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“Oh, I see! An anagram,” said Cameron.
Both the Laines stared at him.
“Smart boy,” said Gordon, sounding surprised.
Mummy and Uncle Arthur arrived and there was a kerfuffle as we got the luggage into the house. There suddenly seemed to be an awful lot of it, and Gordon made a joke about “You folks planning to stay awhile?” which I don’t think any of us got.
Mummy was very quiet and tense and stuck close to Uncle Arthur. He kept his arm around her whenever he could. I knew they’d never met before, but already they seemed to love each other. I know now that Mummy felt close to him because he was family and everybody else in this whole city was a stranger.
The house was pretty, though not like an English house – very new-looking with lots of windows and polished wooden floors and modern furniture, all clean and shiny. There were gardens on three sides. The curved street was wide and not too busy, with trees and front gardens without fences. We all wanted to see our bedrooms and I wanted to have a bath – Mummy kept sort of picking at her dress where it was sticking to her – but Gordon wanted to talk.
“You kids’ll soon learn the neighbourhood,” he said. “See that li’l park across the street? You can go there by yourselves and play and find pals. In the winter they turn the whole park into a skating rink. Bet you can’t ice skate!”
We agreed we couldn’t.
“I just can’t wait to teach you! Bet you’ve never seen snow like we get here! Two, three feet at a time! That’s not counting the drifts!” He held his hand right over his head to show how deep the ‘drifts’ got.
Snow higher than a man? Cameron gave me a look. He was thinking what I was – we could make forts and tunnels, crawl in and play amazing adventure games. From then on I started looking forward to winter. And not just because of the heat now, which was the worst I’d ever felt.
Luti excused herself and went into the kitchen while Gordon offered us drinks – Coke for us (ugh! – but at least it was cold) and iced water for Mummy and Uncle Arthur, after they’d both refused ‘a li’l snifter’. I didn’t know what that was, but then Gordon opened a shiny cupboard in the corner and brought out some bottles. Mummy looked amazed to be offered alcohol so early in the day, but Gordon had one. It didn’t look so ‘li’l’ to me.
Gordon stopped talking to sip his whiskey and we just sat there on the chintz armchairs. There was a long, difficult silence. Finally Uncle Arthur said, “You know, I think my folks might like to see their rooms and maybe clean up before breakfast.”
“Luti!” Gordon called. She came almost running in. “What are you thinking of, honey? Take these folks up to their rooms, huh? I’ll bring the bags up.”
“But I’ve just put the bacon on,” she said.
Cameron and I looked at each other. We’d suddenly remembered Hank’s tale.
“So we don’t have to ride out on the prairie to shoot our breakfasts?” Cameron said.
“Whaaaat?” Gordon shouted.
Luti gaped at us, her blue eyes staring.
Their faces! We suddenly realised we’d been had!
Cameron and I laughed until we choked. We couldn’t stop. Mummy had to calm us down.
“Please can we go to our rooms?” she begged.
Uncle Arthur left us. At the door, he said, “I don’t like ‘Uncle Arthur’. Sounds Victorian. Why don’t you call me O’F?” Then he kissed us all goodbye.
Mummy seemed to cling to him. Luti led us upstairs and showed us our rooms. One for Mummy and me with two single beds and a dressing table with a frill round it. The window overlooked the back garden. I went to look out, and noticed something funny. The window had netting on it, like our meat safe at home.
“We have screens on the doors too,” Luti said, following my gaze. “The bugs get in anyhow. We say our mosquitoes are as big as cockroaches and the cockroaches are as big as gophers.”
“What are the gophers as big as?”
“Beavers, I guess!” she laughed. “Tell me if I’ve forgotten anything you need.” She stared at Mummy for a moment. “You’re real pretty,” she said suddenly. “Everyone’s going to love you.”
I decided I liked Luti. I liked her saying Mummy was pretty. Although she wasn’t pretty. She was beautiful. Even tired out and stressed and with her make-up sweated off.
Cameron had a smaller room. He looked round it bleakly, but then he saw it had a desk with lots of drawers, and a bookcase with some books in it.
“In her letter, your mom told me you like to read, Cameron,” Luti said. “I chose some books for you. I hope you like them.”
“Thank you very much,” said Cameron, sounding really grateful.
“We only have one bathroom,” she went on, “so it may get a bit crowded. But for today it’s all yours. I’ll delay breakfast. Come down when you’re ready.”
