It sounded daft, put like that, because paint didn’t move. But the boy’s face lit up. He had an infectious smile.
‘Really? You think so?’
Glad that she’d hit the right note, Annie grinned back. Without thinking about it, she came and sat down by him. He was dressed in a blue short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts and plimsolls. His arms and legs were long and skinny. His nose was peeling.
‘I do, honest. I think it’s good,’ she assured him. ‘Are you going to put the pier in? And the wire?’
‘When it’s dry I’ll draw the pier in Indian ink, so I’ll be able to get all the little details. I don’t know about the wire. I think I might do another one, without the pier, just sea and sky and the wire across it.’
Annie nodded slowly, seeing it in her head. ‘Yes, sort of … like a prison—’ The boy turned and gave her a long, considering look.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s just it. It’s supposed to be keeping the Jerries out, but if you look at it the other way, it’s keeping us in.’
‘But if you look through it—sort of fuzzy your eyes—you know? You can pretend it isn’t there at all,’ Annie said.
Which brought on that dazzling smile again.
‘Yes! That’s what I’m doing right now! Just—making it go away. How did you know that?’
‘I do it a lot,’ Annie told him. ‘Pretending things aren’t there. Or people. It’s better like that.’
‘And how,’ the boy said.
They looked at each other, breathless, startled by that heart-stopping moment that revealed a kindred spirit.
‘I’m Tom. Tom Featherstone.’
That intriguing accent. The way he said ‘stone’.
‘Annie Cross.’
Self-consciously, they shook hands. Tom put down his sketch-book and brushes.
‘Are you here on holiday?’ she asked.
‘Mmm. At the chalet.’
‘Silver Sands?’
If it had been anyone else, she would have resented them being in the place she wanted for her own retreat, but with Tom it was different.
‘S’right.’ he said. ‘You?’
‘I live at the farm. Marsh Edge. Over there.’
She pointed her thumb over her shoulder.
‘Oh—that farm. We can see it from the garden. I wondered who lived there.’
‘I wondered who the family was at Silver Sands. I saw the tents in the garden. I thought—I thought it must be nice, to have a holiday, and lots of people to play with. If you’re a little kid, of course.’
‘They’re pests, my cousins,’ Tom said. ‘They’re all younger than me. My sister Joan’s five years younger than me, and my cousin Doreen’s only a year younger than her, so they’re friends, and then the twins, that’s Doreen’s brothers, they’re always together anyway. I came over here to get away from them.’
It was all falling into place.
‘Who are the grown-ups? They your mum and dad?’
‘My mam and Aunt Betty and Uncle Bill. My dad had to stay at home and mind the business.’
Mam. She liked that.
‘Where’re you from?’ she asked.
‘Noresley. It’s near Nottingham.’
Nottingham. Annie pictured the map of England in her head. They’d traced it and put in all the boundaries and principle towns and cities in Geography a couple of years ago. Nottingham was just about in the middle. The Midlands.
‘Where Robin Hood came from?’
‘Sort of. We’re not in Sherwood Forest, though. It’s all pit villages round our way.’
‘Pits? You mean coal mines?’
Miners were one of her father’s many dislikes. They were all good-for-nothing commies in his opinion.
‘That’s right. We run a bus and coach company, in and out of Nottingham and Mansfield, and between the villages.’
Annie thought of being out and about all the time, driving from one place to another, talking to all the people getting on and off the bus.
‘Sounds like fun. Are you going to drive a bus when you’re older?’
Tom sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to. I can’t really see my dad letting me go to art school. Depends, though, doesn’t it? If the war’s still going on by December next year I’ll be joining up.’
‘D’you think it’ll go on that long?’
‘Last one did, didn’t it? It went on for four years.’
‘Four years! I’ll be eighteen then.’
Eighteen. It seemed a huge age. And where would she be then? Still here at Marsh Edge Farm, probably. Or … Annie looked at the barbed wire that was supposed to keep the Germans out and a dreadful thought struck her.
‘Do you think they will invade?’ she asked.
It had never really presented itself as a possibility before. It was something lingering on the edge of imagination, like a past nightmare. Now she saw waves of grey-uniformed soldiers coming ashore, cutting through the wire, marching over the fields—her fields—towards her home. Fear sliced through her.
‘I don’t know,’ Tom said. ‘We’re winning the Battle of Britain so far. Our planes are shooting down more of their planes. We can’t lose, can we? I mean—we just can’t—’
‘No,’ Annie agreed. ‘We can’t.’
They both stared through the wire to the horizon. The fear subsided, but still lurked there.
There was a rustling and panting on the other side of the wall, and then two shrill voices broke through their reverie.
‘Tom! Tom! Your mam says you’re to come in, she’s making the cocoa.’
Annie turned round. Two small boys with identical round faces, grey eyes and grubby knees were staring at her.
‘Who’s she?’ one of them asked.
‘Never you mind. Go and tell my mam I’m just coming,’ Tom told them.
The twins stood and gazed.
‘What’s she doing here?’ the other one asked.
‘Talking. Now buzz off. Now! Hop it! Go!’ Tom ordered.
Giggling, they went.
‘Brats,’ Tom grumbled.
‘I thought they were quite sweet,’ Annie said.
Their likeness was fascinating.
‘Huh. You don’t have to share a tent with them,’ Tom said.
He washed his brushes, emptied his water jar, closed his paint box. While they had been talking, the light had faded. It was dusk.
‘You—er—you going to be here at all tomorrow?’ he asked, not looking at her.
‘I’ve got to work. But I might be able to get away in the evening again. I might,’ Annie said, knowing as she said it that she would move heaven and earth to do so.
‘Come over this side again. Where that lot can’t see us,’ Tom said, indicating his family with a backward movement of his head. ‘If you want to, that is.’
‘Righty-oh.