“Albert Perks was my grandfather,” said Albert proudly. “My dad’s an Albert Perks too.”
“Goodness,” said Edie. Her head was starting to spin a little. “Doesn’t it ever get confusing? All of you being called Albert Perks, I mean.”
“No.” Young Albert Perks shrugged. “My grandpa’s dead. Three years ago, come Christmas.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Edie. She wished she’d never asked, but Albert shook his head.
“He had a good innings. And Dad’s off at the war just now. He’s in the navy. So I’m the only Albert Perks around for a while. Head of the family.” He grinned proudly. “Not that they call me Albert Perks, mind. They call me Perky.”
“Oh, that suits you,” cried Edie. “Perky” seemed such a perfect name for the chirpy, sandy-haired boy. He hadn’t stopped smiling since he’d peddled up the lane.
“Hello, Perky,” said Greta, grinning back at him with her own gap-toothed smile. She introduced herself, then held out her elephant too, of course. “This is Mr Churchill.”
“Oh, aye!” Perky chuckled. “Grand to meet you all.” He glanced towards Gus, who hadn’t said a word.
Edie leapt in. “That’s Gus. Gus Smith.”
“Oh, aye!” said Perky again. Gus barely glanced up. But Greta tugged at Perky’s sleeve.
“What about the llama?” she said. “What’s his name?”
“Stone the crows!” Perky fell off his bicycle in a mock faint. The whole thing toppled over and the suitcases went flying.
“Careful!” cried Gus. But Perky took no notice.
“First of all, that llama is a GOAT!” he bellowed, clutching his head in a show of despair. “And, I’ll trouble you to notice, he is most definitely a SHE.” He pointed to the enormous udder hanging between the nanny goat’s legs.
“Oh, dear!” Edie giggled. But Greta looked deadly serious.
“All right.” She plonked herself down on the grass beside Perky. “What’s her name, then?”
Perky sat up. “I don’t rightly know. You’ll have to ask your aunty.”
“Nurse Roberta is not our aunt,” said Gus.
But, just at that moment, the adults came into view at the top of the hill. Uncle Peter was leaning heavily on Aunt Roberta’s arm.
“Aunty Roberta! Aunty Roberta!” cried Greta, leaping to her feet. “What’s the llama’s name… ? I mean, the goat?”
“Erm. She doesn’t really have a name,” said Aunt Roberta, looking a little stunned. “We’ve only had her a week or two, since the ministry cleared her papers. She’s a nanny goat. We use her for milk.”
“Well, she ought to have a name,” said Greta. “Everybody has a name.”
“Quite right,” agreed Uncle Peter.
“I know!” cried Edie excitedly. “How about Mr Hitler?” It seemed like a very funny name for a goat. But there was a terrible silence and everybody stared at her. “I mean, if the elephant is called Mr Churchill… ” she said weakly. “And Greta did think the goat was a boy.”
“A boy llama!” said Perky, his eyes twinkling again.
“In that case,” said Uncle Peter with a grin, “Mr Hitler will do nicely!”
“Oh, Peter,” sighed Aunt Roberta. “We can’t call our nanny goat ‘Mr Hitler’! Whatever will people say?”
“They’ll say that our Mr Hitler is the finest nanny-goat-llama for miles around,” answered Uncle Peter with a bow.
“Yes, they will!” cried Greta. “She’s a darling! Aren’t you, Mr Hitler?” She ran and kissed the goat on top of her head.
Mr Hitler bleated and even Gus laughed.
Aunt Roberta turned her back on them all. Edie wondered if she was smiling again too.
“Welcome to Three Chimneys, children,” she said, and she pushed open the blue front door.
Greta dashed inside and Gus followed after Uncle Peter. Edie hesitated on the doorstep. She waved to Perky as he peddled away. Then she stood very still. She didn’t know why, but she felt she wanted to be alone, just for a moment. She listened to the babble of voices inside the house as she looked down across the green fields towards the railway below.
It could not have been more different from the flat on Glasshouse Street where Edie had lived alone with Fliss her whole life. Yet it all seemed so familiar. She felt a sense of belonging, as if she was coming home. Perhaps it was all those memories Fliss had shared. She felt as if she was stepping into the pages of an adventure story she had read a hundred times before. But it was more than that.
“This is a new story,” Edie whispered, hugging herself tightly. “This is a new adventure. And it’s mine.”
Chapter Five
The Railway Children Return
When Edie woke up the next morning, something felt very strange. At first she couldn’t think what it was, but, as she lay listening to the chatter of birds, she knew. For the first time in months, she had slept the whole night through. A deep, relaxing, burrowing sleep, uninterrupted by the drone of bombers overhead or the wail of the air-raid siren. Her body felt light. Even on nights when they hadn’t had to take shelter in the Underground station or the Café de Paris, Edie never slept through until morning in London. Something always woke her, and her body was always stiff with worry, waiting and listening. Now she stretched her arms, feeling like a hibernating bear waking up from a long, deep, lovely rest. The war seemed as if it was a thousand miles away from Three Chimneys.
She rolled over and looked at the little wooden bed beside hers. Greta was up and gone already. But Edie couldn’t bear to move. Not yet. She pulled the patchwork quilt up under her chin and felt the delicious warmness of where her body had lain. This had been Aunt Roberta and Fliss’s room when they were girls. Gus had an old maid’s room along the landing. Peter still had his own childhood room, and Aunt Roberta was now where Edie’s grandmother would have slept. The house hadn’t belonged to the family then, they had
