The Wolf in the Attic (12 page)

I look at him. Hot chocolate! ‘That would be very nice,’ I say carefully. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

‘No trouble. My name is Ronald, by the way.’

‘Jack called you Tollers.’

‘Yes, he does that. Come now, before your nose turns even more blue.’ He looks me up and down, and a frown goes across his face, and his mouth clamps on the stem of his pipe. ‘We must get you in front of that fire. A hot chocolate is just the ticket for warming up little girls. Come on – hop to it.’

He walks surprisingly fast for someone so old – he must be forty at least, and I have to skip to keep up with him. The tramp is gone from the bench and the gardens are all deserted now.

It is not far, but as we reach the door of the Eastgate I hear the din of all the people inside, and shrink back. I am apprehensive, and I cannot think why.

‘It’s quite all right,’ Mr Ronald says quietly. We’ll find a spot by the fire and you can watch them all come and go.’

I follow him inside, and there is a blast of heat and noise and smoke which quite makes my head swim, and I hug Pie tight to me. I have never been in a public house before, or a hotel, or whatever this is. But the warmth is very welcome, and I see Jack’s big beefy face almost at once. ‘Tollers!’ he cries out in that booming voice of his from the middle of a crowd at the bar, and he raises a brown brimming glass to his mouth, then sets it down again as he catches sight of me.

‘Well I’m blowed. It’s little... little...’

‘Anna,’ Mr Ronald tells him. ‘Order her a hot chocolate Jack, there’s a good chap. She’s half frozen. Join us by the fire. And a Burton for me, if you please.’

Jack bends over me. ‘I remember. And how is Odysseos, my dear?’ he asks, smiling.

‘Very well sir,’ I say. ‘Thank you for –’

But the crowd comes in between us. I can hardly hear myself think, and stand there wondering where to go. Then there is a hand on my shoulder, and Mr Ronald is guiding me gently to the big fireplace where the logs are burning and there is space to sit on a low settle. Most people seem to be pushed up tight against the bar, and the room is full of blue smoke and laughter and the smell of beer, and I feel very small and out of place, but Mr Ronald stands over me and makes sure I am not jostled or trod on, and Jack joins us with two glasses and a steaming mug, and his face is shiny and broad as he hands it to me.

‘Marshmallows!’ he says. ‘That’s the key. ‘One must always have marshmallows in hot chocolate. Tollers, the girl will melt sitting there, as will I.’

‘She needs to warm up,’ Mr Ronald says, sipping his beer and looking down at me. ‘We shall be a trio of coalbiters, hogging the fire. How is your chocolate, Anna?’

It tastes like the best thing in the world.

‘It’s lovely, thank you.’

After that, Jack and Mr Ronald lean in close to one another and begin talking loudly in the way that grownups do in a crowd. They seem very obsessed with furniture, because they keep talking about a chair. I sit and feel the heat of the burning logs and my feet thaw out and my shoes begin to steam. I watch the people who are stuffed in the room like tin soldiers in a box, and wonder at the noise and the closeness of it all. Surely it would be easier to have conversation if it were quieter. But everyone seems to like talking loudly with their faces close together, and then drawing back to drink again, or puff on a pipe or cigarette. There are even a few women here, seated at tables around the walls, but everyone is quite old. I wonder if this is what grown-ups do when they reach a certain age, and if I will have to do it. It all looks rather jolly, but exhausting.

There is an old man with a grey beard by the door. I look away, and then look back, and I cannot shake the impression that he is watching me, though I never catch his eye. People come and go like a shifting flock of starlings, and when I try to pick him out again over the rim of my mug, he is gone and the door of the pub is swinging closed.

Out of the current of noise, I pick a sentence. It is Mr Ronald.

‘… wandering about on her own. It’s not right, Jack.’

‘I know, but what can one do? I spoke to the chap, and he seems sound enough. We can’t go putting our noses in.’

‘Hmmph.’

I look up to find them both peering down at me. Jack seems slightly embarrassed. He drains his glass, and hands it to Mr Ronald. ‘Your round, Tollers.’

