Edie smiled. “Of course I remember. Hello. I’m Edie.” She shook the elephant’s trunk and the little girl’s hand, then glanced towards the boy.
He made no effort to introduce himself but began to flick through the pages of a large book about aeroplanes.
How rude, thought Edie. From the furious look on his face you’d think it was she who had interrupted his peace and quiet, not the other way round.
But Greta seemed determined they should all be friends. She leapt to her feet again.
“This is Gus, my big brother,” she said. “His real name is—”
“Gus will do just fine,” the boy snapped. “Honestly, Greta. We’re only sharing a carriage for an hour or two. There’s no need to tell perfect strangers our entire life story.”
“And there’s no need for you to be so rude!” said Edie. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
“’Zactly!” Greta folded her arms and nodded in agreement.
“We’re just trying to be friendly. That’s all,” muttered Edie.
Gus sighed and continued to stare at the pictures of aeroplanes.
“My mother’s going to fly planes, you know,” said Edie, trying a different tack. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so stuck-up if he realized how important Fliss’s new job was going to be.
“Yes. I saw her,” he said. “At the station. She was the woman wearing the Air Transport Auxiliary uniform, I suppose?”
“That’s right.” Edie felt a swell of pride.
“Hmm!” He flicked over another page in his book. “The ATA aren’t part of the proper air force, you know. They only deliver planes to the real pilots. It’s like driving a bus or something. That’s why they’ve let women join. They don’t go into battle or anything.”
“But… ” Edie opened and closed her mouth in fury. “The pilots in the ATA risk their lives every day,” she said, remembering how Fliss had come into the flat a few months ago, tears streaming down her face as she handed Edie a copy of the evening paper. The famous aviator Amy Johnson had been killed trying to land an ATA plane in freezing fog – and she was probably the most experienced female pilot in the world.
Gus lifted his head and looked at Edie properly at last. “Our father is a real fighter pilot,” he said. “He’s shooting down enemy planes every day.”
“Oh!” Edie slumped back in her chair. She knew she’d been trying to show off about Fliss, but now she felt so deflated it was almost as if she had been shot down herself.
She stared out of the window, unable to think of anything else to say. London was far behind them and the train was now steaming along between green fields. It was going to be a long, awkward journey all the way to Yorkshire.
Chapter Three
The Great Leap
While Gus stared sulkily at his book of aeroplanes, Greta chattered like a little monkey, bouncing up and down on her seat. Edie soon learnt that the two children had been raised in London by their father. Their mother had died when Greta was born.
“Then Papa was taken away by soldiers and we had to go and live with Grandma Perkins,” Greta explained, her big blue eyes brimming with tears. Edie squeezed her hand.
“They weren’t soldiers, they were airmen,” Gus snapped. “And they didn’t take him away, silly. I’ve told you a hundred times: they were men from Papa’s squadron in the RAF. They were all heading back to the base together.”
Greta shrugged and wiped her nose on Mr Churchill’s ears. “Grandma Perkins’ flat smells funny,” she said. “But a bomb fell down the chimbley when we were in the air-raid shelter. It ’sploded and all Granny Perkins’ best plates were busted. I was jolly glad I had Mr Churchill safe with me in the shelter.”
Gus raised his eyebrows. “It was more than just plates. The whole building was rubble.” Edie saw him swallow hard.
“At least no one was hurt,” she said, wishing there was something more she could say. No matter how many times she heard stories like this from the war, it never seemed to get any easier. “It must be … well, it must be horrible for your grandma to lose her home like that.”
“She’s gone to live with Uncle Alan,” said Greta, bouncing up and down on the seat again. “In Ease Grimpstid.”
“East Grinstead,” corrected Gus. “Not that it’s anybody’s business.”
“Wasn’t there room for you to go and live there too?” asked Edie, glancing at Gus.
“No!” He sighed. “There wasn’t.”
“Uncle Alan doesn’t like children.” Greta sat down with a thump. “Nor does Granny very much,” she added, chewing her lip. “Uncle Alan has five pick-your-knees dogs. Granny says they’re a lot less bother than we are.”
“Pekinese,” snapped Gus. “And you’re talking nonsense.”
“No I’m not!” Greta stuck her chin out. “Granny told the lady postman it would do us good to be ’vacuated to the country and good riddance.”
Gus rolled his eyes but Edie could see a blush creeping up his neck.
“Perhaps you’ll be evacuated to a farm,” she said, trying to change the subject. “With sheep or cows.”
“Or piglets?” said Greta with a yawn. “Me and Mr Churchill would like our very own piglet to look after.” Her eyelids were starting to droop, and before long she had dozed off, cuddling her elephant, with her head resting on Edie’s shoulder.
Gus laid down the aeroplane book, dug in his bag and pulled out his and Greta’s ration books, which he began to peer at instead. Edie couldn’t imagine there was anything very interesting to see, but whatever it was seemed to make him scowl even more fiercely than before. Eventually he sighed and tossed the little brown booklets carelessly on the seat beside him.
“Anything wrong?” asked Edie.
“No!” Gus shook his head, and the two older children sank back into awkward silence until Greta woke up from her nap at lunchtime.
“Hello, Sleepyhead.” Edie smiled as she unpacked the food parcel Fliss had wrapped for her in the pages of
