Amber’s Secret

‘Arabella Button speaking,’ said the old lady. ‘Please will you send a taxi to Seventeen, Norland Avenue. I have a visitor who has to get to The Cedars, Villa Road. It’s Professor Bell’s house. Thank you.’

‘I think I would like to speak to your Mrs Spinks, Sally,’ she said, as they waited. ‘I think I should phone her. I would like to write to your father. I could send him a telegram, that would be quicker.’

But Sally clutched so hard at her thin old-lady arm that Miss Button jumped. ‘Oh no, please don’t talk to Mrs Spinks. You see, she doesn’t know about the clock, or anything. If you could just. . . don’t you know anyone who could help me? You’ve got a clock, too.’

Someone rang the doorbell and a voice said, ‘Taxi to Villa Road.’

Miss Button opened the door and said, ‘Good afternoon, Ron. This is Miss Sally Bell. She must be home by one.’

‘Rightio,’ the taxi man said cheerfully.

‘But I have no money,’ Sally whispered.

Miss Button put some coins into her hand. ‘If there is any change you can give it back when we next meet. Could you be by your phone tomorrow at ten o’clock?’

‘Yes,’ Sally said, ‘and thank you very much.’

It was steamed fish for dinner. The peas were a sickly bright green and the boiled potatoes had no taste at all. Sally said, ‘Please could I have some butter, Mrs Spinks?’

Mrs Spinks pushed a pot of margarine towards her. ‘Marge’ was another war thing. ‘This is just as good as butter,’ she said. ‘And it’s cheaper. We all have to count the pennies, these days.’

Sally didn’t want to annoy Mrs Spinks so she took a little piece of the greasy-looking marge and smeared it over her potatoes. But she was thinking, I bet Miss Button has butter on hers. And for the rest of the day she practised saying, ‘I bet the Buttons eat best butter,’ to take her mind off things.

7 (#ulink_c9b58d90-8968-5b65-bc02-87b110b65e67)

Next day, Sally got up early. She mustn’t be late for Miss Button, who seemed to be the sort of person who liked to be on time for everything.

She made her bed and tidied her room and brought her clothes down to be washed. Mrs Spinks seemed to wash every day. Mum wasn’t like that. Their washing sat around for ages till it turned into a mountain; then Mum had what she called a ‘blitz’ and did it all in one go.

‘I found this in the pocket of that blue dress,’ said Mrs Spinks, as Sally came into the kitchen for breakfast, and she gave her a scrap of brown paper. ‘Was that what you were looking for?’

Sally tried to look very casual. ‘I suppose it must have been,’ she replied, ‘but it doesn’t matter any more,’ and she threw it into the waste bin. She’d got the phone number firmly fixed in her head now.

She was just getting the key from under the plant pot, to go next door to her own house, when Mrs Spinks called out from her pantry, ‘Could you climb up and get some jam jars for me, Sally? I don’t trust my old legs on this step ladder.’ It was strawberry time and it looked as if Mrs Spinks had decided to make some jam.

Sally got the jars but they were all covered with dust and fluff. Mrs Spinks looked at them in dismay. Then she said, ‘Now here’s a nice little job for you. Fill the washing-up basin with nice soapy water for me, will you, and wash those jars.’

Sally glanced up at the kitchen clock, but Mrs Spinks noticed. ‘Too busy this morning are you, Sally Bell?’ she said, in a hurt kind of voice. ‘Well, I’m quite busy myself. I’m going out soon but I’ve got to do my jobs first.’

‘No,’ said Sally. ‘I’m not too busy. It’s just that, well, I suppose I ought to go and try to catch my mouse. I’m late leaving his food out, and he’ll be hungry.’

Mrs Spinks folded her arms. ‘All right, off you go. Not sure we oughtn’t to set a trap for that mouse of yours.’

Sally was horrified. ‘Mrs Spinks, he’s my pet.’

‘I know, but mice are vermin, Sally. They carry diseases.’

‘I think it’s rats which do that, Mrs Spinks.’ Sally’s dad had told her all about the Great Plague of London and how rats had spread it. Then she added, ‘Anyway, William is a very clean mouse. He’s always washing himself.’

‘Ugh,’ said Mrs Spinks. It was the only word she had for mice.

As Sally let herself into the hall the phone was ringing. Sally ran down the hall, tripping over a fat blue letter that lay on the mat, grabbed the receiver and said, ‘Hello, hello?’

‘Did you oversleep, Sally?’ It was Miss Button and she sounded a bit school-teachery again.

‘Oh no. I was up early. But just as I was coming to phone you, Mrs Spinks asked me to wash some jam jars. I’m sorry.’ The kitchen clock told her that it was just five minutes past ten. Old people seemed to be so strict about being on time. Would she