Chapter Six
Scrumping in Springtime
“Oar’s ead arm?” whispered Gus, reading the words off a lopsided sign nailed to the gate. “What sort of name is that?”
“I think it’s supposed to be Boar’s Head Farm,” hissed Edie, pointing to the rusty shadows where the extra letters must have once been before they dropped off.
Close up, the farm buildings and the house looked far scruffier than they had from the top of the hill. There were piles of old tin and crates and boxes everywhere. It smelt too – of something thick and wet and sour. The stench made the back of Edie’s throat sting.
“Is that manure?” she asked.
“Pigs!” said Gus, as if he was an expert. But Edie couldn’t see any animals anywhere, except a half-bald cockerel pecking in the mud.
“Let’s follow the wall,” she whispered, beginning to regret coming here at all. “We can get into the orchard that way. We don’t need to go anywhere near the farmyard.”
Gus nodded and they crept towards the ragged group of trees.
Edie scrambled over a section of wall where the stones had fallen down and beckoned to Gus to follow. They dodged past rusted farm machinery and stood beneath the nearest tree, staring up into the branches.
“Are you sure these are even apple trees?” asked Gus, peering into the crisscrossed tangle of twigs.
“I never said they were.” Edie shrugged. There was certainly no sign of any fruit. “Why don’t you get up there and investigate?” she said, goading him a little. “The daring heroes in those books you like always climb the trees, you know.”
“Fine!” Gus pulled himself up on to the lowest branch, hanging over it with his waist. He was stuck there like a swimmer at the edge of the public baths, paddling hopelessly with his legs in mid-air. “Give me a heave up, then,” he yelped.
Crack! Edie hadn’t even touched him when the branch snapped clean away from the tree and broke with a sound like a whip. A flurry of shrieking pigeons shot into the sky.
“Yow!” Gus landed on his bottom in a patch of weeds. “That hurt!” he yelped.
Somewhere in the tangle of sheds around the farmyard, a dog started to bark: a big dog, by the sound of it.
“Come on!” Edie grabbed Gus’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Run!” But it was too late.
A great black dog with a head as fat as a pumpkin was lumbering towards them, its tongue hanging out between razor-sharp teeth. A short plump woman barrelled after it, waving her arms and shrieking. “Get off my land!” she yelled, her red face as round and fierce-looking as the dog. “Get ’em, Rex!”
The dog snapped at their heels. It was so close, Edie could almost feel its hot breath on the back of her bare legs.
“What are you kids doing up ’ere?” roared the woman. “Poking around, I’ll warrant.”
“We didn’t mean any harm,” panted Edie, scrambling over the wall. Her stupid skirt got caught on a stone and she was stuck for a minute, halfway up and halfway down the wall, struggling to find a foothold. She pulled her leg free just in time, as the dog circled beneath her snarling.
“We were scrumping for apples, that’s all,” she tried to explain.
“Scrumping?” As Edie glanced back, she saw the woman’s face had turned purple. She had a feeling she’d said the wrong thing. “Donny!” the woman hollered. “Donny! Get your gun!”
Donny? Edie was over the wall at last. Gus landed on the lane beside her. Wasn’t Donny the name of the horrible young farmer who’d kicked the crate of chickens across the station platform?
“Run!” Edie cried. There was only one direction to go – and it was straight uphill, of course. Gus pelted after her, stumbling up the steep slope towards the railway line.
Partway up, Edie fell. As she staggered to her feet again, she looked back and saw the tall, skinny farmer standing on the wall. He was shaking something that looked like a thick black stick at them.
Crack! A sound like another breaking branch split the air.
“Hell’s teeth!” gasped Gus.
Edie screamed. She knew it wasn’t a stick the farmer was shaking, nor the sound of a breaking branch. He really did have a gun, and he was firing it at them.
“Quick!” They had reached the railway line. Gus grabbed her hand and they half-ran, half-rolled down the steep siding and dashed into the deep shadowy safety of the long tunnel they had explored before. Edie didn’t mind the dark now, and she didn’t feel silly holding Gus’s hand, either. They stumbled on, until the light at the end of the tunnel behind them was no bigger than the bulb of a torch.
“Stop!” panted Edie, clutching her aching sides with her free hand. “I think we’re safe now. Surely he won’t come this far in.”
“You’re right,” puffed Gus, letting go of her hand and doubling over in the gloom. “We must be nearly through. Look. I can see daylight.” He straightened up again and pointed towards a small glowing light coming from the other end of the tunnel.
“No!” Edie raised her head and blinked in horror. “That’s not daylight,” she cried. “It’s moving. It’s coming towards us.”
The tracks beneath them began to hum, almost buzzing at first. Then the tunnel was filled with a great roaring and rattling sound.
“It’s a train!” screamed Edie. “Get flat against the wall.”
She leant back and almost fell. Where she was expecting solid brick, there was nothing behind her at all. No wall – just an empty space.
“Quick!” Gus grabbed for her. All he got hold of was her pigtail but he pulled.
“Ouch!” yelped Edie. Both of them stumbled backwards into the emptiness, which turned out to be a hollow archway in the tunnel wall.
“It’s a manhole,” shouted Gus. They