Mummy went first. She said she was desperate to get clean and asked us to wait, which we did, in Cameron’s room. He started off by going through the books Luti had bought, but then there was a scratching at the door, and Spajer joined us, and after that no reading got done. I think Spajer decided round about then that he was at least half Cameron’s dog.
Mummy came out of the bathroom at last, in a dressing gown, smelling lovely.
“Bubble bath. That Luti,” she said to me quietly, “has thought of lots of little kind things.” Then she said one of her favourite phrases, “The little more, and how much it is. The little less, and what worlds away!”
Cameron went next. I watched Mummy start doing her face.
“Gordon talks a lot, doesn’t he?” I asked.
“Lindy.”
“What?”
“Shut the door.” I did. “Listen, darling. I want you to remember something. We’re going to owe these people a lot. They’re going to have to pay for everything – everything we need, everything we eat, and everything we do that costs money. I want you to be aware that this is their house, and that they’re here. Don’t say or do anything that might offend them.” She took the towel off her head and began to comb out her long blonde hair. “I’ll say one other thing. We’re ambassadors for England. People will be watching us. They’ll judge England by how we behave. Do you understand, my poppet?”
“Yes. But he does talk a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. I hear Cameron coming out … Go and have your bath and I’ll come in and wash your hair for you.”
That first Canadian bath, after the three-inches-of-hot-water ones we’d been rationed to at home, was unforgettable. So deep, so hot, so full of bubbles! I felt as if I was washing off the grime of a coal mine, and then I felt like a movie star. As I lay chest-deep while Mummy washed my hair, I forgot all about the journey, the war, the strangeness. I just wallowed.
“Maybe it’ll be all right – Canada. Saskatoon. The Laines,” I said.
Mummy just made lots of lather and said nothing.
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We had three weeks of freedom to explore and find our feet before we had to start Canadian school, but I was too excited by everything around us to think much about that. Cameron, though, as usual, was better at thinking ahead. He asked Luti questions about school and then told me the answers.
“It’ll be just an ordinary local school,” Cameron told me. “They call them public schools here – the opposite of public schools in England. I don’t think they have private schools here where you have to pay.” He fiddled with his shoelace and then said, “It’s boys and girls.”
I’d never been to anything but an all-girls school.
“Do you think that’ll be weird?” I asked Cameron, nervously.
“They’ll probably think we’re weird,” he replied.
Luti had a ‘daily’ – a Swedish woman who came in to clean and who gave us a foretaste of how interesting we were. She didn’t really talk to us (she couldn’t speak much English) but she stared at us as if we’d fallen off the moon.
That, though, wasn’t as bad as the visitors. They’d started coming on the first day. We’d hardly begun to unpack after breakfast when the doorbell rang, and after that it didn’t stop ringing. It seemed all the Laines’ friends wanted to meet us. Well – have a good look at us, anyway.
For the first week it was like one long party. Most of these strangers probably meant to be kind and welcoming, but Mummy still got the heebie-jeebies. She felt she had to be ‘on show’ to the visitors, and be a good ambassador, but she got more and more stressed. Twice I came home from playing out and found her crying (quietly) in our room.
“I feel like a fish in a bowl,” she whispered, blowing her nose. “A performing fish.” She reached for her Black Cats. She always whispered whenever we were talking privately, even with the door closed. “And the way they drink!At all hours! They tease me because I won’t knock back the whiskey like they do. They’re calling me Ice-water Alex! If I drank like they do, I’d fall flat on my face!”
“Does Luti drink a lot?” I asked.
“No. But Gordon drinks enough for both of them.” She muttered this out of the side of her mouth, but I heard it.
Gordon wasn’t around much, because he worked all day as a lawyer and had an office downtown. He had ‘KC’ after his name, which stood for King’s Councillor, and which in England you didn’t get to be until you were an important – and rich – lawyer. Gordon and Luti weren’t rich. Cameron had been quite right about the Hillman Minx. Gordon was just an ordinary small-town lawyer after all. But it was quite a while before we realised this. The Laines were determined to show us and all their friends – and maybe even themselves – that they could afford to have war guests. Mummy hardly ever had to ask them for money at first. Gordon thrust wads of dollars into her hand every Saturday but she always gave them back, taking only what she needed for little things for us, and for her Black Cats.
All the grown-ups I knew smoked. Mummy tried to cut down, but it was very hard for her. She needed her ‘coffin nails’ as she called them. Of course I hated her calling them that but Mummy knew smoking was bad for you and she told me I must never start.
