CHAPTER NINE

      ‘ALL RIGHT, son, it’ll be safe with me. I’ll make sure no German spy gets his hands on it,’ the guard said, patting the saddle of Tom’s bike as it leant against the side of the van.

      ‘Thank you,’ Tom said, forcing himself to sound properly polite.

      Why did grown-ups have to patronise you like that? he wondered. He wouldn’t do it when he was a grown-up. It was only a few months now before he would be able to join up. Then they would have to take him seriously.

      He hurried down the platform, looking for a carriage with some space in it, but the train was packed. The one before had been cancelled due to lack of rolling stock, so everyone was crowding on to this one. In the end he had to make do with a space in a corridor. A group of soldiers piled on after him and soon he was wedged between khaki-clad bodies and bulky kitbags. It was all very different from the last time he had made this journey. Then he had been with his family and they had got a compartment to themselves. This time it was not exactly comfortable, but it was a whole lot more exciting. Around him the soldiers were laughing and joking and passing round cigarettes. He was on his own, making his way without anyone telling him what to do. The train started. This was it. The adventure had really begun.

      By the time he got to London, Tom and the soldiers were the best of mates. Some of them were only a year or so older than him, and they had plenty to tell him about army life. They shared their cigarettes with him, he passed round the sandwiches his mother had made for the first leg of his cycle trip. Tom stopped worrying about whether his cycle club friends might inadvertently drop him in it. This was real life. He was no longer a kid. He was an individual, making his own decisions. Getting from King’s Cross to Liverpool Street when he didn’t know the way was going to be easy.

      The journey took the best part of the day. He was starving hungry by the time he reached Colchester and wolfed down a pie and a cup of tea before finally boarding the Wittlesham train. Here he actually got a whole compartment to himself. At first it felt luxurious. Then he began to get nervous. Up till then he had had plenty of people to talk to. Everyone seemed very eager to talk to complete strangers these days. It was something about wartime. The journey across London had been easy enough, for people were more than willing to help a polite young lad and set him on his way. Now at last he actually had time to think about what he was doing.

      Over the seats opposite him were two posters of Wittlesham, one showing the pier, the other the winter gardens. Wittlesham. All year, it had seemed like Shangri-La to him. Now he was actually going there. In between the posters was a small mirror. Tom stood up and studied his reflection. Was that a spot breaking out on his chin? He poked the place with his finger. It felt like it. Damn. He wanted to look—well—nice for Annie.

      It set off a chain of anxieties. Would Annie still like him? Was it going to be like last time? She’d been working for a year now, up all hours looking after sick and calving cows, driving heavy machinery and the like, while he’d still been at school. Would he seem like a kid to her? He took out a comb and slicked back his hair. Was this all a big mistake? Maybe he should have gone on the cycle club trip after all, and kept it so that he and Annie were just pen-pals. But … he did want to see her again. He sat down on the stiff horsehair-filled seat and tried to remember exactly what she looked like—the wave of her hair, the expression in her eyes, her smile … and then there was the feel of her soft skin, the way her fingers curled round his … Yes, he did want to see her again. Very much.

      He recognised some of the landmarks as the train rumbled into Wittlesham. There was the rock factory. There was the back of the Toledo cinema. As they pulled into the station, he let down the window panel on its leather strap and stuck his head out. Was she there? He was sure she would come and meet him if she could, but maybe she hadn’t been able to get away. Her father. Always there was her father, standing in their way. Tom understood. It wasn’t her fault if she couldn’t be there, but he really did want to see her waiting for him on the platform. It caught him by surprise, how much he wanted it. The lurch of hope clutched at his guts like a huge hand.

      The train slowed to a halt with a squeal of brakes and a billow of steam. There were hardly any people on the platform. A mother and child, an old lady, a station official. Disappointment sank through him, sick and sour. Her bloody father. It was all his fault. Tom picked up his canvas knapsack and hoisted it over his shoulder, then jumped down and went to collect his bike from the guard’s van. He wheeled it after the straggle of passengers making for the exit and held out his ticket to the collector at the barrier.

      ‘Tom!’

      He looked up. There, just beyond the barrier, flushed and breathless, was Annie.

      ‘Annie! You made it!’

      Happiness surged up and spread a huge smile over his face. He hurried forward until they were standing within a foot of each other, each of them gazing at the other and smiling and smiling. She looked the same, and yet different. The same Annie, just as pretty, just as pleased to see him, but more grown up. Yes, that was it. More grown up.

      Overcome with shyness, they shook hands.

      ‘I’m so glad you managed to get here,’ Tom said.

      It sounded stupid even as it came out. He felt himself going red.

      ‘I nearly didn’t. I had to cycle like billy-o all the way,’ Annie told him.

      Her hair was longer. That was it. And done in a different way, except that the cycle ride had blown it about. It looked nice like that, all wild round her face.

      She saw him looking at it. Her hand went to her head, smoothing her hair down.

      ‘I look a mess.’

      ‘No, you don’t. You look very nice. Very … pretty.’

      He stumbled over the compliment and felt even hotter. Why couldn’t he be suave and sophisticated, like someone in a film? He fiddled with the gear lever on the handlebars of his bike.

      ‘You look older. And you’re taller, too. I have to look up more than last year,’ Annie commented.

      It was true. Sometimes he felt all legs and elbows.

      ‘It’s nice,’ she added. ‘I can’t really believe you’re here. I thought … I was really hoping you would be able to come, but when you said your family weren’t … and then all this about the cycle club and coming here instead, and I thought you’d never be able to make it but …’

      ‘Here I am!’ Tom said.

      ‘Large as life and twice as natural!’ Annie cried.

      And then they were laughing, and it was all right. It was just like last year. Tom knew he could say anything and Annie would understand, just as it had been then.

      ‘I suppose I’d better go to the youth hostel first, and make sure there’s a bed for the night,’ Tom said.

      ‘Right. It’s up this way,’ Annie told him.

      They walked along together, wheeling their bikes, talking away nineteen to the dozen. There was so much to say, all the things that they had written to each other to be expanded and explained. A mother with a pushchair passed them. Tom moved to let her by and his hand touched Annie’s. Her fingers clasped his. He stole a glance at her and saw that her face was pink with pleasure, and knew that his was just the same.

      So much to say, and so little time to say it. After he had dropped his things at the youth hostel, Tom rode with Annie to where the farm track met