The 'horsey ride' was a disappointment, even to Grace, who had been quite keen on the idea at first.

They didn't actually get to ride the horse, Bertie just lifted them up into the back of the cart and told them to sit wherever they could find space. That wasn't as easy as it sounded, because the cart was loaded with everything from a sack of coal to bags of flour and a bolt of cotton, as if Bertie was trying to stock up enough to last the whole winter long. Or maybe, she realised, enough to outlast the war. Suddenly the bags of onions and oats and stacks food in tins seemed more ominous than they had before. There was so much here. Surely the war wasn't going to go on long enough to use all of it?

She wanted to ask, but Bertie and Miss Bowen were already deep in conversation, sitting up high together on the seat of the cart and not paying the slightest bit of attention to her or Grace; so she pushed the thought away as best she could. Maybe Bertie just had a huge family, and needed all the food for his fifty brothers and sisters. She hoped so.

They ended up sitting with their backs against a sack of potatoes, facing away from the grown ups so that they could almost imagine they weren't there at all, and that it was Mama or Maud driving the cart instead (although Maud never could because she was frightened of horses, and Mama never would, because a horse and cart like this was common and just for country bumpkins, whatever they were). If they had been just on an outing with Maud and Mama, even being in the crowded cart instead of on the horse's back might have felt like fun, but they weren't, and Patsy was getting sick of travelling. Since yesterday morning they had been in a cab, then a train, then a bus and now a horse and cart, and they still hadn't arrived anywhere they could actually stay.

Were they really going to a house this time, or would get off the cart only to find a boat waiting for them? Or an aeroplane? Would they have to ride out the whole war on one mode of transport after the next, handed from grown up to grown up, until finally they were put on a train home to Mama? That sounded like it should be exciting – a proper adventure, like playing explorers with Mei Ling when she was little. In reality it was just tiring and uncomfortable, and a bit scary; even the parts that were just riding slowly through the pretty, quiet streets of a village in the last sunshine of an early autumn evening.

They left the village altogether after a few minutes, and clopped along country lanes instead, surrounded on both sides by fields of sheep or vegetables or big stacks of hay. Patsy felt almost sure that their bus had come along this same road earlier in the day – hadn't they passed that twisty tree before? And that field with the frowny looking scarecrow in?

She had a sudden hope that they might be heading back to the town where they had left Phyllis after all. Oh yes! It would be so wonderful to surprise her.

They could jump out from behind the door and shout 'surprise!' like at her friend Anne's last birthday. Or should they just go straight to her and give her a great big hug, both of them together? Or run towards her shouting out 'Phyllis, oh my Phyllis!' like they were in the railway children? Well, maybe the last one was a bit silly, but she felt she would be as happy as Bobbie had been if they really did get to see their friend again. Patsy was very glad now that she had saved the second pack of rolos, because then they'd be able to share them with Phyllis. Maybe they could eat them together when they played hairdressers.

The idea put her in such a good mood that she suggested to Grace that they should play a clapping game to pass the time, even though her sister could never manage to pat and clap in the right places.

They played pat-a-cake for a while, then when that got boring, made up their own rhymes to clap to.

Patsy tried to think of an Orlando one first to please Grace, and was rather proud of the result, since she'd just thought of it right on the spot:

Or-land-o is an or-ange cat,
He wears a litt-le or-ange hat ('no he doesn't Patsy! He wears a green eye shade, it's in the picture' 'yes, but that wouldn't rhyme!')
He sleeps up-on an or-ange mat ('no he does-' 'I know Grace! Do you want me to do one about Orlando or not?)
And cat-ches great big or-ange rats!

She kept it to a simple left-right clapping rhythm with a double pat on 'orange' in each line so it wouldn't be too difficult to learn, and it seemed to work perfectly to her. She expected Grace to be thrilled, but when she'd finished her sister gave what Maud used to call her 'quaint look' and patted Patsy's knee, like she was a grown up gently explaining an obvious mistake to her child.

'That was a very good try, but I think it would be better if it was really true, wouldn't it? Look, I'll show you how'.

Grace straightened up importantly, waiting for Patsy to put both her hands up so she could clap against them, and then began:

'Orlando -pat- is a marma -clap- lade cat and -clap clap pat- he wears a green eye shade -pat clap pat- and he goes camping with Grace -clap- and Tinkle -pat- and Blanche -clap pat- and Pansy -two hand pat- and they-'

'But you're just saying things, that's not a proper rhyme!'

