The Exiles

‘All right, I’m not going to do anything to him!’
    ‘He seems somewhat lacking,’ remarked Naomi, recalling a favourite phrase of Big Grandma’s.
    ‘What do you think you’re doing then?’ asked Graham, considerably unnerved to find he was surrounded by a circle of half dressed, wholly threatening females, at least two of them as tall, if not taller than himself. There seemed to be every possibility that he would have to fight his way out.
    One of the girls, the least skinny and ferocious looking, said (in a very pleased voice), ‘Look, he’s going to cry!’
    ‘Him cry?’ asked another. ‘Him cry? It’s us that should be crying!’
    The smallest, and most dreadfully threatening of them all said, ‘He’s only little. Do you want me to fight him?’
    ‘Little yourself,’ replied Graham defiantly. ‘I’m older than you lot!’
    ‘How d’you know?’
    ‘Your gran told me. She told me all about you before you came here.’
    ‘Why did she tell you about us?’
    ‘Why shouldn’t she?’ asked Graham unwisely. ‘She told a lot of folk. Everyone knew you were coming.’
    The eldest two glanced at each other and then reseated themselves, inviting him, rather earnestly, to tell them what else Big Grandma had said. Rachel, suddenly spotting a tomato that had been overlooked earlier, settled down to consume it, and Graham, seeing that he must either sit down too, or remain confronting Phoebe alone, squatted uncomfortably beside the wet ruins of the bonfire.
    The conversation got off to a bad start.
    ‘What’s your name?’
    ‘What’s it to you?’
    ‘Well, we’ve got to call you something. We’ll call you Emily then. Did Big Grandma tell you our names, Emily?’
    ‘You pack in calling me that.’
    ‘What’s your name then?’
    ‘Graham.’
    ‘That’s Rachel,’ said one of the girls, nodding to the one who had said he was going to cry. ‘I’m Naomi. That’s Ruth. That one walking round you holding her nose is Phoebe …’
    ‘That’s never her real name, is it?’ asked Graham, shocked.
    Phoebe, who had endured this question in various forms all her life, pulled a dreadful face and choked, as if overcome by fumes.
    ‘Take no notice,’ said Ruth civilly. ‘She hasn’t had a bath for a week.’
    ‘Had one last night,’ remarked Graham, cheering up a bit at this information.
    ‘Did Big Grandma tell you we were horrible?’ asked Rachel.
    ‘She didn’t say anything nasty about you like that.’
    ‘She must have said something. Why did you come tearing down here?’
    ‘I saw you playing with the fire and I came to stop you before you got into trouble.’
    ‘Why should we?’
    Graham shrugged. ‘What she said about you.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘She said you were weak in the head,’ said Graham, throwing tact and caution to the wind. ‘She said you weren’t fit to be let out hardly.’
    There was silence. Phoebe let go of her nose and looked at Ruth and Naomi for guidance, not knowing who was attacking who anymore. Cautiously she edged behind Graham and stuck her tongue out.
    ‘Huh,’ said Naomi eventually.
    ‘Well,’ said Ruth, pulling herself together, ‘d’you believe everything you hear? Look at our fire! Look at our towels! Lucky we’d finished our cooking, that’s all!’
    ‘Lucky for him !’ remarked Phoebe.
    ‘She said you have no manners,’ remarked Graham, dispassionately.
    ‘What, all of us, or just Phoebe?’ demanded Rachel.
    ‘Yes,’ Ruth had to agree with this logic, ‘yes, well, Phoebe hasn’t got any manners, it’s true. Neither has Rachel,’ she admitted honestly, ‘probably they’re not really fit to be let out! Shut up Rachel! But me and Naomi are looking after them …’
    ‘How d’you do that then?’ asked Graham, looking at Rachel and Phoebe as if they were some unusual form of livestock.
    ‘Bribery mostly,’ Naomi told him.
    Graham looked blank, so Ruth and Naomi proceeded to demonstrate.
    ‘You two go off and fill that bucket with sea water and rinse the knives and stuff in it,’ ordered Naomi, ‘and we’ll wash up tonight when we get back.’
    Rachel, who was trying to think of a way of proving she had manners without being rude, took no notice. Phoebe raised one eyebrow.
    ‘And we’ll set the table for tea as well.’
    Phoebe’s eyebrow lowered fractionally and Rachel looked up.
    ‘And we won’t make you carry any of this cooking stuff back when we go.’
    ‘Promise?’
    ‘Promise.’
    ‘Promise on Big