Time to Say Goodbye (34 page)

She was just beginning to relax, to think that her unwanted companion was no longer interested in her or her destination, when a sharp elbow dug her in the ribs. ‘Didn’t you hear me, pretty lady?’ the man said. He had a whining, unpleasant voice, with overtones of aggression. ‘Iffen you’s gettin’ off at my stop we could walk into the village together.’ He wrinkled his nose when she did not reply. ‘God awmighty, don’t you jest stink o’ fish!’

A thousand replies, all of them rude, sprang to Rita’s lips and were quickly suppressed. She longed to tell him that even if she did smell of fish she wasn’t covered in boils and blackheads, or that he himself stank of cow manure, but after her experience with the lorry driver she knew better than to give her tongue full rein. He was clearly the village idiot, but there was no point in antagonising him, so instead she pointed out coldly, without turning away from the window, that she had been working on Mrs Boston’s fish stall, so had a perfectly legitimate reason for smelling of that good lady’s wares.

The man gave a suggestive snigger. ‘That’s what you say,’ he taunted. ‘I say you’re a dirty little tart what’s been plyin’ her trade along Gentleman’s Walk, and now you bring your horrible pong on to our nice clean bus.’ Abruptly his voice softened. ‘But I don’t mind the smell, I like it. And I like you, pretty lady. If you come along o’ Dicky, he’ll give you a present . . .’

But Rita had heard enough. The bus was slowing, drawing in to the verge, and the man had one filthy hand on her thigh. She thrust the hand away and jumped up, pushed past his knobbly knees and crashed down the stairs, her heart beating so loudly that it almost deafened her.

She would have jumped off the bus while it was still moving, but the conductress seized her arm, tutting disproval. ‘That in’t allowed to leave the bus until that’s stationary,’ she said reprovingly. ‘And as I recall, you paid me for the next two stages. Changed your mind?’

Rita glanced quickly behind her and saw the man’s big ill-fitting boots and corduroy trousers; he was beginning to descend. The moment the bus stopped and the conductress’s grip on her arm relaxed, Rita jumped from the platform on to the verge. ‘I – I made a mistake,’ she said breathlessly. ‘What time does the first bus leave tomorrow?’

The conductress had her finger poised on the bell but she did not press it. ‘Workers’ bus?’ she said, eyeing Rita up and down. ‘That go at ten to seven; you pick it up from here.’ She laughed. ‘Only t’other side of the road, of course.’

Rita thanked her, then suddenly realised that she had left her haversack on the bus. She turned to go back but her erstwhile travelling companion jumped off the platform and cannoned into her – she was sure deliberately – and by the time she picked herself up the bus was well away, charging towards its next stop.

No one else had got off the bus here, and looking round her Rita realised that there were only three dwellings within sight. Two were cottages, both in a poor state of repair with drooping thatched roofs and unkempt gardens. The third was a farm set well back from the road up a long and twisting track.

Rita felt a stab of real dismay. This was not a real bus stop, but it would have been ideal had the wretched Dicky not been staring gloatingly at her. This was just what he had wanted, she thought miserably, to catch her by herself and either attack her or insult her in some way. But if she behaved as though she knew the people in the cottages or at the farm, she might well come off the victor; she must brazen it out. She turned on Dicky. ‘I left my haversack on the bus because of you, and it contained important material,’ she said angrily. ‘When I get to the farm and he asks for the things I was bringing I shall tell him who is to blame.’

He stared at her, his mouth dropping open and a tide of red creeping up his scrawny neck. ‘I din’t mean no harm,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t you say no word to Mr Thompson, else Ma and meself won’t have no roof over our heads. Please, pretty lady, Dicky never meant no harm.’

Rita thought he looked both frightened and abashed, but she still hesitated to turn her back on him. However, there was no help for it. Dusk was creeping over the land and she was miserably tired. The red brick farm was surrounded by outbuildings but she suspected they were all too near the house to be a safe refuge. However, there was a large barn a mere quarter of a mile or so away; if she could just shake off her unwanted companion she could spend the night in the barn and catch the workers’ bus next morning.