'It is too, it's more proper than yours was!'

'No it isn- oh, never mind. Let's try doing one about something different'.

They were in the middle of a long 'rhyme' that had started out sort of structured but quickly became each of them taking turns to name a different dessert in time to claps and pats ('I woke up in the mor-ning, with hun-ger in my tum, I went out to the bak-ers shop to buy a cur-rant bun, yum yum! And then I bought ice cream, yum yum! And then I bought rice pudding, yum yum! And then I bought custard, yum yum!' and on and on); when the cart came to an unexpected stop.

Patsy paused mid clap and looked around. Her heart sank. They weren't back in the first town at all, and her hopes of seeing Phyllis again withered away instantly to nothing as she took in their surroundings. They were right at the edge of another village, just level with the very first house on the outskirts.

Now they weren't singing and the horse wasn't clip-clopping, Patsy tuned into what the grown ups were saying again, and realised it was about them.

'... The Gethins? Are you sure?'

'Why not? Their eldest moved out recently, the girls can have her room'.

'Well, they're just a bit… I mean, my brother and I were always that scared of that lot when we were children'.

'Childish nonsense. They'll be fine, I'm sure they'll love it here once they settle in'.

And then called over her shoulder:

'Come on you two, time to go'.

Patsy stayed where she was, looking over at the run down house and most particularly at the big dog tied up outside it.

'If it's all the same, I think we'd rather go to Mrs Griffin, like the lady at the hall said'.

'No, that's no good. I'm sure she couldn't manage the two of you with her hip, and besides, she lives back the way we came, we're miles off now. No, you'll have to stay here'.

Patsy didn't think it could be the hip that was the problem, Miss Bowen hadn't even asked Mrs Griffin if she'd have them, and they were only miles away because she'd brought them here. But that wasn't the sort of argument that worked on grown ups, they just told you to stop being cheeky and do as you were told. She tried a different tack instead.

'Well then, could we maybe try a different house? It's just, I don't think I like dogs very much'.

It wasn't exactly the truth. Patsy actually did quite like dogs most of the time – at least the sort she was used to, with smiley looking faces and good manners. This dog looked like the house – poor and mean, and like it could swallow up little girls in a single bite. It reminded Patsy all too clearly of the wolves she had imagined in the hall, and the idea of having to live in its house made her heart pound uncomfortably in her chest.

Miss Bowen seemed not to hear her though, climbing down from her seat and then coming round to the back to help them down.

'Miss Bowen? I really don't like dogs much. Can't we please try somewhere else?'

'Oh what nonsense, all children like cuddly puppies! I'm sure you'll love him once you get used to him'.

The dog tied up outside the Gethins was not a cuddly puppy. It was a big, fierce looking black and brown monster with huge teeth that looked like they could bite her in half. She shuddered and shrank against the potato sack as if she might be able to get away from it that way, but Miss Bowen had already lifted Grace down and was reaching for her now, and there was no way she could refuse, not without risking them getting split up. She allowed herself to be helped down.

'Well, off you go then girls'.

Patsy stared at her.

'On our own?'

'Why not? Just go up and knock on the door. Tell them you're their evacuees, they'll have to take you'.

'But… but what if they won't? What will we do then?'

Miss Bowen sighed, but thank goodness, she conceded the point.

'Oh very well, I'll come with you, but do hurry up please, I can't spend the whole evening traipsing around after you two'.

As they got closer Patsy realised that the garden was a riot of weeds, and there were little piles of dog mess half hidden in the too long grass. She wrinkled her nose, feeling less sure than ever that this was going to be a good place to stay.

At least the dog barely stirred as they walked past, just twitching one ear in their direction and huffing a little in its sleep, but Patsy didn't take her eyes off it even so, just in case it was only pretending.

Miss Bowen rapped sharply on the front door and Patsy clutched for Grace's hand instinctively.

There was a long, long pause. Miss Bowen knocked again, and Patsy began to hope that maybe no one was home, and they'd have to go somewhere else after all. But no, just as Miss Bowen was raising her fist to knock a third time, the door was thrown open to reveal a thin, sallow woman with greying hair and an apron stained with something that looked horribly like blood.

'What?'

