but every compartment was filled, and she had to wrestle the children and their luggage through three cars before they found space in a compartment with a portly businessman, two young women, and three soldiers. Eileen had to hold Theodore on her lap and sit across from Alf and Binnie. “You two behave,” she told them.
“We will,” Alf promised and promptly began tugging on the sleeve of the stout man who had the window seat. “I got to sit by the window so I can look for planes,” he said, but the man went on reading his newspaper, which read, “German ‘Blitz’ Tests London’s Resolve.”
“I’m an official planespotter,” Alf said, and when the man still refused to move, Binnie bent toward Alf and whispered loudly, “Don’t talk to ’im. I’ll wager ’e’s a fifth columnist.”
The soldiers looked up.
“What’s a fifth columnist?” Theodore asked.
“Here,” Eileen said, taking a packet from the basket the vicar had given them and handing it across to Alf and Binnie. “Have a biscuit.”
“A fifth columnist’s a traitor,” Binnie said, staring hard at the man.
He rattled his newspaper irritably.
“They look just like me ’n’ you,” Alf said. “They pretend to be readin’ the papers, but they’re really spyin’ on people and then tellin’ ’Itler.”
The two young women began whispering to each other. Eileen caught the word “spy,” and so, apparently, did the man, because he lowered his paper to glare at them and then at Alf, who was munching on a biscuit, and then retreat behind his newspaper again.
“You can tell fifth columnists by the way they hate children,” Binnie told Theodore. “That’s ’cause children are ’specially good at spottin’ them.”
Alf nodded. “’E looks exactly like Göring, don’t ’e?”
“This is intolerable!” the man exclaimed. He flung his newspaper down on the seat, stood up, yanked his valise down from the overhead rack, and stormed out. Binnie immediately moved into the now-vacant window seat, and Eileen expected an explosion from Alf, but he continued calmly munching his biscuit.
“You better not eat that,” Binnie said. “You’ll be sick.”
The soldier and the young women looked up alertly.
Alf dug another biscuit out of the packet and bit into it. “I will not.”
“You will so. He’s allus sick on trains,” she said to the soldiers. “’E threw up all over Eileen’s shoes, didn’t ’e, Eileen?”
“Binnie—” Eileen began, but Alf shouted over her, “That was when I ’ad the measles. It don’t count.”
“Measles?” one of the soldiers said nervously. “They’re not contagious, are they?”
“No,” Eileen said, “and Alf isn’t going to—”
“I don’t feel well,” Alf said, clutching his middle. He made a gagging sound and bent over a cupped hand.
“I told you,” Binnie said triumphantly, and within moments the compartment had emptied, and Alf had scooted over to the other window. “Can I have a sandwich, Eileen?” he asked.
“I thought you got sick on trains,” Eileen said, moving Theodore off her lap and onto the seat beside her.
“I do, ’specially when I ain’t ’ad nothin’ to eat.”
“You just had two biscuits.”
“No, ’e ain’t,’ Binnie said. “’E ’ad six,” and the compartment door opened.
An elderly woman leaned in. “Oh, good, there’s room in here, Lydia,” she said, and she and two other elderly ladies came in. “Little boy,” one of them said to Alf, “you don’t mind sitting next to your sister, do you? There’s a good boy.”
“No, of course he doesn’t mind,” Eileen said quickly. “Alf, come sit here next to me.” She pulled Theodore onto her lap again.
“But what about my planespottin’?” Alf protested.
“You can look out Binnie’s window. And don’t you dare pretend to be sick again,” she whispered. “And no fifth columnists, or you shan’t have any lunch.”
Alf looked as if he was going to object and then reached into his pocket and said to the ladies, “Want to see my pet mouse?”
“Mouse?” one of them squeaked, and all three shrank back against the upholstered seat.
“Alf—” Eileen said warningly.
“I told ’im not to bring it,” Binnie said virtuously, and Alf took his fisted hand from his pocket. A long pink tail dangled from it. “’Is name’s Arry,” he said, holding his fist out to the ladies.
Two of them shrieked, and all three scooped up their things, and fled. “Alf—” Eileen said.
“All you said was no being sick and no fifth columnists,” he said, sticking his fist back in his pocket. “You never said nuthin’ about mice.” He shut the compartment door, sat down by the window, and pressed his nose to the glass. “Look, there’s a Wellington!”