Great Meadow by Dirk Bogarde Page B

looked worried. I think she’ll save it all up until morning.’
    â€˜Save what all up?’
    â€˜Widdle.’
    â€˜Oh. I see. These Scots people. Really. But it’s good about no books or socks and just haggis. Isn’t it?’
    â€˜And our father and mother and Minnehaha . . . I am a bit worried about Sat and Sun. They drive him wild. He can smell them.’
    â€˜Well, put them on a shelf in the lean-to.’
    â€˜It’s cold there.’
    â€˜I think it’s very nice being back again. Don’t you . . .?’
    But her voice was getting a bit faded, so I just agreed. But I did feel it was very nice, the candlestick with Australia on the chair beside my bed, the Weekend safe, fed and watered, on the shelf by the stairs, Flora asleep in the next room, and being with Lally. Because, apart from our parents, Lally was the best person in all the world, even if she did cuff me a bit and make me cart the water up in buckets and bury the Bindie Bucket and everything. She made it all feel safe, and loving.
    Just through the wall I could hear her snoring. It was very nice indeed.

Chapter 5
    I was just lying there: it was very warm and safe-feeling. I knew it was still dark because there was no ragged line of light round the curtains and I could hear Flora snoring, or moaning, in her bed. My sister was probably curled up with her head under the quilt. She always slept like that, only this time I couldn’t see her because it was dark. But if I turned my head and looked through Flora’s room I could see the orange glimmer round Lally’s bedroom door, and that was her getting up. So, worse luck, as soon as she’d got on her pinafore, tidied up her hair and shaken her alarm clock (she always did this to see if it was still working even though she could hear it ticking, but it was just something she did anyway, to be quite certain), I knew the door would creak open and she’d come through the rooms and tell us to start waking up, quick sharp, and that another day was starting and there was this or that to do if we wanted any breakfast. I knew it by heart, I suppose.
    â€˜Time to wake up! Lots to do before breakfast!’ she said. (You see?) And then she saw I was awake ‘There’s a surprise for you all outside . . . better get your skates on before it goes.’ She was holding her candle high so that shadows danced across the bumpy plaster walls and made the beams black and wavery. She had her indoor shoes in her other hand, so as not to wake us up, except that she had already woken us.
    â€˜What is it?’ I said and sat up, and felt the cold slither right down my back.
    â€˜Been a fall of snow overnight. Still as still . . . but it won’t lie. Best put on your woolly stockings from the top drawer. It’s a very cold morning.’ And then she opened the door to the stairs and went rustling down while I reached for the box of Swan Vestas by the candlestick.
    When we all got down to the kitchen, and after I’d looked to see if all was well with the Weekend (which it was), the light was goldeny brown from the paraffin lamp and the candle, and the range was crackling and Lally was pumping up the Primus . . . the other one had a singing kettle on it – well, not exactly singing, but sighing really. It was still dark outside, but if you pressed hard against the cold glass, and shaded your face against the lamplight with your hands, you could see, as clear as clear, that everything outside was white.
    â€˜It’ll be light in a few minutes, near eight o’clock, and as soon as it is, and as soon as you’ve had a good hot drink, taken your Virol, got on your Wellingtons, then it’s off with you all to do a bit of wooding for the kindling pile while I get the toast and porridge ready. And I want no arguments!’ She looked very serious, one hand on hip, bread knife in the other. I mean, it was sticking up! You couldn’t argue with