Peggy's Letters by Jacqueline Halsey Read Free Book Online Page B

scrap metal. I keep listening. This is awful.
    â€œWhat you doing, Peg?” Spud appears out of nowhere making me jump out of my skin.
    â€œSsshhh. Look. They’re going to take away your hut and everything in it.”
    â€œThey’re not getting my shrapnel,” he says.
    I grab his jacket to stop him from racing over to them.
    â€œKeep still. They’ll see us.”
    â€œTook me ages to collect that lot,” mutters Spud.
    â€œWe’ll need the large barrow,” says Fred.
    â€œIt’s back at my house,” says the tall one. “Come on, we’ll get the missus to make us a cuppa while we’re there.” They tramp over to the gate and leave the allotments.
    â€œWe’re going to have to move everything before they come back, Spud.”
    â€œWhere to?” he says.
    â€œYour house?” I suggest.
    â€œMum won’t let me.”
    â€œThought you didn’t have a mum.”
    â€œI don’t,” says Spud quickly. “I’ve, er, got a stepmum.”
    â€œShe must be the one that moves barrage balloons around?”
    Spud scowls and disappears into his hut without answering me. I caught him out. He does have a mum. But what’s wrong with her? He stomps out with my biscuit tin.
    â€œHere,” he says. “You keep it.”
    I take the tin from him. Thank goodness Dad’s letters are safe. Suddenly I get an idea.
    â€œWe could put your shrapnel in my Grandad’s tool shed.”
    â€œWill he let us?” asks Spud.
    â€œIt’ll only be till we find somewhere else. He won’t be doing any more gardening till spring.”
    â€œThat’s brilliant,” says Spud, a smile back on his face. He dives into the hut and comes out with a piece of metal in each hand.
    â€œThis is part of a Bomber. It was lying on our shed one morning, and this is a…”
    â€œSpud, we don’t have time for the story of every piece. Fred and his mate will be back soon. Just put the pieces you want to keep over here, and be quick.”
    The “keeper pile” grows larger and larger.
    â€œStop. We can’t carry all that.”
    â€œWe’ll use your old pram to move it,” says Spud.
    If I hadn’t been holding the biscuit tin of Dad’s letters I’d have said no, but special things are special things.
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œLet’s go and get it,” says Spud.
    It’s beginning to rain as we reach Mrs. Jones’ house.
    â€œCrouch down, Spud. If Tommy sees me, he’ll want to come.”
    We creep up to the pram, which is standing outside the front door. The brake sticks as usual, and I need both hands to free it.
    Suddenly the front door opens.
    â€œOh, there you are, dear,” says Mrs Jones. “I was just going to bring the pram in out of the rain. You’re nice and early today.”
    â€œHello, Mrs. Jones. I’ve…”
    â€œI’ll just go and get Tommy,” she says.
    â€œNo. No, it’s all right. He can stay a little longer.”
    Mrs. Jones isn’t listening. She turns down the hall.
    â€œWe just want to borrow the pram for half an hour,” I say to her back.
    â€œTOM MEE! Your sister’s here,” she booms at the top of her voice. Her boys come racing down the hallway, followed by little Tommy. He’s one big smile when he sees me.
    â€œHere’s his coat,” says Mrs. Jones.
    â€œHe’ll have to come with us, Spud. He’s no trouble, honestly.”
    â€œThere won’t be enough room for my shrapnel,” grumbles Spud.
    â€œWe’ll do two trips.”
    Spud is still complaining as I clip Tommy into the pram and only shuts up when I threaten to go home.
    It’s raining harder now, but Tommy is safe and dry sitting under the hood. Spud runs ahead to see if anyone’s at the allotment.
    â€œAll clear,” he yells. “Come on.”
    It’s hard pushing through the mud and Spud has to