The train was slowing now, juddering and hissing steam as they pulled into the station.
“Goodbye. It’s been lovely to meet you.” Edie held out her hand, which Gus shook stiffly.
“Goodbye and … er … thank you for keeping Greta happy.” He nodded.
“I’ve enjoyed it,” said Edie, crouching down beside the little girl. “I do hope you end up at a pretty farm. With your very own piglet.”
Greta kicked her feet against the seat.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said. “I want you to be ’vacuated with us.”
“I know. I wish that too,” said Edie. And it was true. “But I can’t. I have to stay here with my aunt.” The train was rattling into the station already. She kissed the top of Greta’s blonde head and shook Mr Churchill by a dangling leg. “Maybe we can meet in Maidbridge soon.”
Greta kicked the seat again.
“Stop making a fuss, Greta,” said Gus. “Remember how you promised Papa you’d be brave?”
Greta sniffed. “I am brave,” she said. “It’s just Mr Churchill who doesn’t like it.”
“Then you better tell him what an adventure it is going to be,” said Edie with a wink.
The train had stopped now and she picked up her suitcase before Greta could burst into tears.
“Toodle-oo, old things. Pip pip!” She giggled, saluting them both and trying her best to sound like a jolly major general. Greta burst into peals of laughter. Edie seized the moment. “Cheerio!” She jumped down from the carriage and shut the door. In all the commotion of parting from the little girl, she had almost forgotten her own nerves about arriving. But her tummy squirmed as she squinted along the platform.
A young red-faced farmer was hauling a crate of chickens out of the guard’s van. Their squawks were loud enough to be heard over the hiss of the train.
“Shut up, you daft beggars!” he roared, kicking the crate across the platform with his boot. He looked nothing like the pictures of jolly farmers in the storybooks Edie had read when she was little.
“Good shot, Donny.” A skinny porter sauntered down the platform, laughing as the poor chickens screeched. The two men looked so alike, Edie was sure they must be brothers. They were both tall and bony, with the same short-cropped hair and narrow, pointy faces. As the porter reached Edie, he stopped and folded his arms. “You from London?”
She nodded.
“Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to carry that?” he said, staring down at her suitcase.
“Oh, no. Of course not,” said Edie, stumbling to pick it up. “I can manage.”
“Grand!” The porter’s lip curled. “Only I don’t touch luggage from evacuees.” He turned back to the farmer. “You know why that is, don’t you, Donny?”
“Aye, Len,” he snorted. “On account of the lice!”
“Lice?” Edie was horrified. “I don’t have lice,” she cried.
The two young men were falling about with laughter. She realized they were teasing her.
“’Course you do,” said the porter. “All kids from London have lice.”
“Well, I don’t!” Edie felt a furious blush creeping up her cheeks. She glanced desperately along the platform. There was no sign of anyone who could be Aunt Roberta. She wanted to jump back on the train with Gus and Greta. Perhaps Aunt Roberta had forgotten about her. Or perhaps she had decided not to come and collect her at all. Suddenly, the dread of being abandoned, alone on the little country train station, so far from home, was much worse than the fear of meeting her formidable aunt at long last. But, just as she felt the panic rising in her throat, she saw the tall figure of a woman in a long cape striding towards her.
She knew at once it was her aunt, even before the porter touched his cap and scurried away. “Afternoon, Nurse Roberta, ma’am.” He seemed a little afraid of her as he darted off to help the farmer unload two more large wooden crates from the guard’s van.
“Edie!” Aunt Roberta smiled. She was only a few years older than Fliss, but she looked as if she was from another generation – a proper grown-up, like Edie’s headmistress at school. As she stepped closer, Edie could see there were lines around her eyes, and the strands of hair poking out from under her headscarf were peppered with grey.
“Hello.” Edie shifted uncomfortably, wondering if she ought to hug her. She decided not. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Greta peering at them through the window of the carriage.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” said Aunt Roberta. “It was madness of your mother to keep you in London. It is no place for a child in the Blitz.” Aunt Roberta sighed as if this was Edie’s fault somehow. Edie could imagine her telling Fliss off in the same way. No wonder they’d stopped talking. Fliss hated being told what to do by anybody.
“You’re the absolute spit of her, by the way,” said Aunt Roberta more gently, as she looked Edie up and down.
“Me? Of Fliss?” Edie gasped. She couldn’t tell whether Aunt Roberta thought that was a