‘I declare, Jack, you gulp down the stuff as though it were lemonade.’

‘
Bibo, ergo sum
, old chap. Now off you go.’

As Mr Ronald weaves his way to the bar, Jack sits down beside me on the low settle, and it creaks under his weight.

‘Is everything all right, Anna?’ he asks me, and he knocks out his pipe on the edge of the fireplace and begins refilling it from a leather pouch. There is sweat on his upper lip and he looks a little pop-eyed with the heat of the fire.

‘Quite all right,’ I say. ‘Thank you for the chocolate – it was lovely.’

‘Do you go to school?’

‘No. But Miss Hawcross comes round every weekday. Tomorrow it is French again, and maths. She says I do not apply myself.’

‘A governess, then?’

‘I don’t know. She looks after me sometimes when Pa – when father is in London. But he doesn’t go as often as he used to.’

‘What does your father do in London?’

‘He goes to the Colonial Office. He is trying to get us all home. Or he was. I think he has quite given up now.’

‘Home – you mean Greece – Smyrna?’

It is quite a rum sensation to hear that name. We never speak it. None of the exiles do. It’s like the way the Jews can’t speak the name of their God. I nod slowly.

‘Do you speak any Greek, Anna?’

‘Not anymore. I remember words here and there sometimes, but I was very young when we left on the battleship, not more than five or six. It was a long time ago, I suppose.’

‘The years are very grand and long when you are young,’ Jack tells me, fumbling for his matches. ‘As you grow older, so they dwindle, and fly past with much less fanfare.’

‘I hope so. I’m tired of being a child. I want to grow up and be able to go where I please and stay out as long as I like.’

Jack lights his pipe, cupping the flare of the match in his hand and running the flame around the bowl. The pipe smoke is sweet and blue. He puffs a moment, looking straight ahead, but he is not seeing anything in the bar. I can tell.

‘These years are the crucible of your life, Anna,’ he says at last. ‘The things that happen to us as children, they mark us all the rest of our days. That is why this time is so important. Do not wish it away.’ He smiles through the smoke. ‘I am an exile of sorts too. I was born across the water, where the mountains meet the sea. The land of our birth never truly leaves us.’

Mr Ronald returns with beers, and a plate with a thick-cut beef sandwich. ‘I thought you looked a little peckish,’ he says to me.

‘Really, I can’t –’ I say.

‘It’s all right my girl. I had purchased it for Jack, but forgot he’s a very picky eater. Prefers mustard with his roast beef instead of horseradish. Can you imagine?’ He makes a face, and I laugh, and take the sandwich.

Apart from Queenie’s rabbit, I have not eaten beef in weeks, and the taste is glorious, and I prefer horseradish too.

‘You are very nice gentlemen,’ I say with my mouth full, and I shouldn’t, because it is not genteel, but I don’t care.

‘You are very welcome my dear,’ Jack says, and he sets his big hand on my head for a moment. He and Mr Ronald look at one another.

‘You should come to tea sometime,’ I go on, still chewing. ‘We have Earl Grey, and toasted muffins sometimes.’

‘That would be fine,’ Jack says.

Mr Ronald is consulting his wristwatch. He gulps at his beer. ‘We’ll be late for the service, Jack.’

‘Oh, hang the service.’

‘Even an infidel like you must make an appearance from time to time.’ He looks at me. ‘You will go home after this won’t you child? I hate to think of you wandering the streets.’

‘I like wandering,’ I say, and look at Pie, wondering if I have done something wrong. ‘I can look after myself. I have been to Wytham Wood in the middle of the night, and I was quite all right.’

‘What on earth took you there?’ Jack asks, astonished.

‘I wanted to see the trees in the moonlight.’

They both laugh. ‘What glory there is in being young,’ Jack says. And to Mr Ronald, ‘You go on, Tollers. I will see her part of the way, at least. Miss Francis is rather more engaging than the Chaplain.’

Mr Ronald nods. He stoops and holds out his hand. ‘Miss Francis, it has been a rare pleasure,’ he says as I shake it. ‘And I quite agree with you about the moonlight on the trees.’

