Beth’s mouth was down-turned.
“Television? Telly? It’s this big flat electronic—”
Beth flapped her hand at Pete to interrupt. “Wait; I’ve heard of that! I have. You switch it on and it heats up so you can watch the pictures in your house instead of going to the Pictures. It’s coming to Scotland one day.”
“It has. Was invented here. John Logie Baird.”
“Who?” Beth scoffed. “I think you just like making things up, silly.”
Pete shook his head. “You can watch all the filmsyou want, play games…” Pete stopped talking. Where to start with the technology he could tell Beth about? She’d definitely accuse him of making things up if he went down that road!
“You listening? Yoo-hoo!” Beth was snapping her fingers. “I said even if I could watch a film at home I’d rather go to the Pictures.”
“I do that too,” Pete said. He added, “with Dad,” instead of adding, “to the IMAX.” Explaining that would be waaay too complicated right now: 3D, surround sound, special specs…
“We go every Saturday. D’you go? To the funnies?”
“I wish. Just special occasions.”
Beth was looking sorry for Pete. “I’m there twice a week,” she said. “Me and my friends.” Pete noticed her lip tremble. “I mean the ones who haven’t—”
Pete interrupted, “You’re lucky. I’ve to swim every Saturday.” For a minute he could feel his own lip go. “Well, I used to…”
“Funny,” Beth said, although neither of them looked like laughing. “You’ve just come and I’m leaving. Tomorrow.” She shook her head. “Up north till the air raids stop or someone kills Hitler.”
“Is that why you keep crying?” asked Pete. He wanted to add that the war finishes in 1945 and Hitler kills himself, but he wasn’t a hundred per cent sure of either fact.
“I hear you through the wall,” he said instead, and was about to add, but I don’t understand why cos Dad said your house was bombed , but Beth’s face was bright.
“D’you hear my ‘Skye Boat Song’? Been learning it for the school concert next month.” She sat back onher heels, sighed all the way down to her toes. “Except I won’t be in it now. Mummy sent me down to find a trunk.”
As Pete watched Beth howling into her hands yet again, he was glad he hadn’t told her what happened to her house. This time, when he went to pat her shoulder, she didn’t pull away, so he kept patting till she gave a deep, snottery and very ungirly snuffle.
“You want to see my special things Mummy packed?” Beth wiped her nose on her sleeve and scrabbled backwards through the tunnel. Seconds later she returned pushing a shoebox across the floor towards Pete.
“Open it, silly. Don’t worry; it’s not shoes,” Beth tutted, lifting the lid herself before Pete could do it.
At the top of the box lay a red cotton napkin, edged with gold thread. Beth unfolded it to reveal a tiny elephant.
“That better not be ivory.” Pete ran his finger over a delicate carved tusk.
“Course it is, silly. It’s from Africa,” Beth snorted.
“But you’re not allowed to kill
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