Scowling, she stood and watched Dicky as he shambled up to the nearest cottage. He hesitated in the doorway and, realising that for the moment at least she had the advantage of him, she wagged a reproving finger. ‘Remember what I said,’ she warned. ‘If I hear one more squeak out of you, I’ll tell Mr – Mr . . .’ For the life of her she could not remember the man’s name, but hopefully she had said enough, for Dicky hunched his shoulders, ducked his head under the lintel and disappeared into the cottage.

Rita felt relief wash over her in a warm tide. The conductress had been helpful and friendly; no doubt she would find the haversack, realise it must be Rita’s and put it aboard the workers’ bus next morning, so things had not turned out so badly after all. She still had most of the money she had earned from selling fish and tomorrow she would return to the city and search for a proper job. She would make certain, however, that first she found a stream or a pond; somewhere she could wash and rid herself of the smell of fish.

Now that Dicky was gone she wondered whether to go up to the farm just in case he was watching from behind the small lead-paned windows of the cottage, but decided she was too tired and instead made for the narrow track which bordered a field of what looked like barley and led, if not straight, at least in the general direction of the barn she could see on the horizon.

As she walked she realised it was very quiet; she could hear birds calling to one another and saw that the sun had sunk out of sight, leaving the sky a clear, singing green, whilst the moon lay on its back awaiting its turn to take over the sky. A blackbird shrilled a warning and to her right some small animal scuttled between the tightly packed stalks, and she heard from the pasture on her left a rabbit thump a warning on the turf and saw others sit up, ears erect, as they wondered whether to flee or remain.

Rita began to walk more quickly. She could not rid herself of the suspicion she was being followed. It had been some while since they had had rain and her feet moved quietly through the thick white dust, but behind her she was almost sure she could hear soft footsteps. She began to be very afraid, and to wonder what she should do for the best. If she continued along the track until it reached the barn she would be very vulnerable, but if she cut across the pasture to the farm she could explain how Dicky had insulted her, had knocked her over and was now following her. Surely that would be sufficient to make the farmer, or his wife, whichever opened the door, take her in?

She had turned off the lane now and was fast approaching the farm. From a distance it had seemed a building of some importance, with well grown trees at its back and well maintained outbuildings on three sides, but close to it looked rather run down, the thatch needing attention and the yard patched with cow dung where the beasts had been led to and from the milking parlour. Rita was just through the wide, lopsided gate when somebody seized her by the shoulders, and a voice close to her ear said: ‘Where the devil do you think you’re going? I could bloody kill you!’

She was opening her mouth to scream when she saw the back door of the farm fly open, and she collapsed on the cobbles as blackness overwhelmed her.

Chapter Eleven

RITA CAME ROUND
to find herself staring into a face she knew well, a face whose concern faded into a broad grin as its owner saw that she had regained consciousness. ‘Well, what a welcome!’ Woody said. ‘Mind you, I blame Josh here for grabbing you, but we’ve chased you all the way from the market, you young horror. Josh was afraid you’d disappear into the farmhouse and we wouldn’t be able to take you home in triumph.’ He was helping Rita to her feet as he spoke, and when she was upright she looked round and saw she had quite an audience. A plump little woman, presumably the farmer’s wife, was trying to usher her into the house whilst an elderly man, a large slab of bread and cheese in one hand, was chewing ruminatively and staring at her with unabashed curiosity. He was flanked by a couple of farm workers, also chewing. And there was Josh, his light brown hair standing on end, and Woody, smiling down at her, both obviously pleased and relieved to have found her.

Woody turned to the farmer’s wife. ‘You must be wondering what’s going on . . .’ he began, but the woman put a plump arm around Rita’s waist and led her into the kitchen, where the table was laid and the kettle hopped merrily over the flame.

‘Never mind explaining until we’ve all had a cup of tea, and this young woman has recovered from her fainting fit,’ she said placidly. ‘I dare say you could all do with a bite to eat as well.’ She jerked her thumb at the three elderly men. ‘Sit down, Abel Thompson, and you as well, fellers. I’ll make a plate of sandwiches,’ she nodded to Woody, ‘while you get down the mugs from the sideboard and make us all a nice cup of tea. Then you can tell the tale, which should be a good one, by the looks of you.’

Rita, sinking into the offered chair, cast Woody a desperate look; it was a look which said
Don’t tell
, but Woody shook his head very slightly and bent over her. ‘Lies won’t help,’ he hissed. ‘Fortunately we’ve found you before the local papers have got hold of the story, but a great many people know you ran off and must be told that you’re back, so we’ll start as we mean to go on, and tell the truth.’