“My lungs are so full of tar by now they’re like black sponges,” she said.
“But then why do you do it?”
“Because I can’t stop. Which is why you must never start.”
Mummy was invited to a lot of people’s homes. She didn’t want to go, but she felt she had to. Luckily Cameron and I weren’t included so till school started in September, we were free a lot of the time. Free in a way we’d never been before. And we made the most of it.
At first we just wandered about in the little park near the house. Spajer tagged along, hoping for a walk or a game of ball, when Luti agreed to let him out – she was terrified he’d get lost or be run over, but he stuck close to Cameron, and Cameron took good care of him.
“Bubbles is half-spaniel,” he reminded me. “We only call him a Bulgarian bulldog to make him sound like a thoroughbred.”
There were lots of other kids, and other dogs, around the neighbourhood. They stared at us too – we didn’t dress like them; Cameron in his short grey flannel trousers and me in my English dresses. But they were a friendly lot and we soon started hanging out with them.
It was girls with girls and boys with boys, mixed school or not. So while I was learning ball games like ‘One, two, three allairy’ and skipping games and sometimes being invited to play in my new friends’ ‘back yards’ (as they called their gardens), some of the boys were showing Cameron what they called ‘the ropes’.
The railway ran past the back of our house. Of course, we’d heard the trains go by, but there was a big screen of fir trees that stopped us seeing much of them.
Cameron came home one day and told me casually that the best game was throwing things at the engine drivers.
“What!” I almost screamed. “Are you mad? What do you mean?”
“Wait till it’s time for the next train, I’ll show you. The railway’s great fun. Only we’ll leave Spaje behind, because he’s not very train-wise.”
In the late afternoon, he found me in the park and beckoned. I left the other girls and followed him round by the end of the street to the railway crossing. We crossed over then followed the tracks a little way back towards the house.
He took out a one-cent coin and laid it on the track.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ll see. Now, collect tin cans.”
I looked around but only found two. He did too.
“That’s enough. It’s all you’ll have time for,” he said. “There’s a train due soon. Put your ear to the rail and you can feel it coming.”
“I’m not putting my head on the line! That’s dangerous!”
“Oh, don’t be babyish! You can see it coming for miles. It’s just fun to feel the rail vibrate.”
Very reluctantly I knelt down on one of the wooden sleeper beams and put my ear to the cold rail, next to the cent, lying there waiting for its fate.
“Don’t knock the cent off!” Cameron shouted.
After a bit I felt a trembling, and at the same time I heard a sort of humming sound. I leapt to my feet and ran away from the line. Cameron was there with a tin can in each hand. Far away down the line I could see the smoke puffing out above the trees.
“What do we do?”
“When the train goes by, you throw them at the engine driver in his cab,” he said.
We’d been up to mischief before in our lives. But this? “What if you hit him? You could hurt him!”
“Oh, you never hit them, they’re going too fast. It’s good throwing if you get it anywhere near the cab.”
Now we could hear the train coming. Its whistle was blowing and next moment it came into sight, round the bend. The great locomotive, spilling out smoke, came chuffing and grunting and whistling towards us. Just as the open part, where the driver and the fireman were standing, flashed past my eyes, Cameron shouted “Now!” and threw his tin cans swiftly one after the other like cricket balls.
They hit the fire-box and bounced off harmlessly, but one of the men shook his fist out of the cab at us, and then turned back, and made the whistle shriek, as if broadcasting our badness. Even though I never got around to even picking my tin cans up, let alone throwing them, I felt the shame of it.
We stood there. Cameron was panting and grinning. He looked as excited as if he’d been throwing tin cans at Hitler. When the whole long, long train – a goods train – had gone past, he rushed to the line, bent down, and picked up the coin.
“Look!”
He showed it to me. It was thin and flat and its dull copper colour had changed to silvery brightness. I touched it with one finger. It was warm.
“Here, you have it. Don’t go telling Auntie,” Cameron said.
I took the only bribe of my life – a train-flattened one-cent coin.
“I won’t if you promise not to do that again,” I said.
“Goody-goody,” he muttered, not for the first time.
On the way home, he recited, in a thoughtful, matter-of-fact voice:
“The boy stood on the railway line,
The train was coming fast.
The boy stepped off the railway line,
The train went whizzing past.
The boy stood on the railway line,