'Good evening Mrs Gethin, My name's Enid Bowen, I'm helping out with the billeting of our little evacuees. I thought I'd do you the courtesy of delivering yours to you directly, to save you the walk into town for them'.

'I didn't sign up for any evacuees. You've got the wrong house'.

Mrs Gethin made to close the door, but Miss Bowen put out a hand to stop her.

'I know you weren't registered, Mrs Gethin, but I'm afraid we ended up with rather more children than expected, and the rules have changed. Anyone with a spare room is required to take an evacuee'.

'Is that true? I haven't heard that'.

Patsy didn't think it was true, but Miss Bowen nodded earnestly.

'Oh yes, it's the law. And I believe you do have a spare room, now that your Agnes is gone?'

Agnes? She knew it made no sense, but hearing the name felt like a bad sign to Patsy – as if the fact that Agnes Gethin shared the same name as the hated convent school meant that the people here would be just as bad as Sister Bernard and Miss Richmond...

'No, I'm afraid we don't'.

'Oh, what a shame. Of course the billeting officer will have to come and assess the place, so that he can take you off the list if you aren't suitable. It's all taken very seriously. I believe I heard something about fines for non-compliance… but of course that needn't worry you, since, as you say, you have no room to spare'.

Patsy stared at Miss Bowen, open mouthed. She was almost sure that she was making all of this up on the spot, it certainly didn't match the way everyone had been talking in the hall.

Mrs Gethin must have believed it though, because she looked suddenly uncomfortable.

'Well, when I say we don't have a room- I mean, I don't know that it's really suitable-'.

Miss Bowen beamed, clearly sensing that her opponent was weakening.

'Oh, I'm sure it will more than suffice. The girls spent last night sleeping on the floor in the town hall, so whatever little corner you can find for them will seem like a palace by comparison. They understand that they are imposing on the charity and kindness of us country folk, and I'm sure they will be nothing but grateful for whatever you can spare'.

Mrs Gethin was still scowling in a most unfriendly manner, but she gave a short, reluctant nod, her chin jerking down just once, before she turned to look at Patsy and Grace with an appraising eye.

'We'll take the bigger one then, at least she'll be able to be of some use. You can find some other mug for the little scrap'.

Patsy couldn't stop a gasp of horror, and she clutched at Grace. Mrs Parry had promised they wouldn't be split up! She took a breath to argue, but before she could Miss Bowen cut in.

'Oh go on Mrs Gethin, I've been trailing them round half the afternoon and I'm sure the little kiddie won't be any trouble. She's been quiet as a mouse the whole way here and I don't suppose she eats much'.

She paused, and then added confidentially

'I believe the government will be offering compensation soon for taking evacuees, and you'd get double if you'll have both girls'.

The irritation was still there in Mrs Gethin's expression, but mixed in with it was a new look, a sharpening, focused sort of look, like a dog that's scented a rabbit. It didn't make Patsy feel better about the idea of living here.

'Alright then. Out of the goodness of my heart I'll take them. But they'll have to share, and I'll expect them to work hard to earn their keep. I'm not a charity. I tell you, I'm too soft hearted for my own good'.

'That you are Mrs Gethin, a regular angel. Thank you so much. Well, I'll leave them with you now to get settled. You be good for Mrs Gethin girls. Good luck'.

Before Patsy could properly take in what was happening, Miss Bowen had turned and was walking as fast as was seemly back to the cart, as if she was afraid that Mrs Gethin would change her mind if she lingered.

A moment later the cart was gone, on up the road and into the village, and Patsy and Grace were left alone on Mrs Gethin's doorstep.

'Well, I suppose you had better come in. Wipe your feet'.

She stepped aside so they could pass by her into the hall, and then shut the door behind them. The three of them stood there awkwardly for a minute, as if Mrs Gethin didn't know what to do next any better than they did. When the silence had stretched uncomfortably long, she ventured 'you've had your tea, of course?'

'No, we haven't'.

Now the subject had been raised, Patsy realised she was starving.

'What? They didn't even feed you before dumping you on my doorstep? The cheek! Are you sure you haven't had tea? You'd better not be lying to me missy. I don't hold with greedy little children, and if I find out you're not being honest-'

'We haven't, I promise we haven't! Nothing at all since breakfast. We didn't even have any lunch'.

Mrs Gethin glared at her for another few seconds, as if the word 'liar' might start glowing on Patsy's forehead if she stared hard enough, then she made a cross snorting sound and turned away from them.

