‘Too lazy to walk them. Let them roam free in my grounds. My brother would have words with them.’ And with that she turned and went into the house.
Chapter 17
I wasn’t sure I wanted to go past the lions into the old lady’s house but Vicky said it would be all right. We went up the steps. Jamie patted one of the lions on its head and climbed up on its back.
‘Nothing to be scared of Re. They’re just stone. They won’t bite. They won’t do anything.’
‘But you said —‘
‘I was only teasing.’
I went past them quickly and through the front door.
‘Why’s she got that stick?’ I asked Vicky.
‘I don’t think she can see very well,’ she whispered back. ‘She uses it to feel her way around.’
I shut my eyes for a moment and took a few steps. I knocked into something hard and banged my side. It felt scary. I didn’t know where I was. Vicky pulled my arm.
‘What you doing Re?’
‘Nothing.’ I opened my eyes again and looked round.
The hall was full of old furniture. There were paintings on the walls of people in long time ago clothes, and piles of books and boxes of papers and the biggest piano I’d ever seen and a clock in a big case like in the Hickory Dickory Dock nursery rhyme. Everything was dusty. I don’t think the old lady liked cleaning up much. I don’t either. I’d much rather play with Baby Emma or my Barbies.
We went into the kitchen. There were saucepans hanging down from a rack over an old cooker and a white sink with a green stripy curtain round the bottom of it, a big table and chairs. The old lady picked up the kettle, felt for the tap then filled it and put it on top of the stove.
‘I suppose you’re hungry too,’ she said.
‘I’m starving!’ I told her. ‘We’ve only had doughnuts and apples today.’
‘Doughnuts! Good grief . . . Is that what your parents feed you?’ She shook her head then went over to the fridge. She opened the door and took out some shiny trays like take-away cartons.
I was just about to tell her that it wasn’t our mum or dad that gave us the doughnuts when Vicky started talking very loudly and Jamie told me to shush.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Vicky all politely. ‘We don’t usually have doughnuts . . . they were . . . a treat.’
‘Well. That’s something. You’re growing. You need decent food.’ The old lady looked down at the trays and sniffed. ‘Meals on Wheels. Not exactly high cuisine but Idon’t know what I’d do without them.’ She picked each tray up and putting it close to her eyes read the labels on the tops. ‘I’ve got cottage pie, toad in the hole and . . . pasta.’
‘Pasta please!’ I said quickly. I didn’t like the sound of the other things.
‘But we can’t eat your food,’ Vicky said.
‘Yes we can. She said we could!’ I butted in quickly. I was starving.
The old lady laughed. ‘It’s quite all right my dear,’ she said to Vicky as she put the trays into the oven. ‘Marion’ll be round tomorrow afternoon to drop off another lot. I’ll just tell her I was hungry this week. She’ll be very pleased. She’s always saying I’ve got no appetite . . . Now my brother – he’s a different kettle of fish. He could eat a horse and still have room for pud.’
‘Eurgh. I wouldn’t eat a horse,’ I said. ‘Even if I was really really hungry.’
The old lady laughed but I meant it.
Chapter 18
She’d been named Elizabeth Margaret after the Queen and her sister. When she was a child growing up during the Second World War, her family had lived on the outskirts of London in a big house, but because it had been so dangerous with all the bombs and air raids every night, she and her brother Lionel were evacuated. They hadn’t wanted to leave their parents or each other but they’d had no choice. So, at the age of twelve, armed with a little box containing her gas mask and a small suitcase of clothes, she’d taken the train to Devon with the rest of the girls and teachers
Chapter 17
I wasn’t sure I wanted to go past the lions into the old lady’s house but Vicky said it would be all right. We went up the steps. Jamie patted one of the lions on its head and climbed up on its back.
‘Nothing to be scared of Re. They’re just stone. They won’t bite. They won’t do anything.’
‘But you said —‘
‘I was only teasing.’
I went past them quickly and through the front door.
‘Why’s she got that stick?’ I asked Vicky.
‘I don’t think she can see very well,’ she whispered back. ‘She uses it to feel her way around.’
I shut my eyes for a moment and took a few steps. I knocked into something hard and banged my side. It felt scary. I didn’t know where I was. Vicky pulled my arm.
‘What you doing Re?’
‘Nothing.’ I opened my eyes again and looked round.
The hall was full of old furniture. There were paintings on the walls of people in long time ago clothes, and piles of books and boxes of papers and the biggest piano I’d ever seen and a clock in a big case like in the Hickory Dickory Dock nursery rhyme. Everything was dusty. I don’t think the old lady liked cleaning up much. I don’t either. I’d much rather play with Baby Emma or my Barbies.
We went into the kitchen. There were saucepans hanging down from a rack over an old cooker and a white sink with a green stripy curtain round the bottom of it, a big table and chairs. The old lady picked up the kettle, felt for the tap then filled it and put it on top of the stove.
‘I suppose you’re hungry too,’ she said.
‘I’m starving!’ I told her. ‘We’ve only had doughnuts and apples today.’
‘Doughnuts! Good grief . . . Is that what your parents feed you?’ She shook her head then went over to the fridge. She opened the door and took out some shiny trays like take-away cartons.
I was just about to tell her that it wasn’t our mum or dad that gave us the doughnuts when Vicky started talking very loudly and Jamie told me to shush.
‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Vicky all politely. ‘We don’t usually have doughnuts . . . they were . . . a treat.’
‘Well. That’s something. You’re growing. You need decent food.’ The old lady looked down at the trays and sniffed. ‘Meals on Wheels. Not exactly high cuisine but Idon’t know what I’d do without them.’ She picked each tray up and putting it close to her eyes read the labels on the tops. ‘I’ve got cottage pie, toad in the hole and . . . pasta.’
‘Pasta please!’ I said quickly. I didn’t like the sound of the other things.
‘But we can’t eat your food,’ Vicky said.
‘Yes we can. She said we could!’ I butted in quickly. I was starving.
The old lady laughed. ‘It’s quite all right my dear,’ she said to Vicky as she put the trays into the oven. ‘Marion’ll be round tomorrow afternoon to drop off another lot. I’ll just tell her I was hungry this week. She’ll be very pleased. She’s always saying I’ve got no appetite . . . Now my brother – he’s a different kettle of fish. He could eat a horse and still have room for pud.’
‘Eurgh. I wouldn’t eat a horse,’ I said. ‘Even if I was really really hungry.’
The old lady laughed but I meant it.
Chapter 18
She’d been named Elizabeth Margaret after the Queen and her sister. When she was a child growing up during the Second World War, her family had lived on the outskirts of London in a big house, but because it had been so dangerous with all the bombs and air raids every night, she and her brother Lionel were evacuated. They hadn’t wanted to leave their parents or each other but they’d had no choice. So, at the age of twelve, armed with a little box containing her gas mask and a small suitcase of clothes, she’d taken the train to Devon with the rest of the girls and teachers
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