Джоан Робинсон - When Marnie Was There

“No, I didn’t mind at all. I don’t even remember it. I told you, I was living with my granny…”

“Go on.”

“Well, then she died,” said Anna flatly.

“Oh, but why?”

Anna shrugged and pulled up another long grass, biting it between her teeth. “How should I know? She went away to some place because she said she wasn’t very well, and she promised to come back soon, but she didn’t. She died instead, at least that’s what Miss Hannay said.”

“Who’s Miss Hannay?”

“A lady who comes to see me sometimes. At least, she comes to see Mrs Preston and talk about me. It’s her job, you see, to go and see children who’re sort of adopted like I am. She has to see me, too, and she asks about school and things. She’s quite nice, but I never know what to say to her. I did ask her once about Granny – because I sort of remembered her – and she said she’d died.” She paused, then added defiantly, “So what! Who cares?”

Marnie looked shocked. “But didn’t you love her?”

Anna was silent for a moment, frowning at the ground. Then she blurted out sullenly, “No, I hate her. And I hate my mother. I hate them all. That’s the thing…”

Marnie looked at her with puzzled eyes. “But your mother couldn’t help being killed,” she said.

Anna looked surly. “She left me before she was killed,” she said defensively, “to go away on a holiday.”

“And your granny couldn’t help dying,” said Marnie, still being reasonable.

“She left me, too,” Anna insisted. “She went away. And she promised to come back and she didn’t.” She gave a dry little sob, then said angrily, “I hate her for leaving me all alone, and not staying to look after me. It wasn’t fair of her to leave me – I’ll never forgive her. I hate her.”

Marnie said, trying to comfort her, “In a way I think you’re lucky to be sort of adopted. I’ve often thought, secretly, that I’m adopted – don’t tell, will you? – and in a way I wish I was. That would prove how terribly kind my mother and father are, to have adopted me when I was a poor little orphan baby with no-one to look after me.”

It was Anna’s turn to be surprised. “I should have thought anyone would rather have their own mother and father – if they knew them,” she said, turning over another secret trouble in her mind. She looked at Marnie thoughtfully. “If I tell you a deep secret will you promise never to tell?”

“Of course! We’re telling secrets all the time, aren’t we? I wouldn’t dream of telling.”

“Well, it’s about Mr and Mrs Preston. I told you they’re kind to me, and they are, but I thought they looked after me and everything because they – well, because I was like their own child, but I found out a little while ago—” she lowered her voice almost to a whisper, “ they’re paid to do it. ”

“Oh, no!” Marnie’s eyes grew wide. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“I found a letter, it was in the sideboard drawer. It was a printed letter and it was something about how the council was going to increase the allowance for me, and there was a cheque inside as well.”

“Oh!” Marnie breathed. “What ever did you do?”

“When she came home I tried to ask her about it. I couldn’t say I’d read the letter, at least I didn’t want to. Anyway I wanted to ask her first. So I said didn’t it cost an awful lot to feed me, and hadn’t my new winter coat cost a lot, and things like that. And all she said was that they liked to do it and I wasn’t to worry, and if it was because I’d heard her saying they were hard up I wasn’t to take it seriously. Everyone said they were hard up and it didn’t mean anything.”

She paused for breath, then went on quickly, “So I kept on asking questions about money and how much things cost, and things like that. I tried and tried. I gave her every chance I could to tell me. But she wouldn’t. She just kept on saying she loved me and I wasn’t to worry. Then afterwards – when I went to look – the letter had gone. She’d hidden it. So then I knew it was true.”

Marnie was thinking seriously. “ Does that mean she doesn’t love you, though?”

“I think in a way she does, sort of,” said Anna, trying to be fair. “But you can see the difference, can’t you? How would you like to have someone paid to love you? Anyway, after that, I think she guessed that I knew. She kept looking at me as if she was worried, and wanting to know why I was always asking questions about money. And she kept trying to do things to please me. But it wasn’t the same then – it couldn’t be.”

Marnie had an idea. “Why don’t you ask Miss Hannay?”

“Oh, no!” Anna looked shocked. “That would be mean. Anyway I couldn’t talk to her about it, I hardly know her. She knows all about me, but I don’t know anything about her, not really. It would have been mean to ask her behind their backs. Anyway I knew already. I didn’t need her to tell me what I’d found out for myself. But—” her voice broke suddenly and a tear trickled down the side of her nose, “I did so wish she’d told me herself. I gave her such a lot of chances.”

Marnie moved nearer and touched her hair. “Dear Anna, I love you more than any girl I’ve ever known.” She wiped the tear away and said, suddenly merry again, “There! Does that make you feel better?”

Anna smiled. Yes, she did feel better. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her. Running back across the fields with Marnie, she felt as light as air. And even when Marnie had left her, and she was running home alone with the mushrooms, her face kept breaking into a smile for the pure joy of it.

On the corner she saw Sandra standing with two or three other children.

“Daft thing! Daft thing!” Sandra called when she saw Anna coming. “My mum says she’s daft. Talks to herself, on the beach, she does. And frightened my little cousin ever so, when he wasn’t doing nothing. Rushed up to him on the marsh, she did. My auntie said she looked fair daft, running like mad.” She turned to a little boy in a blue plastic mackintosh who was standing beside her. “That’s the girl, ain’t it, Nigel?” He nodded his head solemnly. But Anna ran on, hardly noticing.

As she turned into the lane she could still hear Sandra calling after her, “Daft thing! Daft thing!” but she did not mind enough even to feel angry.

Chapter Seventeen

T

HE

L

UCKIEST

G

IRL IN THE

W

ORLD

ANNA AND MARNIE met nearly every day now. They met on the beach, in the sandhills, and once they went mushrooming again in the early morning – but not in the same place. Marnie said no, she wasn’t going so near that dreary old windmill, and when Anna asked her why, she pretended not to hear and raced on ahead.

As they crawled through the sandhills, searching for rabbits, or ran along the hard sand at low tide, they learned a lot about each other. Anna told Marnie all about home – she still found she could never tell her about the Peggs; when she was with her she always forgot all about them – and Marnie told Anna about her parents; her father, who was in the navy and often away, and her mother – the lady in the blue dress – who was more often in London than in Little Overton. Anna learned that for most of the time Marnie was alone at The Marsh House with her nurse and the two maids, Lily and Ettie.

“So you see, as long as they’re happy gossiping in the kitchen or telling fortunes, I’m lucky because they don’t even miss me and I can get out,” Marnie told her, skipping about on the sand in an exaggerated way as if to show how happy and free she was. Anna could not help laughing. “And it’s so lovely when the others come back! Mother’s so beautiful – everyone tells her so – and I feel so proud. And Father’s so handsome, and so kind. You’ve no idea how kind my parents are! Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”