‘It would take a typhoon to shift me, with this lot on top,’ he said. ‘Talk about uncomfortable!’
Dumpsie had added her small weight by clambering on to the upturned bucket. Luckily John was not wearing the ring, so he did not hear her say wistfully as she looked at the pile of rubbish beneath her: ‘Just like a bit of the dear old Dump!’ Oddly enough, he felt comforted to see her sitting there, unconcernedly licking her undamaged front paw.
In the meantime, Rosemary was frantically scooping up sand and stones with one hand, and anything heavy she could find on the track, while she held up her skirt, in which to carry it, with the other; for, halfway across the field, and heading straight for the station, she had seen Miss Dibdin. There was no time to lose. She scrambled back on to the platform, and, pushing John’s feet so that their soles were flat on the ground and his knees were up, she shovelled as much of her load as she could push into his Wellington boots.
‘Now, can you stand up?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Hurry, Miss Dibdin is nearly here.’
John sat up cautiously. With a clatter the collection of rubbish slid off him on to the platform. He stuffed the brick-ends into his mackintosh pockets on either side, together with as much of the remaining earth and stones as they would hold: then, very gingerly, he got to his feet. For a moment he stood there quite firmly, with Rosemary hovering near with outstretched hands to grab him back if he began to drift up into the air again. A slow grin spread over his face.
‘It’s all right. Come on, let’s go!’
As he spoke they heard Miss Dibdin’s shrill voice urging on her broom.
‘Up! Up! Come up, my beauty! One more bound and we shall be home!’
They did not wait to hear more. With Rosemary clutching on to one arm, while she clasped Dumpsie with the other, they hurried for the hole in the hedge. They were only just in time. There was a clatter as the broom collapsed on the platform.
‘Crumpet! Crumpet!’ they heard Miss Dibdin’s shrill cry. With rising irritation she went on: ‘Why don’t you come when I call you?’
John and Rosemary knew why there was no answer, but they thought it better not to wait till Miss Dibdin found out.
13. ‘Clumping As Ever’
IF you have ever tried to hurry, wearing Wellington boots filled with earth, mixed with as many pebbles as there are currants in a plum pudding, you will understand why John and Rosemary made such slow progress on their way home.
There had been no time to balance the extra weight in John’s pockets evenly, so that he walked in a slightly lopsided way, bent uncomfortably at the knees: but he did not dare to leave any of the extra weight behind. Away from the shelter of the station there was quite a strong breeze.
When Rosemary suggested, as tactfully as she could, that perhaps it would be better to go home the long way, round the village, so that they should attract as little attention as possible, he replied with some heat: ‘I don’t care how silly I look, I’m not walking one step further than I’ve got to. My feet are killing me!’ So that was that.
As it happened, there were not many people about when they reached the village, and apart from two girls, who giggled and whispered behind their hands, and an old woman, who shook her head pityingly, they reached home without comment.
Never had they been so thankful to turn in to Uncle Zack’s gate.
‘I can’t wear gum-boots and a mac indoors,’ said John anxiously. ‘The pockets in my jeans are too small to hold anything. I don’t suppose Uncle Zack would notice, but Mrs Bodkin doesn’t miss a thing. I bet she’d spot the brickends, and make me turn my pockets out. Do you think if I ate an enormous dinner that would hold me down?’
‘If you ate the weight of two brick-ends, I should think even Uncle Zack would notice,’ said Rosemary. ‘I tell you what. Supposing you make some excuse to go straight to bed? You’d be safe from draughts if I piled my bed-clothes on top of yours, and tucked them well in all round. We’re terribly late. The Post Office clock said half past three, so we’ve missed dinner, and it’s nearly tea time.’
‘Help!’ said John. ‘I’m starving!’
Mrs Bodkin’s crossness at their late return evaporated as soon as John asked if he could go to bed. ‘I’ve got a splitting head-ache,’ he said, which was perfectly true.
‘Go to bed?’ repeated Mrs Bodkin. ‘I hope to goodness you aren’t sickening for something! But it’s the best place if you’re feeling poorly. You go straight upstairs, and I’ll come up presently and take your temperature.’
Getting undressed and between the sheets presented a good deal of difficulty; but with John clutching the bed-post with both hands, and Rosemary peeling off most of his clothes, it was managed at last. Rosemary tucked him hurriedly in and went to fetch her own blankets for extra weight. She was just returning with her arms full, when a gust of wind made a downstairs door slam, and she remembered she had forgotten to close John’s bedroom door behind her. She hurried in, only to find that the window opposite was open too, and John, with bed-clothes still trailing, had wafted halfway up to the ceiling. ‘Shut the door!’ he yelled. ‘There’s a through draught!’
Rosemary dropped the bundle she was carrying, banged the door to behind her, dashed to the window, slammed it shut and latched it securely. There was a ‘flump’ behind her, and she turned to find John once more lying on his bed. With no draught the blankets were heavy enough to bring him down again.
‘You’d only tucked the blankets in properly one side,’ he said faintly. He lay, eyes closed, looking rather white. ‘I can’t take much more of this,’ he said. His eyes, when he opened them again, looked so worried that Rosemary put her hand over one of his which clutched the slipping blanket. He didn’t seem to mind.
‘You won’t have to,’ she said. ‘It won’t be long till morning. It’s all my fault for making that idiotic wish. Of course, I didn’t really mean it to happen. It was just one of those silly things you say sometimes.’
‘I know,’ said John. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been bad-tempered. But you can’t think how beastly this is all being. It was clever of you, the way you got me down from the roof — in the station, I mean. And thinking of the brick-ends and things. You’d better put those extra blankets on top of me, and tuck them well in on both sides this time.’
Ten minutes later Mrs Bodkin came in with a tray.
‘Temperature first, tea after,’ she said briskly, and while John’s mouth was firmly closed round the thermometer, watch in hand, she looked round the room. ‘Well! I never saw such a mess! Dirt and stones all over the place! What on earth have you been up to?’
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ said Rosemary. ‘It was a ... a game we’ve been playing. I’ll clear it up, every bit. I promise.’
‘You’re a bit big for mud pies, aren’t you?’
Mrs Bodkin picked up John’s clothes which were scattered about the floor. ‘And look at your trousers and your sweater! Filthy, they are! And your things aren’t much better,’ she added as she caught sight of Rosemary. ‘Clean clothes for both of you in the morning, and don’t you forget it!’
She peered at the thermometer through narrowed eyes, holding it now near, now far. ‘Normal!’ she said at last. ‘That’s a good thing! Is your throat sore? No? Then you’ll do. I’ve brought you a pot of tea. More than you deserve, coming home at all hours! There’s some ham sandwiches and a few of those left-over rock cakes for you, Rosie; but I’ve put a nice dry biscuit for young John. Just in case,’ she added mysteriously. ‘We don’t want to take any risks, do we? He looks a bit flushed, doesn’t he?’