When Marnie Was There (9 page)

M
RS
P
EGG WAS
shaking the rag mat in the yard with unnecessary violence, and talking to Anna between shakes.

“I’d have thought the
least
you could do – was keep a civil
tongue
in your head – after I’d specially
asked
you to look
friendly
—” shake – shake – “I’m that
riled
with you, I—” she choked and flung the mat over the dustbin, then wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. For one awful moment Anna thought she was crying, then realised that
her own eyes were pricking. The tiny yard was full of dust.

Mrs Pegg turned on her, red in the face. “Why did you do that, lass? What come over you, for goodness sake?”

“She called
me
names first,” Anna mumbled.

“Oh, she did, did she? What sort of names?” Mrs Pegg looked hopeful for an instant but Anna closed her mouth obstinately. Mrs Pegg pressed her. “Not that I’m one to listen to other’s tiffs generally speaking,” she said, “and what’s done can’t be undone, but you’d better tell me now.”

“She said I looked like – just-what-I-was,” said Anna, the words tumbling out all together in a sullen mumble.

“Like
what?”

“Just-what-I-was,” Anna repeated.

“Well, lordsakes, and what’s wrong with that!” Mrs Pegg flung up her hands in despair and lumbered angrily indoors. From the kitchen Anna could hear Sam’s voice protesting mildly that it was a small thing to get so put out about, and Mrs Pegg retorting angrily that it was all very well for him to talk, but if he’d kindly cast his mind back he might remember how she’d said all along it wouldn’t do to fall out with Mrs Stubbs, not till after the fête.

“You know very well I never was one to listen to tittle-tattle and squabbles, but what with Mrs S being so put out, and her running the cake stall what I’m put down to help with—” There was a sudden crash, then Mrs Pegg’s voice, shaky now, “There! Me big teapot! If that ain’t the last straw—” followed by an unmistakable sob.

Anna did not wait to hear any more.

She went down to the beach, walking all the way along the dyke. There was no sign of Wuntermenny, and in any case she felt that even his company would be an interruption. She did not want to think about anyone or anything, not even Marnie. It would have been all right if only Mrs Pegg had gone on being angry, but when she had dropped that teapot… hastily Anna put the memory out of her mind. She walked hard, thinking about nothing and seeing nothing, until she came at last to the sand dunes.

Here was the one place where she could be sure of meeting no-one. Even if anyone should happen to be wandering along the beach, she could see them while they were still no more than a speck in the distance, and lie low until they had passed. Already she had spent many afternoons here, lying in a sandy hollow, hearing only the wind rustling the tops of the grasses, the distant crying of the gulls, and the soft soughing of the sea. It was like being at the very edge of the world. Sometimes the gulls came nearer, screaming noisily as they quarrelled over small fish in the pools, and sometimes they cried mournfully far away along the beach. Then Anna felt like crying too – not actually, but quietly – inside. They made a sad, and beautiful, and long-ago sound that seemed to remind her of something lovely she had once known – and lost, and never found again. But she did not know what it was.

So, this morning, she spent several hours in the sand dunes, not thinking about Mrs Pegg, and not thinking about Sandra or Mrs Stubbs, and only thinking about Marnie when she had emptied her mind of everything else. And it was then that she realised the tide would not be high until even later that night. It would be after eleven o’clock. How was she going to see Marnie?

Walking home again at dinner-time, she thought of the obvious answer. If Marnie could go out in a nightdress, so could she! She would go to bed early tonight, before the Peggs, and slip out later. And this afternoon, when the tide was out, she would pick a bunch of sea lavender for Marnie.

A letter from Mrs Preston was waiting for her at the cottage when she got back. It told her all sorts of news about people she did not know, whom she supposed must be neighbours at home. But when she tried to visualise home it seemed so unreal and far away that she found it difficult to imagine Mrs Preston still living there. A postscript at the bottom said,
Do write again soon. You didn’t tell us much except that you went to the beach. And you didn’t say anything about the smell either, dear. Can you describe it?

Anna was surprised. The smell… what smell? Or perhaps the word was “shell”? She examined it closely and saw that it was not. A stamped addressed card had been included this time so she decided to reply at once before she forgot again, and while Mrs Pegg laid the table around her, she wrote, “The beach doesn’t smell.” This was untrue,
of course. The beach had a wonderful smell, but “Can you describe it?” reminded Anna of Miss Davison’s English exercises at school, and her resistance was aroused. In any case, how could you describe the smell of the beach? It just smelled of the sea, or seaweed – though occasionally, if the wind were in the wrong direction, and nature had done her worst – of a dead seal. But who wanted to hear about the smell of a dead seal on a postcard? Instead, she gave an accurate account of the weather and (since this was uppermost in her mind) the state of the tides during the last few days.

After dinner she went out again, waited until the tide was low enough, then paddled across to the marsh to pick her sea lavender.

Mrs Pegg, seeing Anna’s postcard still on the mantelpiece, stamped and ready for posting, clicked her tongue. Really, the child would forget her head one of these days! She had specially reminded her to post it when she went out. She picked it up and looked at it curiously, with her eyes screwed up, turning it in all directions.

“Well, I don’t know!” she said. “I never were no scholar, but – here, you read that.” She handed it to Sam. “What does that say?”