'I suppose I'd better give you something then, though I'm sure you must be exaggerating. Heaven knows how they're expecting me to feed two extra mouths. I don't know what the world's coming to, I really don't'.

They were led into a dingy little kitchen, a rickety table and chairs crammed into the only bit of available floor space, so you had to edge around them to get to the cabinets on the other side. Mrs Gethin gestured for them to sit and started bustling around, taking out a heel of bread, a knife, a plate.

The table was already scattered with crumbs and little sticky patches that Patsy hoped were just jam, but she didn't dare look too closely. She was starting to feel quite afraid of sour Mrs Gethin and her red-stained apron, especially now she was holding a big knife. It was silly, she knew it was silly, but Patsy couldn't help thinking of Hansel and Gretel, and the witch that had tried to eat them. What if Mrs Gethin only had a spare room because she had pushed the last little girl that lived in it into her oven and eaten her? Maybe she was slicing bread for a girl sandwich right that minute…

Mrs Gethin thumped a plate down in front of them, so hard it made the table creak and tilt a little on its unsteady legs. It held a single slice of bread, cut in half down the middle and spread with something lumpy and whitish. It smelled a bit rancid, and Patsy eyed it doubtfully. It was certainly better than going in a sandwich herself, but she didn't much like the look of it.

'Oh, thank you Mrs Gethin, but- but Grace and I would be quite happy with just plain bread and butter, truly'.

'Excuse me?'

'We- we'd be happy with just bread and…'

Her voice trailed away as she realised that she'd made a terrible mistake. At home, bread and butter was the plainest, simplest thing you could ask for. She had supposed Mrs Gethin would be pleased to give them such plain food and save on using her… whatever it was. But she seemed anything but pleased.

'Bread and butter? I'm so sorry little Miss La-di-da. Isn't our plain country fare good enough for you, you have to have butter for your dainty stomach? Well you're right out of luck – butter's too dear to waste on the likes of you. In this house you eat what you're given or you don't eat. So, do you want that bread and dripping or not?'

'Y-yes. Thank you. Sorry'.

'I should think so. Butter indeed'.

Mrs Gethin left them to their meal, bustling out the back door still muttering about 'ungrateful city brats' as she went.

Patsy bowed her head over her half slice of bread, her cheeks feeling uncomfortably warm at the scolding. The white stuff on the bread still looked horrid, but when Mrs Gethin had called it dripping, she had remembered Phyllis' lunch on the train – squashed greyish bread with this same white paste spread over it. That cheered her a little. If Phyllis liked it, maybe it wouldn't be too bad after all.

Thinking about Phyllis also reminded Patsy of the way their friend had got Grace to eat her bun that morning. Maybe if Mrs Gethin saw her being really helpful with her little sister, getting her to eat up nicely, she would be forgiven for the butter incident.

'Shall we play the jam roly poly game?'

'No. That's my game with Fliss. You'd do it wrong'.

'I wouldn't'.

But Grace shook her head very firmly, squaring her shoulders and folding her arms to show she wasn't going to budge. Patsy tried hard not to feel hurt by the snub, but it stung a little.

She distracted herself by picking up her slice and taking a brave little bite.

Actually, it wasn't bad.

The bread was coarse and a bit stale, but no more than the buns had been that morning, and the dripping tasted rich and meaty, satisfying in a way that ordinary butter wasn't. She took another bite, and discovered that the horrible looking lumpy bits were little crispy pieces, almost like crackling.

'Oh try it Grace! You'll like it, truly'.

Grace gave her a doubtful look but she was so hungry that she conceded, poking out the very tip of her tongue to give her slice a little, suspicious lick.

Then another.

She risked a very tiny bite next, and then hunger won over caution for the unknown altogether and she tucked in happily, her cheeks growing shiny with grease as she ate.

They had only been given a single slice between them, and neither felt full afterwards. Patsy wondered what they'd have for a second course, and whether she should go and tell Mrs Gethin they were done, or just wait here for her to bring it to them. She was still quite scared of Mrs Gethin, even if she probably wasn't a witch who was going to eat them, so she opted for waiting. For a minute or two they sat quietly, Grace chasing crumbs and smears of dripping round the plate with her finger and scooping them into her mouth, but once the plate was completely clear she started whining.

'I'm still hungry, I want another piece. Please'.

