The Hills and the Valley by Janet Tanner Page B

now.
    â€˜Where do you think your sister has gone?’ she asked Marie. The child said nothing and in spite of her anger Margaret could not help feeling sorry for her. It wasn’t her fault, and she could not think even now that Elaine had actually intended to steal a cake. With everyone being so hostile towards them it was no surprise that she turned and ran.
    Back in the Market Square there was still no sign of Elaine and Margaret stood for a moment wondering what to do. It was possible she had gone home. Margaret decided she had better abandon her shopping trip and go home to see, though she had not yet bought any of the weekend essentials. That was going to mean another trip out whether Elaine was there or not. And as for the ice-cream she had promised the girls – well, they could certainly go without that!
    Margaret and Harry lived in a large pleasant semidetached house on the corner of Ridge Road where she had lived with her parents before her marriage. Climbing the hill she kept her eyes about her but there was still no sign of Elaine and it was without much hope that she pushed open the gate and walked up the drive. A stitch was starting in her side and she felt tired and breathless. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to go back down to Hillsbridge for the shopping.
    She rounded the corner of the house dragging Marie with her then stopped, relieved. There sitting on the back doorstep and idly chalking on the path with a sharp white pebble was Elaine. Instantly, Marie wrestled her hand free of Margaret’s and ran to her sister. Margaret followed more slowly.
    â€˜So there you are.’
    Elaine went on scratching with the stone without looking up.
    â€˜Well?’ Margaret said briskly. ‘Don’t you think you should explain yourself?’
    The thin shoulders merely shrugged.
    â€˜What were you doing touching that woman’s shopping bag?’
    Another shrug.
    â€˜Were you trying to help yourself to the jam tarts on the top?’
    The thin faced upturned to look at her.
    â€˜Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t?’
    â€˜Yes,’ Margaret said. ‘If you tell me you weren’t, I would believe you.’
    â€˜I weren’t.’
    â€˜All right,’ Margaret said. ‘In that case we’ll go indoors and forget about it.’
    A slow sly smile spread across the peaky features. The girl said nothing, getting up and turning around so that Margaret could see only the back of her cropped head, and something in her attitude disturbed Margaret.
    A thief and a liar – or just a misunderstood child of the slums – which was she? For all her experience with children Margaret was not sure. But for the moment she thought there was little she could do but give her the benefit of the doubt.

Chapter Three
    The gold and blue days of September slipped by but no enemy planes were seen in the skies above Hillsbridge and after the first burst of activity life returned almost to normal – a normality which seemed somehow incongruous since England was at war and was punctuated more by petty annoyances than by fear or danger.
    It was a nuisance to have to think about some sort of a blackout being in place before lighting a lamp when darkness fell, particularly since the shops had sold out of any sort of suitable dark materials since almost the first day; a nuisance not to know for sure what timetable the buses and trains were running to – if they were running at all, and a nuisance to have to register with a coal dealer to be sure of a supply of fuel through the winter months.
    The quiet that reigned in the town was strange, too, for all the works’hooters and sirens were silenced by order; the fire hooter would be used only as an air raid warning siren and there could be no room for confusion; if a siren sounded people must be in no doubt what it meant. But since there were no air raids the silence was uncanny, reminding folk uncomfortably