Bombers' Moon Read Free Page B

away. In any case they only get mirages in the desert, haven’t you ever been to school?’
    He smiled. You don’t look like you’re running away. I thought real runaways had a stick over their shoulder with a lump of old clothes tied to it. Where’s your stick?’
    I had to laugh then. ‘You’re not so bad for a grown up,’ I conceded.
    He looked at me for a long time. ‘Get on the cart,’ he said, ‘I can’t leave you here, can I?’
    ‘Why not? And what if I don’t want to get up on to your scruffy cart?’
    ‘So many questions.’ He raised his eyes to the sky as if he was looking for planes. ‘Well, let’s consider,’ he said, looking at me again. ‘The cows will be down here soon from the top field, they’ll need milking and they come down very quickly when they need milking, don’t care who they trample the old cows don’t.’
    ‘Bit like Mrs Dixon,’ I mumbled. Then what he’d just said sunk in and a field full of huge dirty cows coming for me was frightening. I scrambled up on to the cart.
    ‘I’m Michael,’ he said.
    ‘So what? Want a medal or something?’
    ‘Just being polite, even townspeople are polite, aren’t they?’
    ‘I suppose so. I’m Meryl Jones.’ I could have bitten out my tongue; I’d fallen right into his trap. Now he knew my name anything could happen. Then I brightened up – anything, like being taken home to Hari. My sister wrote to me every week; she hadn’t yet made it down to the country to see me but then she was very busy looking for a new home for us. I was going home to Swansea soon, I was determined on it.
    Michael stopped the big horse outside a farmhouse. It was big and scruffy inside even though from the outside it was posh: big windows, tall walls and a weather cock on the roof among all the chimneys. It was a bit different from the rows of terraced houses near where I lived. It was full of old, stuffed, splitting furniture and loads of books and papers that littered the floors.
    A big lady led me into the kitchen without any show of surprise. ‘Another one of those evacuees run away is it?’
    ‘Aye,’ Michael said, ‘the third this year.’
    ‘A lot of kids been staying with Mrs Dixon then have they?’ I sounded brazen but I didn’t care and if I wasn’t mistaken Michael stifled a laugh and shut up only when the big woman stared at him.
    ‘We’ll have to deal with it,’ she said, looking me over carefully, ‘awful haircut – new fashion is it?’
    ‘Mrs Dixon said I had nits –’ I knew my tone was indignant – ‘she cut my hair all off and it’s not even cut straight. She slapped my legs hard.’ I pulled aside my skirt and, satisfyingly, a big red mark bore out the truth of my statement.
    ‘Humph.’
    ‘Are you Michael’s Mam?’
    She avoided my question. ‘You can call me Aunt Jessie for now, until we get you sorted.’
    ‘I don’t like the sound of “sorted”.’ I felt like crying.
    Michael went out and he seemed to be gone a long time. I followed Aunt Jessie around the house while she made some food for the evening meal. I could see bits of chicken in a pot surrounded by vegetables and I watched fascinated as the big lady took a handful of dry things from a jar and put them in the pot with the chicken. The things began to unfold and the smell of onions filled the kitchen and my mouth watered.
    Then I stood and watched as the big woman sat in a chair, pushed off her slippers and held her feet out to the fire. I was reminded then of old Mrs Evans, her big toe hanging out of her slipper, and I began to cry.
    All at once, the big lady became Aunt Jessie as she scooped me up and cuddled me to her bigness. ‘There there, it’s hard on you little ones leaving your mother and all.’
    ‘I haven’t got a mother,’ I moaned, ‘and my dad’s away fighting the Hun!’
    ‘Shush, don’t say that too loud some person might be hurt by it.’ She brushed my hair away from my forehead. ‘Look, about Michael, his