Room for a Stranger Read Online Free

you like. Or we could go to Old Works.”
    â€œWhat’s on at the pictures?”
    â€œ
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. It’s good. I’ve seen it before.”
    Doreen loved cartoons. But Rhoda pulled a face. “Old Works, then,” she said.
    Tidying up was quick with Rhoda’s help. Rhoda seemed to be expert at washing up, laying fires and making beds. She even swept the carpet and dusted.
    â€œMum will be pleased,” said Doreen. Mum worked mornings only on Saturdays; she’d be home at midday.
    â€œI do all that sort of thing at home,” Rhoda said. “Me mam never thinks about tidying up. It’s not that she’s lazy,” she added quickly, “only her mind’s on other things. She’s very talented.”
    Doreen was relieved to find Old Works deserted. The gangs of little boys who often infested it were not there.
    â€œThis tunnel’s supposed to come out at Springhill,” she said, “but I don’t believe it. It’s a dead-end, Lennie reckons.”
    The entrance to the tunnel was wide, but the roof soon sloped downwards, and Rhoda showed no interest in exploring it.
    â€œIt pongs,” she said.
    â€œI think the boys use it…you know.”
    â€œUgh!”
    They pulled faces and giggled.
    â€œWhat else is there?” asked Rhoda.
    There were broken walls, remains of buildings, piles of brick rubble, all overgrown with trees and ivy. Doreen had read in a book about lost cities in the Amazon jungle; Old Works was like that, she thought.
    Rhoda balanced along a stretch of wall; on one side was an eight-foot drop. “This is a great place,” she said.
    Doreen was gratified, and relieved; she’d been afraid Rhoda might be too grown-up for Old Works. “Come and see my favourite bit,” she said, “down here.”
    Some steps led down into a small square room with a grating over the window. Half the roof had crumbled away and you could look up and see tree roots and ivy overhead.
    â€œIt’s like a bomb site, isn’t it?” she said proudly.
    â€œGreener,” said Rhoda. “Older.”
    â€œLennie reckons it was a storeroom. We call it the Dungeon.”
    â€œThere’s some stuff here,” said Rhoda. “In this corner.”
    In the dim light they caught the gleam of metal: jagged pieces of sheared-off aluminium, small round bullets, dented where they had hit the ground.
    Rhoda picked up the bullets. “Shrapnel,” she said. “The kids on Merseyside have tons of it.”
    â€œHey! Leave that alone! It’s ours!”
    The voice came from above. A boy stood on the crumbling roof, shouting down at them: Billy Dean. More small boys appeared behind him.
    â€œWho wants it, any road?” Doreen retorted. “Old rubbish.”
    Billy was clinging to a sapling. He let go and leapt into the Dungeon, bringing down a shower of earth and loose brick. He landed with a thud beside Doreen. Three other boys followed him.
    â€œThat’s not rubbish,” said Billy. “See that bit there? That’s off a Heinkel. It’s got blood on it.”
    â€œIt hasn’t!”
    â€œIt has! See that stain?”
    Rhoda spoke up. “That’s fire did that, not blood.”
    â€œIt’s blood!” Billy’s voice was shrill.
    â€œBlood would wash off.”
    He glared at her. “Know everything, don’t you, Scouser?” He turned to Doreen. “Who is she, any road?”
    â€œShe’s my evacuee,” said Doreen. “She knows more about shrapnel than you do.”
    A profusion of boys’ voices broke out, high-pitched, indignant. “My evacuee brought a whole propeller—” “My cousin gets all this stuff…” “I’ve got sixteen bullets—” “That’s from a Messerschmidt—”
    Billy Dean pulled something out of his pocket. “See that? It’s a grenade.”
    Rhoda