brisk.
Rose and Franca walked together, secrets and arms linked. Excluding Cecily.
‘Come on!’ called Carlo, grinning at Cecily. ‘Catch me if you can!’
And at that, as if by magic, the day became a carpet, with all summer rolled up inside it. Cecily didn’t want to unroll it; she didn’t want to see what patterns it would make just in case they’d fade too quickly.
The Punch and Judy man, full of punch-drunk smiles, was waving his arms at them. His red-and-white booth looked as though it might collapse in the wind. Cecily wanted to stop but Rose wasn’t interested.
‘I got told off,’ Franca was saying. ‘For accepting the chocolates from that man.’
‘Which man?’ asked Cecily, her eye on the ball, ears flapping in the high sea breeze.
‘Pinky!’ Rose cried, carelessly, tossing her laugh in the air, watching it bounce around the peacetime sky. ‘Who cares about Pinky!’
And she did a little dance.
‘Are we or are we not going for a swim?’ shouted Carlo.
So that Cecily, bathing costume at the ready, young girl’s slim hips emerging unnoticed, chased after him.
‘Got you, you wriggly worm,’ cried a triumphant Carlo, wind-whipped arms around her.
Lifting her off the ground, threatening to throw her into the sea, while the war, playing its own game of hide-and-seek, kept conveniently out of sight.
‘Look, there’s Daddy,’ Cecily cried, pointing further up the beach, in the direction of the Ness.
But it couldn’t be because Selwyn was at the farm digging up a piece of unused land.
‘Will there be lots of people at the dance?’ Franca asked.
Rose whispering secrets, for Franca’s ears alone, laughed again and again.
‘Joe will be there, certainly!’ she said.
‘Catch me if you can!’ shouted Carlo, letting go of Cecily and plunging into the warm-at-last North Sea.
And Cecily, getting it wrong as usual, chased after him laughing, laughing, singing, ‘Breath of Heaven’.
She would sing it again at the end of summer but on that occasion the sun would have a different bite to it.
When they got home the black cat had been killed by the milk truck and Agnes their mother was crying, again. When questioned she told Cecily she’d burnt her hand taking the bread out of the oven but there were no signs of a burn. No one was saying anything, not even Selwyn who told them he’d been mending the digger all day. Which was how Cecily knew he had had a row with their mother.
‘Nonsense,’ Rose said, darkly. ‘There are other things besides a row that puts that man in a mood.’
‘I’m going to an ARP meeting tonight, don’t forget,’ Selwyn announced. ‘Don’t wait up for me. I’ll have a snack while I’m out.’
‘In the pub he means,’ muttered Rose.
Aunt Kitty, whose long-weekend-visit had turned into a longer holiday, was nowhere in sight and Joe came home looking serious but then went out again almost immediately.
There were many unanswered questions in Cecily’s head. So, in order to sort them out she made a Things-About-The-War list in her head.
Will they drop bombs on us, if there is a war?
How many people will be killed?
Will the schools still remain closed after the summer is over?
Will all the boys go to war?
If so, from which railway station?
Why do the grown-ups ask you questions but never answer yours?
‘There is a boy coming to stay with us in a few days,’ Agnes said.
No one commented.
‘His name is Tom,’ Agnes added, speaking to the silence. ‘He’ll be here on Saturday and he’s the son of an old friend of your father.’
Rose yawned rudely but it was Cecily who had the most to lose.
‘I’m not sharing anything,’ she muttered under her breath.
Rose laughed and Agnes sighed.
‘Please don’t be difficult Cecily.’
Their mother’s voice sounded weak.
‘I’m so tired,’ Rose told the room with another fake yawn that didn’t fool Cecily.
That night after supper Agnes got out the special notebook she kept for
Rose and Franca walked together, secrets and arms linked. Excluding Cecily.
‘Come on!’ called Carlo, grinning at Cecily. ‘Catch me if you can!’
And at that, as if by magic, the day became a carpet, with all summer rolled up inside it. Cecily didn’t want to unroll it; she didn’t want to see what patterns it would make just in case they’d fade too quickly.
The Punch and Judy man, full of punch-drunk smiles, was waving his arms at them. His red-and-white booth looked as though it might collapse in the wind. Cecily wanted to stop but Rose wasn’t interested.
‘I got told off,’ Franca was saying. ‘For accepting the chocolates from that man.’
‘Which man?’ asked Cecily, her eye on the ball, ears flapping in the high sea breeze.
‘Pinky!’ Rose cried, carelessly, tossing her laugh in the air, watching it bounce around the peacetime sky. ‘Who cares about Pinky!’
And she did a little dance.
‘Are we or are we not going for a swim?’ shouted Carlo.
So that Cecily, bathing costume at the ready, young girl’s slim hips emerging unnoticed, chased after him.
‘Got you, you wriggly worm,’ cried a triumphant Carlo, wind-whipped arms around her.
Lifting her off the ground, threatening to throw her into the sea, while the war, playing its own game of hide-and-seek, kept conveniently out of sight.
‘Look, there’s Daddy,’ Cecily cried, pointing further up the beach, in the direction of the Ness.
But it couldn’t be because Selwyn was at the farm digging up a piece of unused land.
‘Will there be lots of people at the dance?’ Franca asked.
Rose whispering secrets, for Franca’s ears alone, laughed again and again.
‘Joe will be there, certainly!’ she said.
‘Catch me if you can!’ shouted Carlo, letting go of Cecily and plunging into the warm-at-last North Sea.
And Cecily, getting it wrong as usual, chased after him laughing, laughing, singing, ‘Breath of Heaven’.
She would sing it again at the end of summer but on that occasion the sun would have a different bite to it.
When they got home the black cat had been killed by the milk truck and Agnes their mother was crying, again. When questioned she told Cecily she’d burnt her hand taking the bread out of the oven but there were no signs of a burn. No one was saying anything, not even Selwyn who told them he’d been mending the digger all day. Which was how Cecily knew he had had a row with their mother.
‘Nonsense,’ Rose said, darkly. ‘There are other things besides a row that puts that man in a mood.’
‘I’m going to an ARP meeting tonight, don’t forget,’ Selwyn announced. ‘Don’t wait up for me. I’ll have a snack while I’m out.’
‘In the pub he means,’ muttered Rose.
Aunt Kitty, whose long-weekend-visit had turned into a longer holiday, was nowhere in sight and Joe came home looking serious but then went out again almost immediately.
There were many unanswered questions in Cecily’s head. So, in order to sort them out she made a Things-About-The-War list in her head.
Will they drop bombs on us, if there is a war?
How many people will be killed?
Will the schools still remain closed after the summer is over?
Will all the boys go to war?
If so, from which railway station?
Why do the grown-ups ask you questions but never answer yours?
‘There is a boy coming to stay with us in a few days,’ Agnes said.
No one commented.
‘His name is Tom,’ Agnes added, speaking to the silence. ‘He’ll be here on Saturday and he’s the son of an old friend of your father.’
Rose yawned rudely but it was Cecily who had the most to lose.
‘I’m not sharing anything,’ she muttered under her breath.
Rose laughed and Agnes sighed.
‘Please don’t be difficult Cecily.’
Their mother’s voice sounded weak.
‘I’m so tired,’ Rose told the room with another fake yawn that didn’t fool Cecily.
That night after supper Agnes got out the special notebook she kept for
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