Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian Page A

townees were queer folk, he thought. They talked different. Their ways were odd. It was bad enough having to ask the one called William to come. He was intrusion enough. Drat his mum.
    ‘Please,’ pleaded Zach earnestly.
    ‘All right.’
    What else could he say? He felt irritated. He knew the twins would be furious with him.
    ‘There’s just one small problem,’ said Zach. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit like Buster Keaton at the moment.’
    George looked at him blankly. He’s a queer one, he thought, no doubt about that.
    ‘Yes. Look at me.’
    He pressed his arms to his side and leaned forward on a diagonal without falling over. ‘I say,’ he said, after having created no response. ‘You do know who Buster Keaton is, don’t you?’
    ‘Are you goin’ to stay down there all day?’ grunted Tom.
    ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m stuck. I need a pull.’ They all grabbed hold of him and, after a lot of yelling from Zach and one almighty heave, they yanked him out and fell backwards in the grass on top of a yelping Sammy.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Zach, struggling back to his feet. He looked down at them. His sandals were encased in a large quantity of glutinous mud. He lifted one foot up and placed it heavily in front of the other, making a slow progression to the gate.
    ‘I say,’ he said, twisting his body round. ‘Where shall I meet you?’
    ‘Outside the shop,’ grunted George. ‘In an hour’s time.’
    ‘Right-ho!’ and he slowly squelched his way through the gate and out of sight.
    An hour later the twins and George were waiting on the corner with their baskets, bags and gas-masks. Willie caught sight of them as he turned the corner. He stopped for a moment and looked around for Zach. He caught sight of a dark-haired boy in a bright red shirt and green shorts coming out of the shop. He gave a sigh of relief and started walking again. Zach had seen him and was waving frantically. George and the twins turned to look at them. Willie felt painfully self-conscious. Zach ran down the road to meet him. His sandals had been scraped clean but they still looked pretty dingy.
    From the moment they joined the others outside the shop, it was obvious that the twins were sulking. George mumbled incoherently to them.
    ‘This is Will,’ said Zach, introducing him to the two girls. ‘I’ve forgotten which one of you is Carrie and which one is Ginnie.’
    ‘I’m Carrie,’ said the one in the sky blue dress.
    ‘And I’m Ginnie,’ said the one in the lemon colour.
    ‘Hello,’ said Willie huskily.
    This was followed by a long and tense silence. George stood in the middle of the two pairs, feeling very awkward and uncomfortable. He had guessed right. The twins had been furious with him for inviting the two evacuees. In their opinion, from the little they had seen and heard, one of them spoke too little and the other too much. It was rotten of George to ask them.
    George cleared his throat. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘s’pose we’d best get started.’
    They turned and headed down the lane towards Ivor’s farm.
    Willie held an empty bucket and a small bag, while Zach carried a basket and satchel. They walked on behind the others.
    ‘I say,’ he said excitedly to Willie. ‘You should have seen Mrs Little’s face when I walked in. She threatened to plant potatoes in my feet.’ He nudged Willie and glanced at George and the twins walking ahead.
    ‘They’re a bit stuffy, aren’t they?’ he whispered.
    ‘Stuffy?’ said Willie. ‘Wot d’you mean?’
    ‘Unfriendly.’
    ‘But they asked us to go on a picnic wiv ’em.’
    ‘M’m. I suppose so.’
    He nudged a sore spot on Willie’s arm.
    ‘Anyway,’ he confided. ‘We’ll have a bit of fun, eh?’
    Willie was unsure about that. He wished his tongue wasn’t quite so dry and that the skin round his neck didn’t feel so very tight.
    They came to Ivor’s farm. Lucy and her friend Grace Bush were playing in front of the house. They ran up to