Gus and Greta had fish-paste sandwiches, which made the whole compartment stink. Greta held her nose and giggled. They gulped them down with swigs from a flask of tea.
Edie couldn’t help staring longingly at the flask as she tried hard to swallow a lump of dry carrot.
“Do you want some?” asked Greta, following her gaze. “We can share my cup.”
“Oh, yes please. If you’re sure you don’t mind?” said Edie.
“Of course not. I’ll give us a top-up,” said Greta proudly. She leant forward to grab the flask, which was balanced on the seat beside Gus.
“Careful! That’s hot,” he warned, snatching for it at the same time. But it was too late. Tea spilled everywhere. It went all over the pages of his aeroplane book and their two ration books, which were lying next to it.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Gus cried and Greta burst into floods of tears.
“It was an accident,” said Edie. If anything, Gus was the one to blame. He should have put the lid back on the flask. And he certainly shouldn’t have left their precious documents lying around like that. It was asking for trouble.
Gus ignored her. He grabbed the ration books and began rubbing them hard with the edge of his sweater.
“Don’t do that,” cried Edie. “You’ll make it worse.” He was rubbing so hard, the ink where their names were written had smudged and he had almost ripped right through the paper. Edie remembered how strict and serious Fliss had been when giving her instructions to keep her own ration book safe. That showed how important it was. Fliss was never strict or serious about anything.
“You’ll need to give your ration books to the people wherever you’re billeted,” she said. “It’s got all your details and everything. They’ll need to know your full names.”
“Then I can tell them our full names,” said Gus, furiously rubbing at the inside pages now.
“And we’ve got labels,” sniffed Greta. “In case we get lost. See?” She held up the luggage tag around her neck.
But Gus’s hand shot out and ripped her label from its string. He grabbed his own label too and hurled them both out of the window of the train. “There! Good riddance!”
Edie watched in horror as they fluttered away, out of sight in an instant.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she gasped. Was he mad? The Pied Piper would be furious. “Evacuees are supposed to keep their labels on at all times … ”
“Well, we didn’t. We’re not parcels. We’re people. We can speak English and explain ourselves. So there!” said Gus. But his hands were shaking. “What’s it to you anyway?” he muttered. He had turned bright red and was staring at his feet. “You’re not our mother.”
“No,” said Edie quietly. “I suppose I’m not.” She sank back into her seat. Gus was right. It was none of her business. But she couldn’t help wondering why he was so keen to tell people his own name rather than letting them read it off their official documents? What difference did it make? Edie glanced over and saw that he was chewing his fingernails. He seemed to be so furious all the time. Perhaps it was just like he said: he didn’t want to be sent away and treated like a package. Or maybe he was just worried sick knowing his father was flying planes. The RAF were right in the thick of the action. She crossed her fingers and made a silent wish that Gus and Greta’s father would stay safe. Fliss too, of course. The only sound in the carriage was Greta sniffing loudly as she wiped the pages of Gus’s precious aeroplane book with Mr Churchill’s trunk.
“Leave it,” said Gus more gently. Then he laughed. “Wherever we end up, that poor elephant is going to need a good wash!”
“Never!” protested Greta. “Mr Churchill does not like water.”
Edie giggled. And, for the briefest moment, all three of them smiled.
“Here,” she said, unwrapping the foil from her cherished bar of Fry’s. “Who’d like a square of chocolate?”
It was a peace offering she knew even grumpy Gus would not be able to refuse.
Half an hour later, the guard came to check their tickets.
“You’re the next stop, Miss,” he told Edie as the train chugged between high green hills. “There won’t be any signs telling you which station you’re at because they’ve all been taken down in case the Germans invade. This way they won’t know where they are, see?”
“Gosh,” said Edie. “That’s clever.”
“We think of everything on the railways, Miss.” The guard chuckled as he checked Gus and Greta’s tickets too. “You two need to stay on until Maidbridge. That’s the next big town, the stop after this young lady here.”
“Thank you,” said Edie as he helped her take her suitcase down from the luggage rack and hurried on to the next compartment.
As she began to button her coat, her tummy was suddenly full of butterflies again. In just a few moments she would meet Aunt Roberta for the very first time. The only picture she’d ever seen of her was taken years ago when Aunt Roberta was still a child. It was cut from a newspaper, and Fliss had framed it and hung above the mantelpiece in Glasshouse Street. There was a little caption underneath which read: RAILWAY CHILDREN, and the photograph showed young Fliss, Aunt Roberta and Uncle Peter grinning and wearing their grandest old-fashioned clothes as they stood on a station platform to receive a prize. The very same little station
