Glenys picked up her carpetbag and shook her head. ‘Not even Cyril can be in two places at once, and his pals – if he’s got any – have more sense than to hang around the streets all night. Now stop imagining horrid things, pull the covers straight on the bed, and we’ll be off.’

Chapter 7

AN HOUR LATER the three of them were on the train and waving to Frank. It was still dark, and Mo was discomposed when, as the train drew out, a man in seaman’s clothing waved to them. Jimmy assured his sister that the man had merely been waving at someone further up the carriage, but it had made Mo uneasy and she did not begin to relax until they had picked up speed. The train was practically empty and Mo enjoyed herself hugely, as indeed did Jimmy, for neither of them had ever travelled by rail before. Jimmy remembered his mother telling him a story in which she had imitated the sound of the train wheels clattering along the lines and crossing the points. ‘Ticketyboosh, ticketyboosh, ticketyboosh’ their mother had told them the engines said, and scarcely had the train pulled out of the station before both children, noses pressed to the window, were imitating the sound. They marvelled at fields, woods and copses, dimly seen in the dawn light, watched cows being driven to the milking sheds, and saw early risers going off to work. The train was not a fast one and it stopped at every station, but nothing spoiled their enjoyment of this, their first train ride. Indeed everything pleased them, even the fact that the rolling stock was old and it was a no-corridor train. ‘It means we can’t go along to the privy, or to a refreshment car if there is one,’ Glenys said rather regretfully, but Jimmy assured her that this made him feel safer than ever.

‘Even if Cyril had seen us get aboard the train, and followed, he’d be stuck in his own compartment until the train stops,’ he said gleefully. ‘I say, Miss – I mean Auntie Glenys, ain’t this just prime? I’d like to travel by train for days and days.’

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the border town from which Glenys thought their search should start, and by then she was heartily sick of cardboard cups of railway tea and the continual stopping of the little train. She checked the compartment to make sure they had left nothing behind and smiled her thanks at a fat red-faced farmer who was helping Mo to descend from the carriage. They had travelled for the last fifteen minutes or so of their ride with the farmer and his wife, and as Glenys adjusted the straps of the small haversack on Mo’s shoulders the farmer remarked that it was a strange time of year to start a walking holiday.

‘It’s not exactly a holiday,’ Glenys began, but the farmer and his wife were already moving away, and Glenys suddenly felt very alone and almost crushed beneath the weight of responsibility for the two children. She led them across the platform and on to a paved road, where several other passengers from their train were already heading away from the station.