Bombers' Moon Read Free Page A

Mrs Dixon pushed me away and stared at me as though I had the plague. She fetched the scissors from a drawer and began to chop at my hair without minding what she was doing.
    ‘I didn’t have them when I came here,’ I said with venom. ‘I probably got them from your precious Georgie Porgy – he’s always sitting by a scruffy girl at school.’
    I’d come to hate Fat George with every bit of me. When I first set eyes on him I nearly burst out laughing; he had queer trousers that were tucked into his socks and pouched out around his legs like big bloomers. He also wore a cap on his scraggy hair and he talked so funny I could hardly understand him. He was two years older then me but he acted like a child. Even after all these months I hadn’t got used to him. He reminded me of Podgy the pig in one of my Christmas annuals.
    ‘Ow, you’re hurting me!’ I pulled away from Mrs Dixon and slapped her hand so hard that the scissors fell on to the floor. In retaliation, she slapped my legs, a stinging slap that had me hopping about like a wounded chicken. Georgie laughed and, forgetting the pain in my leg, I ran to him and pushed him hard. Taken by surprise, he fell on to his fat backside and stared up at me mouth open. I’d never seen such an ugly sight.
    I couldn’t help it, I just had to say it: ‘You look just like one of them pigs you’re so fond of – all bristly and red and ugly. I hate you George and your mother’s a cruel witch!’
    ‘That’s it. You’re no longer welcome in my house.’ Mrs Dixon took me by the shoulders and shook me until my head buzzed. ‘You’re a horrible, no-manners town girl and I knew you were trouble the moment I set eyes on you. I’ve tried to tame you but I give up, you’re a wicked, wicked girl.’
    When she let me go I flew out the door and began to run. I had no idea where I was going but I wanted to put as much distance between me and the horrible Dixon family as I could.
    I ran until I was breathless and then sat down on a flat stone at the side of the road and wondered what to do. There were fields all around, winter-bare, hedged and looking just the same as the next lot of fields. Without houses and bus stops and shops and all the things I was used to I had no focus, no way of finding out where I was. Still, I wasn’t completely stupid, it was obvious Mrs Dixon would tell someone about me, the police most probably or whoever it was who arranged places for the evacuees in the first place. They’d learn a thing or two about Mrs Dixon if I had anything to do with it.
    I couldn’t sit here all day though, the road was narrow without a signpost in sight. I’d been sent to somewhere called Carmarthen; what I needed was to find a big road leading towards Swansea where I could be picked up easily.
    I found a hill – there were plenty of them – and I stood up as high as I could to look around. Over to my left, I saw a farm cart, the big horse plodding along head down. This, as far as I could see, was the only traffic I would find.
    I began to cross the field towards the other road and halfway over the cold ground the cart came swinging towards me. There was a man on the cart who looked older than me – about the same age as my sister Hari. He drew the big horse to a halt as near to me as he could get, which wasn’t very close because I kept edging away from the great creature whose loose mouth, filled with huge teeth, was a bit too near for comfort.
    ‘What you doing here?’
    ‘What does it look like?’ I wrapped my arms around my skinny body realizing my jersey wasn’t doing much to keep me warm.
    The man leaned forward, his big-booted foot resting on the edge of the cart. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to tell me.’
    ‘You’re a foreigner.’ He had the faintest accent and it wasn’t Welsh.
    ‘Very quick of you. Come on, what you doing out here on your own? Where have you appeared from – you’re not a mirage are you?’
    ‘I’m running