Читать книгу When Marnie Was There - Joan G. Robinson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHAT WAS SILLY, Anna thought next morning. Because she had been miserable about the way things really were, she had tried to make something imaginary come true instead. But that never worked.
She went down to breakfast thinking she would try and make it up to Mrs Pegg for missing her outing, by being helpful in some way.
“Shall I wash up?” she asked casually, standing beside her at the sink after breakfast.
“Lord no, my duck! That’s kind of you, but I’m used to it.” Mrs Pegg seemed touched, and a little surprised. “I’ll tell you what, though. You can do something for me. Pick me some sanfer when you’re down on the marsh, and on your way back pop in and ask Miss Manders if she’s any spare jam jars. If she has, get some vinegar as well. Sam’s a fancy to have some pickled sanfer again.”
The Peggs always called samphire “sanfer”, so Anna knew what she meant. She set off with the big, black plastic shopping bag and went down to the creek.
It was one of those still, grey, pearly days, with no wind, when sky and water seemed to merge into one, and everything was soft and sad and dreamy. Sam had said at breakfast that in weather like this his rheumatics were like Old Nick screwing the pincers on him, but Anna liked these days better than any. They seemed to match the way she was feeling.
The tide was out, and she paddled across to the other side without even turning to look at the old house. There was a purple haze over the marsh, which was the sea lavender coming out, and she thought she might pick some of that, too, when she had finished with the samphire.
For two hours she slithered about on the marsh, jumping over the streams, sometimes landing on springy turf and sometimes sinking into soft patches of black mud; hearing only the distant cry of the little grey-brown birds calling “Pity me! Oh, pity me!” from a long way off. The samphire was green and juicy, though it only tasted of sea salt, she thought. She picked until the bag was full, then, deciding to leave the sea lavender for another day, she set off towards the Post Office.
Miss Manders looked at Anna over her spectacles and gave her a thin, tight smile. Anna gave her Mrs Pegg’s message, hearing, at the same time, someone come in behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that it was Sandra and another girl.
“—and Mrs Pegg says if you can spare the jam jars, please can she have some vinegar as well,” she finished, aware that the two girls were looking at her sideways and that Sandra was whispering. The younger girl burst into a peal of laughter, then there was some shushing and quiet scuffling behind her.
When Miss Manders had gone out at the back to find the jars, Anna turned round with every intention of looking friendly, if she could. But try as she would she could not catch Sandra’s eye. She was now standing with her back to Anna, pretending to look at some postcards in a rack, and talking to her friend in a low voice. Again the other girl laughed, half glancing over her shoulder at Anna. Then Sandra, looking into a crate of ginger beer bottles, said loudly in an affected voice, “Ho, and hif you ’ave any old bottles to spare, kindly fill them with ginger beer, will you?”
They both laughed immoderately at this, and Anna stood there feeling awkward, but she was determined to make Sandra look at her. She walked over towards her, intending to say “Hello,” but at that minute Miss Manders came back.
“Tell Mrs Pegg I have got some,” she said to Anna, “but I’ll have to look them out later. They’re away at the back.”
Anna said, “Thank you,” and moved towards the door. Then she remembered the vinegar. She went back and stood uncertainly behind the two girls, waiting while Miss Manders served them with two ice-cream wafers. Then the telephone rang, and Miss Manders, thinking Anna was only waiting for the others, shut the till and went to answer it. Sandra turned round and faced Anna.
“Why are you following me about?” she demanded.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Wasn’t she?”
The other girl nodded, licking delicately round the edges of her ice-cream. Sandra put out her tongue and kept it out, staring hard at Anna, then, very slowly and deliberately, without shifting her gaze, she lifted her ice-cream and ran it down the sides of her tongue.
Anna stared back, noting with pleasure that the ice-cream from the lower end of the wafers was about to dribble down the front of Sandra’s dress. But she showed no sign.
“I was only going to say hello—” she began coldly, but Sandra interrupted before she could finish her sentence.
“Go on, then, call me, call me!”
“What do you mean, call you?”
“Call me what you like. I don’t care! I know what you look like, any road.” She turned and whispered to her companion, giggling, and the blob of ice-cream fell trickling down her dress.
Anna looked at her scornfully. “Fat pig,” she said, and turned to go out.
But Sandra barred her way. She had just seen the ice-cream on her dress and was scrubbing at it furiously. “Now I’ll tell you!” she said, spluttering. “Now I’ll tell you what you look like! You look like – like just what you are. There!”
This startled Anna. She walked out of the Post Office – quite forgetting the vinegar – with all the appearance of not having heard, but knowing that Sandra had dealt her an underhand blow. Like “just what you are” she had said. But what was she?
Angrily she walked down the lane, tearing at the poppies in the hedgerow, and crumpling them in her hot hand until they became slimy. She knew what she was only too well. She was ugly, silly, bad tempered, stupid, ungrateful, rude… and that was why nobody liked her. But to be told so by Sandra! She would never forgive her for that.
She left the bag of samphire behind the outhouse, and went in to dinner looking sulky.
Mrs Pegg did not know yet about her meeting Sandra, but she would hear soon enough. Mrs Stubbs would make sure of that. She would tell her that Anna had called Sandra a fat pig – and this after Mrs Pegg had specially said “try and look friendly”! Anna prepared herself in advance for the moment when Mrs Pegg should hear about it, by looking surly and answering all her kindly questions in monosyllables.
“Ready for your dinner, love?”
“Yes.”
“Liver today. Do you like that?”
“Quite.”
“What’s up, my duck. Got out of bed the wrong side after all, did you?”
“No.”
“Never mind, then. You like bacon too – and onions?”
“Yes.”
Mrs Pegg hovered beside her with the frying pan. “A please don’t hurt no-one neither,” she said a little tartly.
“Please,” said Anna.
“That’s a maid! Now sit you down and enjoy that. Maybe you’ll feel better after.”
Anna ate her meal in silence, then got up to go. Sam reached out a hand as she passed his chair. “What ails you, my biddy?”
“Nothing.”
She ignored the hand, pretending not to see it, but in that instant she longed to flop down on the floor beside him and tell him everything. But she could not have done that without crying, and the very idea of such a thing appalled her. Anyway they would miss the point somehow. Mrs Preston always did. She was always kind, but also she was always so terribly concerned. If only there was someone who would let you cry occasionally for no reason, or hardly any reason at all! But there seemed to be some conspiracy against that. Long ago in the Home, she remembered, it had been the same. She could not remember the details, only a picture of herself running, sobbing across an enormous asphalt playground, and a woman as big as a mountain – as it had seemed to her then – swooping down on her in amazement, crying, “Anna! Anna! What ever are you crying for?” As if it had been a quite outrageous thing to do in that happy, happy place.
All this passed through Anna’s mind as she passed Sam’s chair and went through into the scullery to put her empty plate into the sink. On no account must she cry. It would be too silly to say she was upset because she had called Sandra a fat pig. Or because Sandra had said she looked like just what she was. It was not just that, anyway. Mrs Pegg was going to hate her as soon as she heard about it, so it would be unfair to let her go on being kind now, not knowing.
She hardened her heart and went out by the back door, slamming it behind her.
The tide was far out and the creek a mere trickle. She glanced along the staithe towards The Marsh House, wondering if she might catch a glimpse of the girl she had seen last night, but there was no-one there. The house seemed asleep. She crossed the creek and walked over the marsh, paddling across the creek again on the far side, and came to the beach. There, with only the birds for company, she lay in a hollow in the sandhills all the long, hot afternoon, and thought about nothing.
