The Girl from Hard Times Hill (7 page)

‘Walk, not run, new girl!'

I slowed to a halt. Then I made myself walk with painful slowness through the school gate. Around me were crowds of girls. Even though I'd been here almost a week, nobody stopped and said hello to me. They
were all too busy chattering to each other. They weren't unfriendly, exactly, but I didn't feel I fitted in anywhere. I hadn't been to one of the Cardiff primary schools, or learnt the piano, or French, or had tennis lessons; and none of them seemed ever to roller-skate, or play near railway tracks, or do any of the things I liked to do.

Much worse were the teachers. They were strict and sarcastic. Even out of lessons you couldn't relax. There seemed to be rules about everything. They even measured the skirts of our tunics with a ruler – they had to come exactly three inches above the knee when we knelt down. Mine was a trifle too long and they said I'd have to take it up.

I filed in with the rest to assembly. I wasn't expecting anything other than the usual hymns, but directly after the school prayer, the Headmistress, Miss Ainsley-Howells, called one girl to come and stand at the front. While the whole school stared at her, Miss Ainsley-Howells said, ‘I am horrified to learn, Valerie, that you were seen on the street this morning, in your school uniform – ' and here she paused, while everyone held their breath – ‘
talking to a boy!
' There was a delighted gasp. ‘Talking to boys while in uniform, in a public place, is not permitted. I have no choice but to award you a conduct mark!'

It was at that point that I heard the girl in front of me mutter to her friend, ‘It was only her
brother
, for Heaven's sake!'

I could hardly believe it, although I already knew you weren't allowed to eat in the street in uniform. Or run. I thought sadly back to Llanelli, where there was nothing to stop me running at full tilt with Davy or Tom, chatting happily, while munching an apple or (if we were very lucky) sharing a bag of sweets.

I soon forgot this, though, for the next lesson was P.E. This was worse than anything. I could keep up in lessons, but I've never been good at sports, and when I started wheezing, and tried to explain about my asthma, the awful bully of a P.E. teacher just shouted at the top of her voice, ‘Don't make excuses, girl! I've no time for malingerers here. Whatever it was like at your
old
school – ' she sneered at me, as if she could tell at once I wasn't from a posh Cardiff school – ‘you won't get away with that here!'

I turned away, still gasping for breath, and working out in my head how many hours it was until going-home time.

I climbed onto my bus that afternoon, and went to sit near the back. I was feeling very sorry for myself, and I hardly noticed at first when a girl got on and walked towards me. She was wearing the Grammar School uniform and I dimly recognized her as being in my year. Quickly, I glanced away. I'd had enough of school for the moment, and besides, I didn't want her to see the tears in my eyes and think that I was a complete baby.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment as she drew level with me. But when I determinedly stared out of the window, she chose a seat on the other side of the aisle.

My shoulders slumped suddenly. Why had I done that? She'd probably thought I'd deliberately snubbed her. Why did I get everything wrong? I looked sideways to give her a smile, but she was gazing out of the window. Blushing, I looked away, then with fumbling fingers I reached down to get my library book out of my satchel. While I pretended to read, I kept glancing at the girl. There was something about her dark hair and long, oval face. She reminded me of somebody.

When it was time to get off the bus she was still staring hard out of the window.

I opened the door of the flat. ‘I'm home!' I called.

From the direction of the bedrooms, Mum replied, ‘I'm just seeing to the Littlies!'

So some things didn't change. Other things were very different, though. Damp washing hung from every surface, and there was a smell of soaking nappies. The milk and margarine and various crumb-covered plates were scattered on tables and counters. Toys were strewn everywhere. The fire had gone out.

I flung my things on the sofa and picked my way across the room. I'd have to get my snack myself – any
ideas of Mum welcoming me with milk and bread-and-butter the way Nana did were already forgotten. I sighed and started putting dirty plates in the sink.

From the bedroom, Mum called, ‘Megan, we've no bread – d'you think you could run to the shop?'

And how was your day at school?
She couldn't even be bothered to ask. So I ignored her, dumped the things I was holding, and went into my bedroom.

Shirley was lying on the rug, drawing.

‘I went to my new school today,' she announced, looking up.

‘Me too,' I muttered. ‘It was a right wash-out.'

While Shirley chattered on, I started laying things out on the bed. Clean clothes. Underwear. The blue jumper Nana had knitted for me. My teddy.
Swallows and Amazons
. Pam's lucky rabbit foot (not that it had brought me much luck so far).

‘What are you doing?' asked Shirley.

‘Never mind,' I muttered, adding the half crown coin that Grandpa had given me when I left. Surely that would be enough for the train fare? Then I pulled down my battered suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and started to shove everything inside.

I don't know how long I'd been thinking about it. But suddenly I knew I couldn't stand being in Cardiff
a day longer. I was going home. And although I hadn't been consciously planning it, I knew exactly what to pack too.

‘I've got a story book,' Shirley announced. She thrust it into my hands. ‘Read it!'