Sam read aloud, laboriously, “The – beach – doesn’t – smell.”

“There!” said Mrs Pegg triumphantly. “That’s what I thought it said!”

“Well, that don’t smell, do it?”

“No. And the moon ain’t blue. And cows don’t dance. And some folks ain’t got the sense they was born with. You, for one, Sam Pegg. Don’t it strike you that’s a queer way for a child to start a letter?”

“Oh, ah! Happen she’d other things on her mind,” said Sam.

“Happen she had,” said Mrs Pegg, shaking her head in a vaguely bewildered way. “Happen she always has, if you ask me.” Then she went out, posted the card, and forgot about it.

That evening, as soon as the Peggs had settled down to their evening television, Anna fetched a book and sat reading near them on a low stool. After a while she began yawning and let the book slip sideways. When she had sat there long enough for her boredom with the book and her weariness with the programme to be noticed by the Peggs – or so she hoped – she rose and yawned again. Then, to the accompaniment of massed brass bands from an agricultural hall somewhere in East Anglia, she tiptoed hurriedly, with ostentatious quietness, towards the stairs.

Once in her own room, she undressed and put on her nightdress. Then she pulled on her shorts, tucking the nightdress inside, and put on her jersey on top. Now she was ready. She waited until she judged the tide would be well on the way up, then picking up the bunch of sea lavender, she opened her door and listened. Then, still
under cover of the noise from the television, she crept downstairs and slipped out through the scullery door.

The Peggs, sitting like two ancient monuments in the flickering blue light, had their backs towards her and never even turned round.

T
HE BOAT WAS
waiting. Anna stepped in and cast off the rope. In a moment, almost before she had time to dip the oars, she was drifting steadily along in the direction of The Marsh House. She scarcely needed to row; the boat seemed to know its own way.

She was nearly opposite the house when she was startled to see there were lights in all the windows. What could it mean? And the sound of music was coming over the water! She rested on the oars and held her breath. This was what
she had dreamed of – a party going on in the old house! As the little boat drifted slowly past, she saw, through the windows, the great staircase ablaze with light, and the bright colours of the ladies’ dresses moving about inside. And in the dark water, just as she had imagined it, she saw it all reflected, the lights spearing down in trembling points almost to the very edge of the boat.

Then she had passed the house. Turning, she saw, in the darkness behind her, a small white figure standing at the top of the projecting wall. It was Marnie, waiting for her.

She threw the rope and Marnie caught it. Once more she was pulled gently in, alongside the steps. She clambered out and Marnie caught hold of her hand.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!” she whispered. “Did you hear the music?”

“Yes, and I saw the lights. It looked so lovely from the water I thought I must be dreaming it!”

“They’re having a party,” Marnie whispered. “I was so hoping I’d see you! I’ve run out to look for you over and over again.”

“I thought I mightn’t be able to come tonight, it’s so late,” said Anna. “But look…” she pulled her nightdress out from under her shorts, “I’ve done the same as you. I’ve got ready for bed first!”Then she saw that Marnie was wearing a real white party dress, with a full skirt and a ribbon sash.

“I had to,” Marnie said apologetically. “It’s a grown-up party, really, but I had to be there. One or two of them are
quite young – but
years
older than us.” She squeezed Anna’s hand and snuggled up to her. “I’m so glad you’re here. I wish you could come in, too…” she hesitated, looking at her thoughtfully, then suddenly she laughed. “I know! You
shall
come in. Nobody will know who you are.”

“But I can’t,” Anna protested, “not in a nightie and sandshoes.” She glanced down and saw that her nightdress was now streaked with mud. “I can’t,” she repeated sadly. “Anyway, I’m all muddy.”

“Yes, you can! The muddier the better. I’ve an idea. You only want a shawl over your head and you’ll look like a beggar girl.” Then she saw the bunch of sea lavender in Anna’s hands. “Oh, you darling, you’ve brought me some sea lavender! That’s just what we need. You’re a beggar girl, and you’ve come to sell sea lavender to the ladies and gentlemen – for luck.
Will
you? Wait, and I’ll fetch you a shawl!” Without waiting for an answer she ran in by a side door, leaving Anna standing alone on the wall.

Anna was not frightened. She was hardly nervous. She had no very clear idea what was going to happen and, oddly enough, it never entered her head that she had any choice in the matter. She felt, as she always did with Marnie, that what ever they did was the only thing they could have done. It had all been decided already. Anna had only to wait and see what happened. So she waited now, standing in sandshoes, and a muddy nightdress over a pair of cotton shorts, listening to the sounds of music coming from the
house behind her and beginning to feel quietly excited.

Marnie came running back with an old brown shawl in her hand.

“Here you are,” she cried, “the very thing!” and she flung it over Anna’s head, arranging it over the back of her hair and crossing the ends over her chest. Then she stood back and looked at her critically. “You look fine, but your nightie’s a tiny bit too long. It ought to come just below your knees.” She tucked it up round the top of Anna’s shorts and they giggled together.

“Can I really?”

“Yes, of course. Oh, isn’t this fun! Now your shoes —”

Marnie bent down and pushed a sprig of sea lavender into the eyelet hole of each shoe, covering the laces, then she tucked another into Anna’s hair, just over one ear.