Kissed a sad goodbye - Deborah Crombie [81]
“Even John says so.” Lewis knew that would settle the matter, for they’d discovered that John Pebbles had an intimate and apparently infallible knowledge of the area. They walked on, pointing out spots they thought would have made good smugglers’ hides.
They followed the course of the Tillingbourne for some way, then began a steady ascent that took them into a dark and dense woodland. Lewis, who had not quite got over his claustrophobia under trees, began to fear they were lost, but would’ve died rather than said so.
As if reassuring himself, William said, “I’m sure this is the right way. I can read the map, and Aunt Edwina said it would seem a long way through the woods.” He moved a bit closer to Lewis on the soft, leaf-covered path.
Suddenly, with a rustle and a crackling of brush, a deer erupted across the trail a foot in front of them. Lewis saw a flash of dark, startled eyes and white rump as he felt himself falling backwards, then he hit the ground, buttocks first, with a thump that knocked the wind from him.
William had staggered into the nearest tree and now hung on for dear life. They gaped at each other, wide-eyed, and started to laugh.
“Crikey, that nearly scared the piss out of me,” said Lewis between gasps as William helped him up. That only made them laugh harder, and they stumbled along, the woods ringing with their whoops, until they had to wipe tears from their eyes.
As they neared Coldharbour the trees thinned, and they walked in companionable silence broken by the occasional episode of giggles. They spent an hour exploring the banks and ditches of the Iron Age fort, imagining battles that seemed more real to them than the rumors from Europe, and by the time they’d finished the climb to the summit of Leith Hill, they had worked up quite an appetite.
Having voted to eat their picnic before climbing the Tower, they settled on a stone bench in the sun, facing the distant haze they surmised must be the Channel. His mouth full of ham and cheese, Lewis pointed into the distance. “If the Germans came, you could see them from here.”
“If they come. My dad says they’re calling it the Phoney War now.” William glanced at Lewis. “Do you want to go home?”
Lewis washed down his bite of sandwich with some tea while he thought about his answer. Did he want to go home? A month ago he’d have answered “yes” in an instant. Now, he said with a shrug, “Don’t know, really. I miss my mum and dad. Sometimes I even miss my sister. But I like it here, too.” He dug in the paper sack for one of the apples Cook had packed for them. “What about you? Do you want to go home?”
“Home I wouldn’t mind, but I’d have to go back to school,” William answered with a grimace. “You don’t know what it’s like there,” he added, and glimpsing the expression on William’s usually open face, Lewis didn’t pursue it.
“What about Mr. Cuddy?” he asked instead. “What’s he like?” The tutor, a thin, bespectacled man about the age of Lewis’s father, had seemed kind enough when Lewis encountered him.
“He’s all right. Only it gets a bit boring being on my own all day, and the maths are hard. That’s old Cuddy’s field, and I’m not very good at it.”
“Maybe I could help you sometime,” Lewis offered tentatively. “I like maths. That’s always my best marks at school. Composition’s harder.”
“I’m better at that. Maybe I’ll write one for Mr. Cuddy about the deer,” William said, grinning, and that set them to laughing again.
This conversation bore unexpected fruit a few weeks later, when Edwina called Lewis into her sitting room and informed him that she had arranged, with the permission of William’s parents, for him to be tutored along with William. “I’ve written to your parents, and they agree that this is a wonderful opportunity for you. You’re obviously a bright boy, Lewis, and you deserve a better education than the village school can provide.”
“But I like school … and what about my mates?” Lewis said hesitantly, not wanting to seem rude.
Edwina lit a cigarette with the silver lighter on the mantelpiece and the