'We have to wait for Mrs Gethin'.

'But she's ages and I said please!'

'Yes, well- have some more water, that'll fill you up'.

Mrs Gethin had left them each with a tin cupful, and Patsy pushed Grace's towards her, although it was mostly empty now.

'I had water, I'm hungry, not thirsty'.

'Well we don't have more, so-'

'I saw where the bread goes. I'll get it'.

'No, you can't! We'd be in so much trouble. You absolutely mustn't Grace. And you know you're not allowed to ever touch knives!'

'Then you get it Patsy. I'm hungry'.

'Oh Grace-'

But Patsy was hungry too, and Mrs Gethin wasn't coming back. She didn't dare help herself to more bread; that would definitely get them in trouble – but maybe Mrs Gethin had just lost track of time and would be glad to be reminded they were waiting?

With great trepidation she slid down from her seat and tiptoed towards the door Mrs Gethin had gone through. She wasn't sure why she tiptoed – she wasn't trying to sneak up on their host after all, but her feet went tip toe-y of their own accord. It felt like doing something naughty, even though she wasn't.

She peered cautiously around the edge of the door-

And SCREAMED.

Patsy clamped her hands tight over her mouth as she staggered backwards, the scream continuing to pour out around them, muffled but unstoppable. Then she collided with her chair and fell back, her head banging hard on the edge of the table as she went down, stunning her into silence.

There were the sounds of swearing outside – truly awful words, the worst ones Patsy knew, along with some that she'd never heard before, but guessed from how they were said must be even worse.

By the time Mrs Gethin slammed open the door and stormed into the kitchen, Patsy was sitting on the floor by her chair, bleeding from a gash in her temple and sobbing in the wrenching, gulping kind of way that made it impossible to catch your breath. Grace was hiding underneath the table, hunched up in a little ball and shivering hard, a little keening noise coming from her throat.

The sight of Mrs Gethin made both of them cry harder – she was smeared with blood from hand to elbow, and was holding a big knife like a butcher in one hand. Patsy hadn't really believed she was a child eating witch before, it was just the sort of story you scared yourself with in your own head that was never really real, but she believed it now, absolutely. She had seen the horrible, bloody mess out on the block outside, and Mrs Gethin raising the knife to hack bits off. That was probably all that was left of Agnes.

She tried to crawl backwards, but the chair was still in her way and in a moment Mrs Gethin was there. She had put the knife down thank goodness, but her hands were still horribly bloody as she grasped Patsy by the ear and pulled her until she staggered back to her feet.

'No, no, no, no'.

It was all she could manage, but Mrs Gethin did not drag her outside to the block and cut her head off, she pushed her back down into the chair instead.

'You bloody well sit down and stay put. What the hell did you think you were playing at, yelling the place down like that? I could have cut off my finger!'

'The blood-'.

It was all she could manage to choke out before she dissolved into tears again. She still wanted to grab Grace and run, but she was shaking so hard now that she didn't think she could even stand, let alone move.

'What? What sort of milk sop townies have I been landed with? Of course there's blood. You can't butcher a rabbit without there being a bit of blood. You're going to need a stronger stomach than that if you're going to get along here. Stop crying, you idiot girl, or I'll really give you something to cry about'.

Mrs Gethin was standing at the sink now, scrubbing irritably at her hands and arms until the water ran pink, and her skin was clean again. Patsy gulped hard, trying to force the sobs back down, though she couldn't stop trembling.

'It was a r-rabbit?'

'Well what on Earth did you think it was?'

Even in her upset state, Patsy realised that it would be a bad idea to admit that she'd thought it was Agnes, so she kept quiet, trying to take deep breaths and convince herself that Mrs Gethin was telling the truth.

The idea of the bloody thing outside being a rabbit wasn't a nice one either of course. Anne had had a pet rabbit named Truffles in Singapore, and Patsy had loved playing with it when she went to visit. It had been the cutest, fluffiest creature ever, with a wuffly nose and the softest ears, and the thought of anyone killing Truffles like that was horrible... but it was still better than it being Agnes on the block, and them next.

Mrs Gethin came over again then and grasped Patsy's face in her newly washed hands, tilting her head to catch the light as she examined the cut.

'Oh it's not that bad, just a little nick'.

'Could I have a bandage?'

'No you couldn't, you don't need a bloody bandage. Just hold your hankie to it until the bleeding stops- what is that kid making that noise for?'

