“Fire-breathing dragons!” agreed Edie as he shook hands with Greta and Gus as she told him their names. Then he picked up Edie’s suitcase.
“Here, how about you give me that one too,” he said to Gus. As he stepped forward, Edie noticed that he had a limp on the same side as his bad eye and drooping mouth. “I expect you’ll all want to run up the hill and stretch your legs a bit after being stuck in a cramped train carriage for so long.”
Gus looked for a moment as if he might be too proud to let the old soldier take the case from him. But Edie tugged his sleeve. “Come on!” She felt certain it would offend Uncle Peter to say no. And he was right: she did want to run. After all that sitting around, she wanted to charge up the hill like a galloping horse.
“You can’t miss Three Chimneys,” said Uncle Peter. “It’s the little house at the top of the ridge, just past the stone stile by the old fir tree.
Edie glanced at Aunt Roberta.
“Go on, then!” she said. “It’ll do you good.” And the three children ran.
Three Chimneys was exactly as Fliss had described it. The little stone house stood in a sunny meadow on the brow of the hill, with the railway line winding away below. The house wasn’t big or grand, but it was very pretty. It had little square windows that caught the sunlight, a long, low roof and, of course, the three tall chimney pots which gave it its name. The station was out of sight, but Edie could see a great bridge with tall arches running across one end of the valley and, in the other direction, the yawning black mouth of a tunnel. “Like a dragon’s cave,” she whispered, holding her sides and trying to catch her breath from running.
“Is this our new home? For all of us?” panted Greta.
“Yes,” said Edie. “I hope so.”
She had a stitch and she was tired and muddy from racing up the hill, but at least she was better off than poor Mr Churchill. He had been dropped in a puddle along the way and Greta was holding him by his soggy trunk. Together, they all flopped down on the grass. Edie closed her eyes and let the warm late-afternoon sun tickle her face. Even Gus let out a contented sigh.
Nobody said anything for a while. Edie wasn’t even sure if she might have drifted off, when suddenly Greta gave an excited cry.
“Look!” she squealed. “There’s a llama.”
“A llama?” Edie sat up and blinked. A hairy white creature, tethered to a long metal chain, was munching dandelions beside them.
Edie smiled. “That’s not a llama,” she said. “It’s a goat.” Even she knew that – although she couldn’t remember ever having seen a goat in real life before.
“Oh!” Greta seemed to think about this for a moment and then shrugged. “Lovely llama,” she said, as if she didn’t care a jot what anybody else thought it might be.
Gus raised his eyebrows. “Papa painted her an animal alphabet all around our bedroom in our old house. L was for llama, you see.”
“And what about G?” Edie giggled. “No goats?”
Gus shook his head. “Gorilla!”
“E was for elephant,” said Greta. “And P was for—” “Piglet?” guessed Edie.
“Yes!” Greta cheered with delight. “A little pink one with a curly tail.”
“Liar!” said Gus. “It was a porcupine.”
Greta stuck out her tongue. “It can be a piglet if I want it to.”
Edie sensed another argument. Perhaps this is what it would have been like if she’d had a brother or sister too.
“Your father must be very clever to paint something like that for you,” she said, hoping to divert them.
“Oh, he is.” Greta gave Edie her most serious stare. “He builds bridges and things for the govern-or-ment,” she stumbled.
“Government?” Edie smiled. “He must be very important. But I thought you said he flew planes?” She looked at Gus. “In the RAF?”
“He does.” Gus stood up and brushed the grass from his knees. “He used to build bridges, that’s all. When he was an engineer. Before… ”
“Ah,” said Edie. “I see.” The war had a habit of changing everybody’s lives, but Gus seemed eager for the conversation to be over.
“Come on!” He grabbed Greta’s hand and pulled her up too. “Let’s see who’s brave enough to stroke this llama… ”
“A llama?” The children heard a sharp laugh and turned their heads.
A boy on a delivery bicycle had peddled up the track to the house. Their three suitcases were squeezed into the big basket on the front. “Give over. That there’s no llama, London-lad,” he puffed. “It’s a—”
“A goat! I know,” said Gus, his face turning bright red. “I was just playing a game with my little sister.”
“He’s a beautiful, beautiful llama,” said Greta, spinning in a circle and curtseying to the goat as she held the edge of her skirt.
“Stop mucking around now,” hissed Gus. “You’re making idiots out of us all, Greta.”
“City folk, eh?” The boy caught Edie’s eye. He grinned and his freckled nose wrinkled with mischievous laughter. Edie could tell at once that he wasn’t being unkind. He was only teasing them.
“Hello. I’m Edie,” she said, holding out her hand. “Thank you for bringing our cases.”
“Albert Perks,” he said. “It’s no bother. Your uncle told me about your visit. I couldn’t let him take this lot all the way up the dale.” The boy’s warm Yorkshire accent seemed as friendly to Edie as his sparkly brown eyes.
“Albert Perks?” she said. It was the same name Aunt Roberta had mentioned. “Like the old porter … at the railway station.”
“Oh, aye,” said Albert. “You’ve heard of him, then? When your aunt and uncle were little’uns. Your ma too, I shouldn’t wonder?”
“That’s right,” said Edie delightedly.