Rita would have argued, had in fact opened her mouth to do so, when, unbidden, a picture of Dicky with his dirty hand on her thigh popped into her mind. If the boys had not come along – and she still could not imagine how they had appeared with such magical suddenness – she might have got herself into all sorts of trouble, even if not through Dicky. So instead of following her usual course, she nodded. ‘But you tell it,’ she urged him as their hostess bustled up to the table.

First, however, Woody put the most important question of all. ‘Are you on the telephone, Mrs Thompson?’ he asked anxiously. ‘We’ve got half the county hunting for this young lady, and we must telephone the local constabulary so that they can let everyone know Rita’s been found.’

His hostess shook her head regretfully. ‘No, that we in’t,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s a public box at the end of the lane. It won’t take one of you lads more’n ten minutes to run down there and make the call.’

‘I’ll go,’ Josh said eagerly. He beamed at the farmer’s wife. ‘If I could borrow a bicycle . . .’

Mr Thompson gave permission at once and Josh shot off, arriving back well within the allotted time. He burst into the kitchen with only the lightest of knocks to say that he had rung the police station first and then the village shop. ‘You know what a gossip Mrs Bailey is, and how the bush telegraph system works,’ he said, pink-cheeked from his ride. ‘They’re sending a police car out to pick us up. I told them we were with the Thompsons at Stonyridge Farm, and the sergeant said he knew it well.’ He grinned at Rita. ‘How much of the story have you told?’

‘We haven’t told anyone anything; we saved it for when you came back,’ Woody assured him. ‘But now we’re all here, I’ll fire ahead.’

Rita guessed that Woody had been rehearsing in his mind how best to relate the story, and certainly he launched into it without any hesitation. He gave few details of the reason for Rita’s departure, merely saying that she had fallen out with one of the other evacuees and decided to make her way into the city where she might find congenial work.

Rita giggled. ‘I don’t think filleting fish and cleaning herring is particularly congenial,’ she observed. ‘But it was good of Mrs Boston to give me work, when you consider how inexperienced I am.
And
she let me take money and give change. And she paid me pretty well, considering. So go on, Woody: how did you find me, and why didn’t you approach me on the fish stall? It would have saved us all a lot of bother if you had.’

‘By the time we got to the fish stall everyone had left, but on the stall next door the feller was still cleaning down. We’d already gone through the rest of the market with a fine-tooth comb but no one had seen hide nor hair of a girl with a long blonde plait. This chap, though, said he’d seen a bit of a girl with a spotted headscarf tied under her chin working for Mrs Boston. We asked him where the fish lady lived and whether she and the girl had gone off together, and he told us that Mrs B usually went to the bus station. It seemed likely that young Rita here had gone with her, so that was where we headed, and we’d barely arrived when we saw Rita leaping on a bus. It would have been great if we could have grabbed someone and shouted “Follow that bus”, but of course we hadn’t even a bicycle on which to give chase. However, just as we were going to give up and telephone Auntie to say that Rita was alive and well and heading for the coast, another driver called us over. “Don’t worry, lads,” he said. “I saw you’d missed the 15, but I’m drivin’ the relief bus, leavin’ almost at once, so you won’t lose much if you jump aboard now.” We dithered for a second, but then the chap roared his engine and we bundled aboard.’

Rita stared from Woody to Josh, wide-eyed. ‘I saw the bus that was following us pull out and pass us when I was asking the conductress what time the workers’ bus left in the morning. So that was you! Oh, if only I’d known!’

‘Yes, it was us, but the driver chose that very moment to overtake and if it hadn’t been for Josh we’d probably have thought you were still aboard. But Josh spotted you and shouted to the conductor to ring the bell since he’d just seen his little sister getting off the bus behind.’

Josh chuckled. ‘Poor feller, he must have thought either I was mad or he was,’ he said. ‘The minute the bus stopped we baled out and followed you – and that tall, loopy-looking chap – as fast as we could go. You and whatsisname seemed to be chatting to each other, and we didn’t like to interfere, but then he sloped off into one of the cottages and we began to walk more quickly to catch you up. I might add we were pretty cross with you. Auntie has been in tears and everyone was dreadfully upset and imagining the worst, of course.’