Grace was still whimpering under the table, too afraid even to sob properly.

'She's just a bit frightened…'

'Yes well, you screaming the house down like that, it's no wonder. I've a good mind to send you packing right this minute and damn the money'.

She looked down at their empty plate.

'You've finished your supper I see. I think it's high time you two went to bed and gave us all some peace'.

'Oh but- but we were hoping for a bit more. It's just, we haven't eaten much at all today, and we only had half a slice-'

Mrs Gethin seemed to grow taller then, drawing herself up and folding her arms, even as the room seemed to darken around her.

'Excuse me?'

'We-'

'What did I say to you about greedy children in my house? I won't have you eating me out of house and home. I told you up front that if you both wanted to stay then you'd have to share, and I meant it. You be grateful that you were given anything at all, and don't you dare ask for more. Now get to bed the pair of you, I'm sick of the sight of you'.

Of course they couldn't go to bed, they didn't know where 'bed' was. There was a tense moment when it seemed Mrs Gethin might accuse them of disobedience, before she seemed to realise that she hadn't told them where to go, and led the way with an irritable sigh.

The staircase was very steep, with high, uncarpeted steps and no railing to hold onto. It was scary enough going up them, and Patsy dreaded to think what it would be like trying to come back down again. Grace would probably have to go down on her bottom, and even Patsy might be reduced to it if she needed to get down quickly.

Up on the landing, Mrs Gethin pointed to the closed doors.

'That's mine and Mr Gethin's room – you don't go in there under any circumstances. That one belongs to our son Lewis, you're to stay out of there and all. He's away helping on his uncle's farm for the summer, but he'll be back soon, and if he finds you've been in there he'll likely box your ears for you. This-' she pushed open the furthest door on the short corridor '-is your room'.

It was small and very bare, not even so much as a rug on the rough floorboards, and there were lighter patches on the damp-stained walls where evidently pictures had once hung. Worst of all, there was thick cardboard taped over every one of the window panes, so the only light in the room came from the open door.

Patsy blinked around at it disbelievingly. Surely they weren't going to sleep here? No one could really expect children to live in a room like this, it would be too cruel.

But no matter how hard she looked, the room didn't reform itself into something different, and Mrs Gethin didn't laugh and say 'only joking!' before leading them to a proper bedroom.

The bed stayed narrow, its mattress thin and stained, the window stayed covered and dark, and their host stayed silent and scowling as they stepped gingerly over the threshold.

Mrs Gethin dumped a folded sheet, blanket and thin pillow on the end of the unmade bed, then made to leave again with a muttered 'well, goodnight then'.

As she reached the doorway Patsy realised that there was something missing. There were only three doors upstairs, and Mrs Gethin had told them they led to her bedroom, their son's room, and the room they were in now. But what about...

'Oh! where's the WC please?'

'The W- what?'

'The- the toilet'.

Patsy whispered the last word, feeling a slight blush creep up her neck as she did so. Mama had always taught her that 'toilet' was a terribly vulgar term, almost akin to actual swear words, but she didn't know how else to describe it, other than WC.

'Oh. It's outside of course, round the back. You've got a pot under the bed if you need to go in the night. Just you make sure you empty it regular and keep it clean, I don't want it stinking up the place. And don't you dare drop it going downstairs, or you'll be mopping it up with your hair, do you understand?'

Patsy shuddered at that idea. If anyone else had said it she would assume they didn't mean it literally (because how would that even work?), but with Mrs Gethin she wasn't so sure. She still had the awful image of her raising her bloody knife high, and the wet, meaty thump of it coming down on the Thing on the block going round and round in her head, and she would have believed anything of her just then.

She nodded at Mrs Gethin, unable to say anything further, and at last they were left alone. They stood in shocked silence for a minute after she had gone, tensed in case she should reappear again, but after a moment they heard the sound of their host clumping back down the stairs, then the distant slamming of the back door. Back to the sad, hacked up body of the rabbit she had been cutting up.

The thought made Patsy retch a little, so she pushed it away quickly, trying to find something else to think about before she could be actually sick.

'What are we going to do?'

Grace's voice trembled, and the question seemed to encompass much more than their immediate situation – what were they going to do about Mrs Gethin? About War? About this horrible, scary situation that just kept getting worse and worse? But Patsy didn't know any of those answers, so she just said

'Well, we're supposed to go to bed…'

'But I'm not sleepy. It's too early'.

