Джоан Робинсон - When Marnie Was There

“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!”

Chapter Twelve

M

RS

P

EGG

B

REAKS

H

ER

T

EAPOT

MRS PEGG WAS shaking the rag mat in the yard with unnecessary violence, and talking to Anna between shakes.

“I’d have thought the least you could do – was keep a civil tongue in your head – after I’d specially asked you to look friendly —” shake – shake – “I’m that riled with you, I—” she choked and flung the mat over the dustbin, then wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. For one awful moment Anna thought she was crying, then realised that her own eyes were pricking. The tiny yard was full of dust.

Mrs Pegg turned on her, red in the face. “Why did you do that, lass? What come over you, for goodness sake?”

“She called me names first,” Anna mumbled.

“Oh, she did, did she? What sort of names?” Mrs Pegg looked hopeful for an instant but Anna closed her mouth obstinately. Mrs Pegg pressed her. “Not that I’m one to listen to other’s tiffs generally speaking,” she said, “and what’s done can’t be undone, but you’d better tell me now.”

“She said I looked like – just-what-I-was,” said Anna, the words tumbling out all together in a sullen mumble.

“Like what?”

“Just-what-I-was,” Anna repeated.

“Well, lordsakes, and what’s wrong with that!” Mrs Pegg flung up her hands in despair and lumbered angrily indoors. From the kitchen Anna could hear Sam’s voice protesting mildly that it was a small thing to get so put out about, and Mrs Pegg retorting angrily that it was all very well for him to talk, but if he’d kindly cast his mind back he might remember how she’d said all along it wouldn’t do to fall out with Mrs Stubbs, not till after the fête.

“You know very well I never was one to listen to tittle-tattle and squabbles, but what with Mrs S being so put out, and her running the cake stall what I’m put down to help with—” There was a sudden crash, then Mrs Pegg’s voice, shaky now, “There! Me big teapot! If that ain’t the last straw—” followed by an unmistakable sob.

Anna did not wait to hear any more.

She went down to the beach, walking all the way along the dyke. There was no sign of Wuntermenny, and in any case she felt that even his company would be an interruption. She did not want to think about anyone or anything, not even Marnie. It would have been all right if only Mrs Pegg had gone on being angry, but when she had dropped that teapot… hastily Anna put the memory out of her mind. She walked hard, thinking about nothing and seeing nothing, until she came at last to the sand dunes.

Here was the one place where she could be sure of meeting no-one. Even if anyone should happen to be wandering along the beach, she could see them while they were still no more than a speck in the distance, and lie low until they had passed. Already she had spent many afternoons here, lying in a sandy hollow, hearing only the wind rustling the tops of the grasses, the distant crying of the gulls, and the soft soughing of the sea. It was like being at the very edge of the world. Sometimes the gulls came nearer, screaming noisily as they quarrelled over small fish in the pools, and sometimes they cried mournfully far away along the beach. Then Anna felt like crying too – not actually, but quietly – inside. They made a sad, and beautiful, and long-ago sound that seemed to remind her of something lovely she had once known – and lost, and never found again. But she did not know what it was.