While Nab was thinking about this she began to climb the stairs and he then realized what she had meant. He crouched down under the window up against the back wall to wait for her.
Beth passed the door to her brother’s room and opened the door to her own which was next to it along the corridor. Thankfully she closed it behind her and went to sit on the bed for a minute or two to gather her thoughts. Now that the boy was no longer in front of her she began to wonder again whether it was just one of her dreams; even if it was not, was she mad to think of running away on this freezing snowy night with a boy whom she had known for no longer than ten minutes in her whole life. And the boy! The more she thought about it the more incredible did the idea seem. Every possible rational argument was against it and there was no way in which she could logically justify what she was thinking of doing. Then she remembered the ring and somehow the thought of it filled her with a strange feeling of security. That had been no mere coincidence; neither had it been part of a dream. Something was calling her and she had to go; what it was she did not know but that it was there she could not doubt. There was no real choice, for if she did not go she would be unable to live with herself for the rest of her life.
With her mind resolved into certainty she began to think about what she should take with her. She got up and went over to her little dressing table in the corner and ran her hands slowly along the front edge and then, when they reached the two corners, back along the sides until they came to the wall. She loved this dressing table; it had been given to her last Christmas and was the first big thing of her very own that she had ever had. She sat at it for hours, staring into the mirror and thinking about everything and nothing. At the front was a small crocheted woollen mat that had been made for her by her grandmother and given to her last birthday, and along the back and sides were all her bric-a-brac and personal things; bottles of different types of perfume and scent, hairslides, tubes of make-up, bottles of nail varnish. In the middle was a wooden jewellery box, made for her by her father when she was a little girl; she opened it sadly and looked at the jumble of rings, bracelets and necklaces that spilled over the edges on to the surface of the dressing table. Pushed into the frame around the mirror were rows of little photographs; some were with friends from school and there was a column of four that had been taken with a boy she had known. He was the son of some friends of her parents and had taken her a few months ago to see a film in the city, miles away. When they had come out he had taken her to a restaurant and they had had a meal with some friends of his. She had learnt a lot about herself that day and had lain awake in bed all night, thinking. In this way, as she looked at all the things on the dressing table, fragments and images of the past flashed through her mind.
She was leaving them now and, although for months she had been dominated by insatiable restlessness, now that she was actually going, she was unable to leave without sadness. She smiled ruefully to herself at all the things she saw; there would be no need for any of them now, she thought, and turned away quickly lest she start to cry. She must write a note for her mother and father; they would be bound to worry but perhaps she could ease their fears a little. She picked up a pen and paper but the words she searched for did not come; how could she express what she felt and explain why she was going away? She sat wrestling with the sentences and then suddenly, from nowhere, they came and seemed to write themselves. The words were the words of poetry, gentle magic words filled with awe and beauty so that when her parents later found the note pinned on to the front of the dressing table they were glad, even in their sorrow at losing Beth, for there was no doubt in their minds but that she was safe and happy and would always be. They knew, for they were of the Eldron.
When the note was finished she opened the drawer of the dressing table and out sprang her clothes. She selected three tee-shirts; green, red and black, and three jerseys, starting with a fairly closely knit cardigan and ending with the enormous chunky polo neck sweater which she had bought this winter; it was a dark muddy green colour and had a red and white patterned band around the chest. When she had put these on, she got a large brown corduroy jacket from the wardrobe which stood at the side of the dressing table and finally, over everything, she put on the dark brown tweed cape with the lion’s head fastening which had been her grandmother’s. Beth had been given it on her tenth birthday after admiring it constantly every time she had gone for a visit. It was perfect, she thought. Apart from the purely practical point that it was the only thing that would go over the top of all these layers of clothing and that it was wonderfully warm, she felt that it was the right sort of thing to be wearing for walking over moonlit fields; she had always had a feeling that there was something special about it, an aura of mystery and magic, and for that reason she had never worn it before, preferring to wait until an occasion which would warrant it. She placed the heavy cape over her shoulders, pulled the fastening chain across from the lion’s head on one side to the metal tongue behind the head on the other and slipped it over. The cape fell around her and lay, draped in heavy folds, all the way down to the carpet on the floor. She buried her hands amongst the rest of the clothes in the drawer, found the fawn coloured woolly hat she had been looking for and, when she had put it on, pulled the hood of the cloak up and was ready.
She took a last look in the mirror and then turned away to go towards the door. The pretty little red dress that her mother had ironed for her ready for the dance lay over the back of a chair on the other side of the room; it’s funny, she thought, how only half an hour ago everything had been so normal and ordinary. The dress looked lost and forlorn lying there waiting to be put on and Beth too felt sad even in her excitement. Then she suddenly remembered the Christmas presents and she reached under the bed, where they had been hidden, and laid them out on top. Luckily she had wrapped them last night and put on little cards with names. There was a pewter bracelet for her mother and a pen for her father; a record for her elder brother and for the little baby James she had bought a big brown teddy bear. Both grandmothers had been given the same to stop possible accusations of favouritism, a wildlife calendar, and both grandfathers had been given socks. The sight of all these presents laid out in a row in their gay Christmas paper and the thought of giving them out around the tree tomorrow morning was almost too much for her and tears began to run down her cheeks.
She had to go now, without thinking any more about anything. Resolutely she made for the door, opened it and walked out without once looking back. Silently she walked down the stairs and went over to the cupboard opposite the back door where she kept her Wellington boots. There was a pair of thick white woolly socks pushed down one of them and she put these on before she pulled the wellingtons over her jeans. Then she heard, with a stab of pain, the familiar miaow of Meg and felt the black furry body of the cat rubbing up against her leg. She bent down and picked her up and Meg closed her eyes and began to purr loudly. Beth held the cat closely to her and then lifted her up so that they were face to face.
‘Look after yourself, little friend,’ she said softly. I'll never, ever forget you, ’ and she gently put the cat down on the floor where she sat upright looking at Beth. ‘I’ll have to go now,’ she said, and without daring to look at Meg again, she put her hand on the back door knob and turned it. The door creaked as it opened slowly.