When Marnie Was There (8 page)

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be here,” the girl said. “Jump in quick and we’ll go for a row.”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Anna.

“I know. I forgot about the tide being later. I couldn’t come the other way, they’d have seen me go past the windows.”

She turned the boat and pulled away from the shore, upstream.

“Don’t let’s talk,” she said. “I’ll tell you why after, but first you must have a rowing lesson.”

Anna took the oars, and the girl sat opposite her in the stern, leaning forward and guiding her hands. Every now and then she looked up into Anna’s face, laughing silently, and took her own hands away; then Anna found she was
not rowing so well, after all. But soon she was managing the oars almost alone.

She stared straight ahead of her as she rowed, her eyes wide and unblinking, straining through the darkness to take in every detail of her new friend. She saw that her straight fair hair was plaited tonight, and hung over her shoulders in two long braids which swung to and fro every time she bent forward. Under her cardigan she was again wearing a long white dress which reached almost to her feet. It would have looked strange on anyone else, but Anna accepted it almost without question. It seemed right that this girl should look like the character out of some fairy story.

At the top of the creek, where the boat could go no farther, they shipped the oars silently, and sat almost enclosed by rushes and tangled water weed, listening to the small, night sounds – a frog croaking on the bank, water dripping from the reeds, and the plop of small fish as they rose to the surface then sank again. They sat so still that each of them might have been alone. Then the girl leaned forward, and said in a half whisper, “Now I’ll tell you why I said we wouldn’t talk.”

A
NNA MOVED NEARER
and the girl said, still in a half whisper, “You remember I said last night that you were my secret?”

Anna nodded. “I knew just what you meant. You’re mine.”

“Well, that’s it! Don’t let’s spoil it by gabbling at each other, and asking a whole lot of questions, and arguing, and perhaps end up quarrelling. Let’s go on like we are.”

“Yes – oh, yes!” said Anna, then hesitated. “But I don’t even know your name yet.”

“Marnie.” The girl seemed surprised. “I thought you knew.” Anna shook her head. “Listen,” she went on, “there are all sorts of things I want to know about you; why you’re here, and where you live, and what you do all day – things like that – and yet, in a way, I don’t want to know them at all—” she broke off and laughed quickly. “No, that’s wrong! I
do
want to know. But I want to find them out slowly, by myself, as we go along. Do you know what I mean?”

Yes, Anna did know. This was just how she felt.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do!” said Marnie. “We’ll make a pact to ask each other only one question a night, shall we? Like wishes in a fairy story.”

“They’re usually three,” said Anna doubtfully.

“All right, we’ll make it three. I’ll start. Question number one – why are you here at Little Overton?”

This was fun. Anna drew a deep breath and told her about coming to stay with the Peggs instead of going back to school, because Dr Brown had said it would be good for her and she was underweight. And then, because Marnie looked so interested, she told her about not-even-trying, and Mrs Preston being worried about her future. “But it’s not just that,” she said. “They don’t know that I know, but it’s because they want to get rid of me for a bit. I’m a sort of worry to them.”

“Oh, poor you! But are you sure? Sometimes it feels like that, I know, but it isn’t really true.”

“No, I do know. One day I’ll tell you how I know, but
not tonight. Is it my turn now?” Marnie nodded. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?”

“Me?” Marnie was amazed. “None. Why should you think I had?”

“Do you mean you’re the
only one?”
Anna’s voice sounded quite shocked. She was disappointed. What about the boys and girls in navy blue jeans and jerseys? She had been so sure they belonged to The Marsh House too…

Marnie gave her a little push with her elbow. “What’s the matter? Aren’t I enough for you? – And that’s not a proper question, by the way.”

Anna laughed. “Yes, but I always thought you were a big family.”

“Well, I suppose we are, in a way…” Marnie began counting on her fingers, “There’s me, and Lily, and Ettie, and Nan, and Mother, and Father…” she hesitated – “and Pluto.”

Something about the way her eyes suddenly darkened made Anna ask quickly, “Who’s Pluto?”

“No, no, you’re cheating! It’s my turn now. Question two – are you an only, too?”

Anna considered. Did Raymond count or not? He was not really a brother or a cousin or any relation at all. “Sort of,” she said at last.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“Now you’re cheating! It’s my turn. Who’s Pluto?”

“Our dog.” Marnie looked suddenly solemn. “I’ll tell
you a secret. I hate him really. He’s big and black, and quite fierce sometimes. He lives in a kennel outside most of the time. Father said he’d be good company for me, but he’s not. I wanted a kitten, a dear little fluffy kitten that I could nurse on my lap, but Father said Pluto’d be good for guarding the house when he’s away. He wasn’t so bad when he was a puppy, though even then he was too big and rough, but he’s awful now. He eats
raw meat,
think of that! Don’t tell anyone, but secretly I’m frightened of him.” She gave a little shudder, then in an instant became merry again. “It’s my turn, isn’t it? What’s it like, living at the Peggs’?”

Anna opened her mouth to answer and found, to her surprise, that she could not remember. Perhaps it was because she had been thinking about Marnie’s answer, and wondering whether it was Pluto she sometimes heard barking in the night. What
was
it like at the Peggs’? Not one single thing could she remember. It had all gone out of her head as completely as if someone had wiped a sponge across a blackboard. Marnie, who had seemed only half real, had now become more real than the Peggs. It was odd.