Even with the door open the room was reduced to a dim twilight by the taped windows, but outside the sun wasn't even thinking about setting yet. It was hours before their normal bedtime, and they had both dozed back in the hall in any case.

'Tell you what. Let's put on our pyjamas and get into bed, but not sleep'.

'Do we both have to go in the same bed?'

'I think so…'

The narrow single bed was the only piece of furniture in the room, and it didn't seem likely that anything else was going to be provided.

It didn't look very comfortable, with its thin, sagging mattress and austere iron frame.

Grace crept over and slipped her hand into Patsy's. Her knuckles still felt a bit damp from where she had been sucking them anxiously, but Patsy gave the hand a little squeeze anyway.

'It'll be fun. We can get into bed like Mrs Gethin said, then sit up and read together for a bit. And- and we'll have our gingerbread, because we didn't get much supper'.

They were hungry enough to have the gingerbread men and the apple and rolos as well and still not feel properly full; but a small, stubborn, secret part of Patsy was still thinking about their journey to find Phyllis, and the need to keep provisions by for the trip, even if it was just an apple.

Grace looked up at her, her face tear stained and peaky, but she nodded agreement, her little shoulders squared in determination to believe it really would be fun.

Grace tackled her pyjamas by herself, while Patsy tried to work out how to make the bed. It seemed like it should be simple – the sheet went over the mattress, and the blanket went on top, but she couldn't seem to get it to go right. The sheet was old, so threadbare that she could see her fingers through the cloth, and there was a big seam going up the middle, as if two halves of sheet had been sewn together, while the outside edges were uneven and raggedy. She spread it out as best she could over the mattress, but she couldn't manage to pull it smooth the way Maud always had at home – if she tried to pull it up then it left the bottom end bare, and it runkled up somewhere no matter how she pressed and tugged at it.

By the time she managed to get it sort of smooth enough to sleep on, her head was starting to really, properly hurt where she had banged it. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it felt hot and swollen, and was throbbing painfully. She reached up to touch it and winced. There was already a bump forming, and the dried blood felt strange and crusty on her skin. At home Maud would have cleaned it up and put ointment on it, then covered it carefully with gauze, but now Patsy didn't have so much as a glass of water dip her hanky in so she could dab away the blood. Her forehead felt tight where it had dried on her skin, and little rusty flakes came away on her fingertips as she felt around it gingerly. It was even in her hair, making it clump at the front in a way that felt disgusting and must have looked even worse.

She very nearly cried then, but she looked up to see her sister, already in her pyjamas and doing her best to brush her teeth with her dry toothbrush without even being asked, and she held the tears back. If Grace could be brave, so could she.

She got into her own pyjamas (Matilda bear tucked safely into the pocket), then gathered Grace, their two books, Kitty and the gingerbread. They had all piled into the single bed, the springs jangling and groaning as they got settled, when the obvious problem occurred to them both.

'It's too dark, I can't see Orlando'.

It was much too dark to read Dimsie too – Patsy could barely see that there were words on the page at all, let alone what they were.

She sighed and got up again with another jangle of bedsprings, grimacing a little as her bare feet touched the unpleasantly gritty floor boards. The lightswitch wasn't in the same place it would have been at home, and in the dark Patsy had to search the wall for it with great sweeping strokes of her hands, expecting at any moment to brush against the familiar raised square of it. But there was nothing. Not on any of the bedroom walls, or out in the hallway either. She had been round the whole room twice before it hit her.

There wouldn't be a light switch.

There couldn't be one, because there was no light in the room for a switch to turn on. The ceiling was a bare expanse with no bulb hanging from it at all.

It was one thing too many.

Patsy felt her face crumple, unable to stay brave anymore.

Her head hurt from the cut, her tummy hurt because she was so hungry, she still felt horribly frightened of Mrs Gethin and shaky from seeing the dead rabbit – and that was only the tiniest part of all the badness that was building in her chest and pushing its way up to echo around her head as she stood and shivered in the dark.

Maud had left them.

Daddy had left them.

Mama had sent them away without the slightest thought for where they'd end up.

Then they'd spent all day on a train and all night sleeping on the floor only to find that there was no one here who wanted them either – every grown up she met seemed to think Patsy was rude and bad no matter how hard she tried to be good.