8

T
HE STREETS ARE
quieter now, and the sun has hidden itself in cloud and Oxford is grey with cold, but the warmth of the fire and the chocolate stay with me as we walk up the High past all the grand colleges and churches. Jack is still puffing on his pipe and despite the fact that he is rather a large man, he strides along quickly in his shapeless old flannels.

‘Walking stirs up the mind,’ he says. ‘I can see you and I are eye to eye on that one, Anna.’

‘I like walking, and exploring. There’s always so much to see. I should like to spend my life tramping all over the interesting places of the world, and reading as many books as I please.’

‘I couldn’t agree more my dear. A new book is an adventure in itself.’

‘I suppose that’s what you do – you read a lot of books?’

‘Among other things. There’s nothing like a good old sullen read, with a pot of tea and a good pipe to hand.’

‘And what about adventure? Have you been to many places? I should love to travel. Oxford is all very well, but it seems to me there are so many other more interesting places in the world.’

‘Ah, there you have me. I am one of those pitiful souls who would rather read about adventure than go out and look for it. Perilous things, adventures. They are invariably uncomfortable at some point, and they make you late for dinner.’

We walk along briskly, and I look at Pie. ‘I had an adventure,’ I say quietly.

‘Port Meadow. Yes, you told me. It sounded a little too hair-raising for someone of your age, Anna. I do beg you to be careful.’

‘No – after that. When I went to Wytham Wood in the moonlight. I met people there. I saw things.’

He looks at me somewhat sharply. ‘What kind of things?’

I feel uncomfortable with Jack’s stare, but I am bursting to tell someone, and have been for days.

‘There were people living in the wood, all sat around a fire eating rabbit stew, and singing. Some of them were quite frightening, but others were not so bad. I think I like them.’

‘Gypsies, I’ll warrant,’ Jack says, frowning, and he gives a
harrumph
. ‘Listen to me Anna, it is all very well having a high spirit, and the urge to explore and so on, and I do not doubt your courage for one moment, but you must exercise caution, too. The greatest explorers are those who return safe and sound to tell the tale of their travels.’

‘Captain Scott did not come back. Or Magellan either.’

Jack chuckles. ‘Well, you have me there. But Amundsen and Shackleton returned safe and sound, and Columbus had to get back to Spain before we knew that America was out there across the sea. Just think if he hadn’t! What a pickle we would have been in.’ He slows, and takes his pipe out of his mouth, stabbing the air with it. ‘The Gypsies, or Romani as they are known, are an ancient people, and they have been with us since time immemorial; but they have their own ways and customs, and it does not do to cross them. The country has taken some shrewd blows this last year or two, Anna, and there are more poor and desperate folk abroad than there used to be. It is... it is a damned ticklish time for a young girl to be out on her own, even in the environs of a city like Oxford.’

He jams the pipe back between his teeth.

‘Your father would tell you the same, I’m sure.’

‘He has.’ I am disappointed in Jack. All grown-ups are the same after all. I was going to tell him about the animal in the trees, but I won’t now. I feel sure he would not like it, or not believe me. So it must stay between Pie and me, like the killing of Fat Bert, and the shine in Luca’s eyes as they met the moon. It is a tiresome thing to have so many secrets after a while, not exciting at all. Like walking around with stones in your pockets.

We are at the corner of George street, and the Randolph is just ahead. It has begun to snow again, and the flakes are thin, biting flecks which chill my face and legs.

‘When is Midwinter?’ I ask Jack.

‘Eh? Oh, that would be tonight. Today is the shortest day of the year, and this will be the longest night. But Christmas will be here soon. I’m sure you’re looking forward to that.’

‘Yes,’ I say, not really attending. I wonder what Luca and his family are at, out in the woods right now. There was something about Midwinter’s night that seemed special to them.

‘There will be carols in Magdalen Chapel. Perhaps you and your father would like to come.’

‘Why did Mr Ronald call you an infidel?’ He stops in his tracks. ‘I only ask, because it was what we were called by the Turks, and they were all very horrible, but Mr Ronald does not seem horrible at all, so I wondered why he used that word. You are friends, aren’t you?’