I hesitated. I didn't have much time. Then I sat down and read her the story.

She wasn't that bad, really, Shirley. I'd felt different about her, since she'd almost been crushed under Tom's wheels.

Reading to her reminded me of the book I'd brought back from school. It would be something to read on the train.

I went into the living room to find it, and there was Mum, sitting on the sofa with my book open on her lap.
Five Children and It
by E. Nesbit, borrowed from the school library. Mum looked up at me guiltily. ‘Oh Megan,' she said, ‘I do hope you don't mind. Do you know, I read this when I was your age? And I absolutely loved it!'

‘Oh.' I was very taken aback.

‘I knocked over your bag, and this fell out, and I picked it up and just read the first page – and somehow it sucked me in. Goodness, but it's been lovely. A whole twenty minutes to myself, reading a book!'

There was something different about Mum at that moment. She looked – well, happier than usual. And younger too, and less harassed. Maybe it was because she didn't have Barbara glued to one hand and Shirley to the other.

‘Why don't you keep on reading?'

‘I can't. There's so much to do. Barbara's sleeping, but she'll wake up soon.' Mum looked tired again, and older. ‘But look at you, in your smart uniform,' she said suddenly. ‘Come and tell me about your day.'

‘No, you sit there, and I'll get you a cup of tea.' I might almost have giggled, I sounded so like Nana – but I was too sad. I knew now I couldn't run back to Llanelli. It wouldn't be fair. I'd just have to stay here, and make the best of things…including school.

By the time Dad got back, Mum and I had got the flat a bit straighter. Most of the dry nappies had been folded and put away, and the washing-up was done and the counters wiped. I'd even persuaded Shirley to pick up her toys. Still, I knew I'd have to start on my homework soon, and I had no idea what we were going to have for supper.

Dad came in carrying a loaf of bread under one arm and a newspaper-wrapped parcel under the other. The smell gave it away.

‘Fish and chips!'

‘That's right – to celebrate the end of your first week! Doesn't she look grown-up in her uniform, Gwen?' Dad grinned at me. ‘Well, Megan, how was it? You haven't told us much so far. Did you enjoy it? Could you keep up? I'm sure you knocked the socks off them!'

He looked at me eagerly. He'd been working hard at his new job, and we'd hardly had a chance before to talk.

I smiled as brightly as I could and said, ‘It was just fine.'

A few days later, when I got onto the bus to school, I saw the same dark-haired girl sitting next to the window, with her eyes glued to a book. Actually she'd been there before, but I'd always walked past. This time, I stopped next to her.

I took a deep breath. ‘Can I sit next to you?'

She looked up, nodded silently, then returned to her book. I sat down and looked sideways at her. Dark hair, long face, dark eyes.

‘I think we're in the same year.'

She nodded. I struggled for more to say. ‘Are you Jewish?'

She turned and stared at me, astonished. From the expression on her face, I realized how nosy it sounded. And I remembered that Pam had once told me that some people didn't like Jews. Maybe this girl thought I felt the same.

‘I'm sorry,' I gabbled. ‘I suppose it's none of my business. It's just – the thing is, you remind me of someone, a friend of mine, and I couldn't think why. I just wondered if it was because you were both Jewish.'

‘What's she called?'

‘It's a he, and you won't know him. He doesn't live in Cardiff. His name's Davy Levenson.'

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘He's my cousin.'

She told me that Davy and his mother might be moving to Cardiff. I was really pleased. Suddenly the conversation became much easier. We exchanged names – she was called Judith – and chatted about our homes. It turned out we lived quite close. After a while, I asked, ‘What d'you think of school?'

She pulled a face.

‘I know,' I said. ‘The teachers are really scary. And I don't fit in at all.'

Judith said solemnly, ‘The first day, I wanted to run away. But I think some of the teachers are good, if you're interested in the subject. And one of the older girls was very kind to me, yesterday. She said it takes a while to find your feet but most people make friends in the end.'

‘Well, I'll look out for you anyway, at break and on the bus.'

Judith nodded. ‘Maybe we can help each other with homework. I'm good at languages. I've noticed that you're good at maths.'

I flushed with pleasure. ‘I hope so. I'll need to be – and all the sciences too. I want to be a doctor.'

I'd thought she might laugh at me. But Judith nodded, as if she found nothing strange in this at all. One of her aunts had practised medicine, she said, in Germany. And the long bus ride passed more quickly than it ever had before.

We strolled up to school together, my hat dangling casually from one hand. I no longer noticed how imposing the building looked. Nor was I watching the other girls talking – I was too busy talking myself.

‘New girl – hats are to be worn, not carried!' snapped a voice. It was Miss Ainsley-Howells. ‘Don't let me have to tell you again!'

Instead of jumping, and scuttling away like a scared mouse, I just looked at Judith, shrugged theatrically, and slammed the hat onto my head. Really, I thought, as we strolled on up the drive. Almost, it felt that I belonged.