No one in the whole world cared about them.

Even Phyllis had let them be taken away from her, and Mrs Parry from the hall had seemed kind, but she had sent them off with Miss Bowen to end up stuck in this dreary room with no furniture and only one hard little bed, and now there wasn't even any light.

The tears were spurting down her cheeks before she could blink them away, and they just kept coming and coming. She tried to swallow the sobs so that Grace wouldn't hear and be frightened, but it was no good, it just made them come out all gulpy and sounding even worse.

Patsy's eyes were screwed up too tight to see what Grace was doing, but she was sure that any moment she would start crying too. She tried to say something -anything- to reassure her that everything was alright really, but she couldn't speak. Every time she managed to suck in a breath it was expelled immediately on another wracking sob.

The bedsprings jangled again, and then Patsy was dimly aware of feet pattering across the bare boards. A moment later Grace's arms were wrapped tight around her middle in a fierce hug.

'It's alright Patsy, I'll look after you. I'm big sister now'.

Grace took Patsy's hand in her own small, damp one and tugged her back to the bed, pushing at her until she sat down, then patting at her face with a sleeve covered hand as if it was a hanky.

'There there Patsy, there there, shhhhhhhh. Oh dear, upsy-daisy, oh dear, there there sweetiepops'.

Patsy gave a trembly little laugh and pulled her sister close for another cuddle. She was just parroting the things that Maud had used to say when they hurt themselves, but somehow the clumsy attempt at comfort really was helping.

Even though Grace wasn't big enough to really look after her, Patsy had been wrong to think that no one else cared. Grace cared about her, and she cared about Grace, and maybe they would be alright after all, just as long as they had each other.

She took a deep, deep breath, and this time she was able to let it out slowly and smoothly. There were still a few stray tears spilling down her cheeks, but Patsy brushed them away with her fist and stuck her chin up as bravely as she could ('chin up lass…').

Alright, they couldn't turn on a light, but that didn't matter.

'Come on, let's clear away all that horrid cardboard from the window so the light can come in. Then we'll be able to read properly'.

Surely no one would mind them doing that. The window was probably only covered in the first place because no one had been staying in this room for a while, of course Mrs Gethin didn't expect them to just stay in the dark all the time.

They couldn't reach the highest pieces, but between them managed to clear away enough of the card to let the light come pouring in through the glass. It didn't do much to cheer the room up, but the view outside was pretty – rolling fields and trees and the clear blue sky above, so clean and big and so, so different from smoggy grey London.

This time when they scrambled into the noisy, lumpy little bed, it felt almost cosy. They were squashed tight together and Grace was bound to kick and take up more than her share of space once she fell asleep; but for now it felt nice to be able to cling tight together, to feel Grace's heart beating and her breath going in and out, familiar and regular. It felt safe.

They nibbled slowly on their gingerbread, savouring each sweet, spicy bite and smooth lick of icing. The biscuits had started to go a little bit soft from being kept in their case overnight, but they were still delicious, and it eased their hunger pangs enough that they could mostly stop thinking about them.

It was light enough to read now, and for once Grace didn't demand that Patsy read Orlando aloud. She looked at the pictures on her own, whispering remembered bits of the plot to herself, while Patsy settled down to read 'Dimsie goes to school' in peace. She had used to love the book because it gave her a glimpse of what things might be like when she went away to boarding school herself, as Mama and Daddy said she would when she was ten or eleven, but now it was comforting in a different way. Dimsie was away from home without any parents too, and she had made it through a War, and she was still funny and plucky and having all sorts of adventures. She was the sort of girl who would get through evacuation with a smile on her face, and somehow get the better of everyone she met along the way, even Mrs Gethin. Patsy let the reassuring familiarity of the story soothe away the bad day, and when it got too dark to read even with the window uncovered, she and Grace settled down further into the bed and whispered their own stories to each other instead.

Grace did her best to retell Phyllis' story from the train (missing out the bit about the cellar entirely and just talking about the ducks and the frog and playing on the farm), and then Patsy tried to imagine a brand new Orlando saga for Grace ('Orlando in the Dolls' House' - in which Orlando shrank down to the size of a toffee chew and came to live in their doll's house at home, along with his similarly tiny wife and their three miniscule kittens).

Eventually they fell asleep, curled around each other in the bed like the imaginary dolls' house kittens in their basket.