The Exiles

constantly with this thought, for had not their sisters in the past rescued them from so many impossible situations. Not that the solutions provided by Ruth and Naomi necessarily improved matters, far from it in most cases. Still, they generally managed to alter and enliven the course of events. Had they not, for example, provided pets for a pet show from a petless household?
    (‘Nobody told me it was only live animals. It’s a very healthy dead rabbit. I’ve brushed him and brushed him. I’ve called him Ben …’)
    And Phoebe had won a consolation prize.
    They had even resurrected Father Christmas, when Rachel and Phoebe, tearful and disillusioned, had thought he was dead for ever. No words of reassurance could have been more comforting than the huge heap of soot over-flowing the fireplace onto the hearth rug, and the frightful black footprints all the way up the stairs. The facts were undeniable. A few dark fingerprints on a pillowcase might be the work of their parents, but this enormous, reckless distribution of evidence could only have had one source.
    ‘He’s been,’ gloated Rachel in ecstasy, dancing black to the ankles on the hearthrug.

    The following day a little comfort was given to Ruth and Naomi; one small sign that their gods had not abandoned them entirely.
    ‘Come and see Egg Yolk,’ said Naomi, meeting Ruth in a corridor.
    Wendy, who could never leave well alone, had picked up a bee to prove it was possible and had been rather badly stung.
    ‘You are a pig,’ said Ruth to the afflicted one. ‘That poor bee will die now.’
    ‘It stung me,’ howled Wendy. She had to go to the sickroom and lie down all morning and her arm swelled up from her hand to her elbow.
    ‘Well, that’s something,’ said Naomi.

    It proved impossible for the girls to obtain the money they felt due to them. On Friday afternoon Naomi (who had had the idea) marched into their local building society followed by a polite queue of sisters and demanded to see the manager.
    ‘My family’s just been left five thousand pounds,’ said Naomi, and after a little astonished investigation the manager was able to confirm this.
    ‘It got paid into the family account here,’ continued Naomi, laying great stress on the word ‘family’.
    ‘I have come for my eight hundred and thirty pounds,’ said Naomi, smiling ingratiatingly at him.
    It did not work.

    ‘Haven’t you thought of anything yet?’ demanded Rachel in a hoarse whisper as the taxi carried them to the station.
    ‘NO,’ replied Ruth crossly. ‘All we can do is pretend we don’t care.’
    ‘How?’ asked Rachel.

    ‘We’ve got to pretend we don’t care,’ Rachel told Phoebe on the train. ‘They’re sending us away to Big Grandma’s, who hates us, for six whole weeks so that they can spend our money in peace, and we’ve got to pretend we don’t care. How?’
    Phoebe, who had never been on a train before, scarcely listened. Six weeks must be a long time, she supposed, since school had closed down as if for ever. Going to Big Grandma’s was very bad news, but it hadn’t quite happened yet, and she still had hopes that it never would. What else was Rachel grumbling about? Money. Her Christmas Present List money that they still hadn’t given her.
    ‘I want a serious word with you girls,’ announced Mrs Conroy.
    ‘Perhaps she’s going to give it to me now,’ thought Phoebe.
    ‘I do not want to hear,’ said Mrs Conroy ominously, ‘of any sort of trouble from you four. The fuss you’ve all been making about this holiday is nothing short of ridiculous. You’ll find you will have a wonderful time …’
    ‘I’ve brought this to put it in,’ interrupted Phoebe, producing her now empty pictures and projects carrier bag.
    ‘Don’t be silly, Phoebe. I hope to goodness you’ll come back with a bit more sense. I’m sure your Grandma won’t put up with half the nonsense your father and I let you get away with.’
    ‘I expect that’s why Uncle Robert ran away,’ put in Ruth gloomily.
    ‘And you are NOT,’ continued Mrs Conroy, ‘to mention Robert at all! Do you understand? I won’t have your Grandma upset by you.’
    ‘What about Big Grandma upsetting us?’ asked Naomi.
    ‘And another thing,’ said Mrs Conroy, ‘You can make up your minds to stop calling her by that silly name.’
    ‘We’ve all got silly names,’ Ruth pointed out.
    ‘You were never such worries when you were babies,’ said Mrs Conroy regretfully.
    ‘We never