Granger - Alone

PIP GRANGER

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Epub ISBN 9781409031871

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ALONE
A CORGI BOOK: 9780552155366

First publication in Great Britain
Corgi edition published 2007

Copyright Pip Granger 2007

Pip Granger has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. In some cases names of people, places, dates, sequences or the detail of events have been changed solely to protect the privacy of others. The author has stated to the publishers that, except in such minor respects not affecting the substantial accuracy of the work, the contents of this book are true.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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For Joyce, my dear old friend

Also by Pip Granger
and published by Corgi Books

NOT ALL TARTS ARE APPLE

THE WIDOW GINGER

TROUBLE IN PARADISE

NO PEACE FOR THE WICKED

This book is a memoir of my childhood and the things that made me what I am. It is neither a history, nor an autobiography. Telling the story means that I have to include personal events from other peoples lives, but I have no wish to bring back distressing memories for those involved, so I have changed the names of almost everyone in the book, and altered any details of their lives not vital to the story. Several minor characters are composites of various different people: they all have fictitious names. If anything here reminds you of actual people you know or knew, I can assure you it is a coincidence.

I would like to thank: my husband, Ray, who is a constant support and an absolute star; my dear friend and first reader, Jill Nicholson; my editor, Selina Walker; my agent, Lizzy Kremer; and all those who beaver away behind the scenes at Transworld, especially Judith Welsh, Sam Jones, and Diane Meacham for my beautiful cover.

I sat very still and held my breath, in case the two men standing close by heard my breathing, or the rustle of dried leaves beneath my brand new, navy blue Clarks sandals.

Night, Reg. See you down Walfamstow tomorrow?

Yeah. Ill see you there, Eddie. Me dads just got himself half a dog, and its running in the 4.30.

I hope he bought the front half!

Reg chuckled. Wouldnt matter. Bleeder seems to be running on three legs whichever way hes facing, doesnt stand a snowflakes, but me dad and his mate reckon hes young, hell come on in time. Personally, I think that if he was an orse, hed be dog meat by now

Their voices faded away. I heard the bolt on the public bar door shoot home, closely followed by the one in the saloon. The Bear was closing, so it had to be gone eleven by the time those very last customers had stumbled into the night and crossed the narrow lane to stand beside my hiding place. I peered through the leaves of the dog rose and watched as the lights in the pub across the road went out one by one. It seemed to be hours before the place was closed up, but eventually the last bedroom light winked out and I was left utterly alone in the night.

At least, I thought I was alone. I must have dozed off, all wrapped up in an old eiderdown, because the next thing I knew I was jerked wide awake by a sound so inhuman that it turned my skin clammy and my mouth dry. Every hair on my body seemed to stand to attention, like so many little antennae searching out the direction of the danger. The sound came again, a long, low, grumbling, rumbling growl, followed by a rattle and then a huge, gusty sigh. I was rigid with fear, convinced that I was about to be eaten alive by whatever was out there. I was under no illusions. Anything that had a growl that deep and a sigh that loud had to be really, really big. It would have no trouble at all getting through the dense hedge into my secret den. All it had to do was to barge hard, and the dog rose and honeysuckle would part company from the field maple and hawthorn that hid it from the world outside, and I would end up being somethings supper. I sat and waited for the end to come, hardly able to breathe. My heart was hammering so hard in my ears that it drowned out the stealthy footsteps I knew were coming closer.

I suppose I was too dopey with fright to think straight, but it took me ages to realize that the beast in the night was in fact the poor old bear that lived in the garden of the pub, banged up in a cage and so in no position to invade my camp. I knew the bear quite well, as it happened. In fact, I had spent many a Saturday and Sunday lunchtime with that bear, waiting in the pubs garden for my mother. I knew that he liked Smiths crisps sprinkled with just a little salt. This doesnt mean that I had ever got close to him not within his reach, anyway. I had always chucked the donated crisps, still in the crinkly packet which he chomped up, then spat out through the bars from a safe distance. He might have looked like my teddy, only with much darker fur, but I knew that he would eat any child that was careless enough to stray within his reach, because my brother Peter said so, and so did everyone else. Anyway, he had a crazed look in his eyes. That look meant that I always kept a deeply respectful distance between him and me.

I dont remember if I ever got back to sleep that night, but I do know that I crept out of my hiding place as soon as the very first glimmer of light filtered through the leaves. The relief was enormous. It had been a scary old night, and I wanted to get home and safely into my bed before my mother woke up. First, though, I nipped over the road to say good morning to the bear and give him the remains of a Marmite sandwich that Id snatched from the kitchen counter on the way out of the back door the night before.