She glanced across at Marnie, who seemed to have sunk into a dream of her own while waiting. She was sitting huddled in the stern with her feet up and her head bent, her face in shadow.

Anna tried again. She
must
remember about the Peggs, otherwise she would not be able to tell Marnie anything about them. She closed her eyes and saw – faintly at first,
then clearly – the scullery, the kettle on the stove, and through the door, Sam’s armchair with the broken springs in the corner. The Peggs and their cottage came to life again. Relieved, she opened her eyes and saw – no-one. Marnie had gone! She was alone in the boat.

She gave a little cry and sprang up, the boat rocking beneath her. At the same minute, from somewhere behind her, she heard Marnie’s voice saying in a startled whisper, “Anna! What’s the matter? Where are you?”

“I thought you’d gone!” said Anna. “What are you doing out there?”

Marnie was standing on the bank behind her. In her long white dress, with the reeds standing up all round her, and the moonlight shining on her pale hair, she looked more than ever like someone out of a fairy story. She came nearer, and Anna saw that she was looking quite frightened.

“Oh, you gave me a shock!” she was saying. “You shouldn’t have run away. I got out to look for you. I thought you must be hiding in the reeds.” She took hold of Anna’s hand to steady herself and stepped back into the boat. “Don’t do that again, Anna – dear.” Her voice was almost pleading.

“But I didn’t! I didn’t do anything!”

Marnie sat down again and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, you did,” she said primly, “you played a trick on me. It wasn’t fair. I asked you a question and you never answered. Instead you ran away and hid—”

“Oh, I remember now!” said Anna. “But I didn’t run away. You asked me about the Peggs and what it was like there. Well, I’ll tell you. It’s…” her voice faltered. “It’s…” She had forgotten again. It was extraordinary.

Marnie laughed gaily. “Oh, don’t bother! What do I care about the Peggs? I don’t even know who they are. It was a silly question anyway. Let’s talk about something real. Have you got a watch on?”

“No. Why?”

“I think we ought to go back soon. It was late when we came out. They might discover I’d gone. Shall I row?”

Anna nodded, and they changed seats and pushed out from the reeds into the stream.

“You didn’t have your last question,” said Marnie.

“No, but I wasn’t able to answer yours,” said Anna, still wondering.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter! I’ll ask you another instead. Where do you live?”

“In London,” said Anna quickly. “Twenty-five Elmwood Terrace.”

Marnie nodded approvingly. “You were able to answer that one, anyway. Now you can ask your last.”

Anna turned over in her mind which of many questions to ask. Should she ask Marnie about her dress? No, she had probably been to some sort of grown-up dinner party. Or about her family? No, they were only grown-ups after all. But she was still intrigued by Marnie’s confession that she was frightened of her own dog. She said, at last, “Does anything else frighten you – apart from obvious things like earthquakes, I mean?”

Marnie thought seriously. “Thunderstorms, a little – if they’re bad. And—” She turned and looked behind her across the fields to where the windmill stood like a solitary sentinel, dark against the sky. “That does sometimes,” she said quickly, with a shiver.

“The windmill! But why?”

“Too late! You’ll have to save that for next time,” said Marnie, laughing again. Then she added, more seriously, “I
don’t think it’s a very good game after all. You seemed to ask all the wrong questions. I don’t usually think of gloomy things like that old windmill. And I asked a wrong question, too. You couldn’t even answer it, and frightened me by running away instead.”

“I wish I knew what you meant about that,” said Anna, still worrying over it. “Honestly, I never moved.”

“Oh, but you did!” Marnie’s eyes were round. “How can you say such a thing? I waited and waited for you to answer, and then when I looked up you just weren’t there. That’s why I jumped out.”

“No, it was you!” said Anna indignantly.

Marnie sighed. “You think it was me, and I think it was you. Don’t let’s quarrel about it. Perhaps it was both of us.”

“Or neither of us,” said Anna, her anger slipping away. After all what did it matter? The last thing she wanted to do was quarrel with Marnie. She changed the subject quickly. “You are lucky to have a boat like this all of your own.”

“I know I am. It’s what I always wanted, and this year I had it for my birthday. You’re the first person who’s ever been in it, apart from me. Are you glad about that?” Anna was.

They drew in to the shore. “I’ll drop you here,” said Marnie. “Can you paddle now or is it too deep?”

Anna put a foot over the side. The water came up to just below her knee. “It’s all right. For me, that is,” she said, thinking of Marnie’s dress.

“What do you mean, ‘for you’!” said Marnie with mock indignation. “I’m as tall as you are.” She laughed suddenly. “Oh, you mean my evening gown! And poor old you in your boys’ clothes! Do you wish you were dressed the same as me?”

She’s getting at me, thought Anna, and made no reply. But Marnie had turned the boat and was already rowing away, still chuckling.

“Goodbye!” called Anna in a small, forlorn voice – quickly before it was too late.

“Goodbye!” called Marnie, still laughing. She went on chuckling until the darkness had almost swallowed her up, then, just as she disappeared out of sight, Anna heard her call quietly, but quite distinctly, over the water.

“Silly, it’s my nightie!”