The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson Page B

and she shook her head at him. ‘I told you not to waste your money.’ She’d left him a few pounds out of her pension when she went into hospital and told him it had to last. Waste was wicked, but her gnarled fingers closed round the bunch and she smiled.
    ‘How are you feeling?’ Ben asked.
    ‘Oh fine, fine,’ lied Nanny Brown. ‘And you? What’s been going on at home?’
    Ben hesitated. He wanted to tell Nanny about his mysterious visitors, about how much he liked them . . . the strange feeling he’d had that they belonged to him. But he’d promised to say nothing and anyway he’d been wrong because they didn’t belong to him. So he just said: ‘Nothing much. I’ve got on to the football team and Raymond’s had another screaming fit.’
    ‘That’s hardly news,’ said Nanny Brown grimly . And then: ‘No one’s been bothering you? That Mr Fulton?’
    ‘No, not really . But . . . do you think you’re coming home soon, Nanny? It’s better when you’re there.’
    Nanny patted his hand. ‘Bless you, of course I am. You just get on with your schooling and remember once you’re grown up, no one can tell you what to do.’
    ‘Yes.’
    It would be a long time though till he was a man and Nanny looked very ill. Fear was bad; being afraid was about yourself and you had to fight it, but just for a moment he was very much afraid whether it was selfish or not.
    It was very quiet in the ward when the visitors had gone. All the other patients lay back drowsily , glad to rest, but Nanny Brown sat up in bed as fierce as a sparrow hawk. There wasn’t much time to waste. And she was lucky: it was the nice nurse from the Philippines who came round to take temperatures. Celeste, she was called, and she had a lovely smile and a tiny red rose tucked into her hair behind her ear. You could only see it when she bent down, but it always made you feel better, knowing it was there.
    ‘Listen, dear, there’s something I want you to do for me. Will you get me a piece of paper and an envelope? It’s really important or I wouldn’t ask you.’
    Celeste reached for Nanny’s wrist and began to take her pulse.
    ‘I’ll try, Mrs Brown,’ she said. ‘But you’ll have to wait till I’ve finished my rounds.’
    And she didn’t forget. An hour later she came with the paper and a strong white envelope. ‘Have you got a pen?’
    Nanny Brown nodded. ‘Thank you, dear; that’s a weight off my mind. You’re a good kind girl.’
    Celeste smiled. ‘That’s all right.’ She looked closely at the old woman’s face. It wouldn’t be long now. ‘I’ll just make sure about the burglars,’ she said.
    She bent down to look, and as she did so Nanny Brown could see the little red rose tucked in the jet black hair.
    ‘Bless you,’ she said – and then, feeling much better, she began to write.

Seven
    ‘Is simple,’ said Hans. ‘I bop ’im. I sack ’im. We go through gump.’
    The others had returned from Fortlands in such a gloomy mood that the poor ogre could hardly bear it. He’d had a good sleep and when he heard what had happened in the restaurant, he decided that he should come forward and put things right.
    Cor shook his head. It was tempting to let the giant bop Raymond on the head, tie him up in a sack and carry him back to the Island, but it couldn’t be done. He imagined the King and Queen unwrapping their stunned son like a trussed piglet . . . realizing that Raymond had had to be carried off by force.
    ‘He must come willingly, Hans,’ he said, ‘or the Queen will break her heart.’
    Ernie Hobbs now glided towards the little summer house where they were sitting. He usually allowed himself a breather in the early evening and had left the other ghosts in charge of the gump.
    ‘Well, how’s it going?’
    The Islanders told him.
    Ernie nodded. ‘I’m afraid it’s a bad business. We’ve been keeping an eye on him and he’s been going downhill steadily . Mrs Trottle’s a fool and Mr Trottle’s never