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Italian black marketeer… you don’t know what they put in them things. Vaseline an’ hair-cream an’ anything else they can lay their hands on… would poison a dog.”
    “Mam, tell our Edith to stop it.”
    “Our Edith…!”
    It was like going back into another life.
    And soon there was some good news.
    “Mam, this dog’s lost. It’s starving. Look, it’s putting its paw up, asking. It’s begging.”
    “Gerraway, Alsatians can’t beg. They’re too big.”
    “It’s hungry. Give it that piece of pie Gran dropped in the sand.”
    “Oh, here y’are then. Anything for peace. D’you think that dog is lost, George?”
    Harry tensed up with terror.
    “No, it’s not lost, hinny. It’s gorra collar. It’s just on thecadge. I’ve watched it cadging off people for the last hour. It’s doin’ all right. Whoever starves, it won’t be that dog. C’mere, boy. Have a sandwich. Best spam.”
    “Get it away. I don’t like Alsatians, they’re savage.”
    ‘“Bout as savage as a new-born lamb. Look, he’s rolling over to have his tummy tickled.”
    Harry listened for a little while longer to the dog cadging food round the beach. It struck him that Don had more talents than he’d imagined. Don was indeed doing all right.
    Then he dozed off again. He could just sleep and sleep these days. Must be the heat.
    He was wakened by the dog’s wet nose, nudging him forcefully in the neck. He came to with a start, worrying about the people. But there was silence outside. When he peered out, the beach was empty. It was later than he wanted it to be. The sun was already dropping towards the cliff top. Night was coming, and with the night, the bombers.
    He packed up quickly, shaking the sand out of the blankets. But he took time to wash his face and hands with the anti-flea soap. You had to have a clean face. The water freshened him up. He was busting to go to the toilet, but he held out till he got to the toilet by the bus station.
    There was a bus in, going up the coast to Blyth. And he found he had plenty of loose change in his pocket. The driver and conductor had got out, to have a smoke under the clock-tower so he had time to get Don nicely settled, on a tight lead before the conductor dimped his fag and came aboard.
    “Where to, young feller-me-lad?”
    “Single. All the way,” Harry said vaguely.
    “Fourpence.” The man handed him his ticket, and eyed his luggage. “Been out for the day?”
    “On the beach. Camping.”
    “By God, it’s grand to be young.” The man left him and went to tend the passengers upstairs.
    The bus started, and swung out round the clock-tower. Harry’s heart gave a sudden lurch. He was glad to get away from the bombers, and from anybody who might recognise him. But this was home, for the last time. There was Bertorelli’s, where they’d come down on a Saturday night for an ice-cream, even in the depths of winter, and then back home by bus, to hear “Inspector Hornleigh Investigates” on the radio.
    He was off for pastures new. He swallowed several times, and took a firm grip on Don’s collar.

Chapter Six
    “This is as far as we go, sonny Jim,” said the conductor. “Unless you want to go back to Tynemouth. Where d’you live?”
    God, adults got suspicious so quickly. Harry had been dozing, but he had the sense to say, “Across the river.” That was all he knew about Blyth; that it had a river. It was ten miles from home, and he’d never been there in his life.
    “You’ll just catch the last ferry,” said the conductor and nodded his head instinctively in a certain direction. Harry grabbed his stuff, all of a shake, and set off in the direction the man had nodded. As he set off, he heard the conductor say to the driver, “Some folks have no sense, letting their bairns wander round this time of night wi’ the air raids and all.”
    It
was
late. The bus seemed to have taken forever. The sun was gone; it was getting dark. He began to hurry. There was no point