Amber’s Secret. Ann Pilling

      ‘There is no second name,’ said Sally. ‘It’s just God. My friend told me the number was Appleford 116. But it could have been Appleford 661. I’ve got a bad memory.’

      ‘Hold the line, please,’ the lady requested. She had stopped laughing now and seemed more helpful. ‘I will try that number for you.’

      Sally waited. She heard three rings then the phone was picked up, and a man’s voice said ‘Hello? Hello?’ He sounded very annoyed that Sally hadn’t answered immediately. She said, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ (that was how Mum always began), ‘but I’ve been given this number for talking to God.’

      ‘Don’t be so damn silly,’ said the man, and he slammed the phone down.

      Tears stung behind Sally’s eyelids. But then she thought of the heap of wood and glass lying all over the hall carpet, the heap that had once been Grandfather. Then she thought of Mum getting back from the hospital and walking into the hall, and seeing only a long shadow on the wall, where the clock had been, and she just knew she had to get it mended. So she picked up the phone again and asked the lady who answered (a different one this time) to try Appleford 116 again.

      This time the lady managed to get a phone to ring, at her end of the line, so Appleford 116 was a real number! Sally held her breath. But the phone just rang and rang.

      She was just about to give up when a voice said, ‘Hello, this is the Paradise Centre. How may I help you?’

      Her heart skipped a beat; this sounded more promising. Wasn’t ‘Paradise’ something to do with God?

      ‘How may I help you?’ the voice said again.

      ‘Um, I’m not quite sure,’ said Sally uncertainly.

      Quite suddenly the voice became very crisp and bossy. ‘Well,’ it said, ‘we have several services we can offer you at this time. We represent Paradise Sales and also Paradise Holidays. And we have a new line, Paradise Pets. While you are away we can look after your cat and your dog. We can feed your tropical fish. We can—’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Sally said, interrupting. ‘I think I must have been given the wrong number.’

      And before she could say anything else the crisp, bossy person had slammed her phone down. But Sally did not burst into tears, or crash around the kitchen in a rage, though she very much wanted to do both. She just sat on the floor and had a very long think.

      At last, she stood up. She had made a decision. There was only one thing left to do. She must find Amber and get the correct number from her.

      Very quietly, because Mrs Spinks might hear from over the wall, Sally went down the garden and pulled her bicycle out of the shed. She pushed open the back gate, closed it very quietly and pedalled quickly down the lane. This was the weekend the Fair left town and they would be packing up. She must hurry.

      But when she reached the field where the Fair had been she found nothing left except a lot of paper blowing about. There were only some smoking black rings where fires had been and a little white dog that whined underneath a broken down cart, a dog that looked as if it had been left behind.

      Quickly, Sally climbed back on to her bicycle and set off across the next two fields, towards the big main road and the lay-by where Amber’s caravan had been. But she got there just in time to see the last of the caravans setting off, for the next town. Amber’s was right at the back, pulled by a brown and white horse. It was buttercup yellow with a bright red chimney and it had been her great grandfather’s. It must be as old as Mum’s clock.

      Sally started to pedal very fast, and to wave, and to ring her bell. ‘Amber!’ she shouted. ‘Amber!’

      A face appeared in the doorway of the caravan. ‘What do you want?’ it said crossly. ‘We’re off to the next town.’

      ‘Please stop,’ Sally called out. ‘I’ve lost that number. Mrs Spinks washed my dress and it was in the pocket. Please, Amber.’

      ‘Please what?’ The horse was clop-clopping quite fast along the road and Amber’s face was turning into an egg-shaped blur, she was nearly out of sight. But Sally couldn’t pedal any faster. She was puffing hard, and her legs ached horribly.

      ‘The number!’ she yelled. ‘What was that special phone number?’

      By now the yellow caravan was almost out of sight. Amber shrugged at first, and shook her head, but then, all of a sudden, she started to draw in the air with her finger. ‘6-1-6’ she was writing then she yelled, ‘616! It’s Appleford 616!’

      At that same moment the caravans all disappeared round a bend in a cloud of dust, and Sally was all alone again, sitting in the grass at the side of the road and trying to get her breath back.

      But her heart felt lighter. Amber had told her what she needed to know and what she had forgotten. How silly she had been, not to try the numbers in that order. It seemed so obvious now. Good old Amber. She could be so peculiar and grumpy sometimes but there was nobody quite like her. Sally climbed on to her bicycle again and pedalled back across the fields, and all the way home she repeated over and over again, ‘Appleford 616.’

5

      When she got back she saw Mrs Spinks outside the front door, bending over Mum’s tubs with a watering can. ‘Is that mouse back in its cage, Sally?’ she said, as she came up the path. ‘I think I’d better come in and check round. I did look through the hall window, but I see you’ve shut the curtains. Why?’

      ‘Well, because of burglars, Mrs Spinks,’ said Sally.

      Mrs Spinks narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Mmm. . .’ she muttered. ‘If you promise to keep that mouse out of my way, I’ll come in with you.’

      Sally thought very rapidly. ‘He’s still out, Mrs Spinks, and – I know it’s awful – but I’ve a feeling there might be other mice in our house, the brown kind. Mum finds droppings. She was thinking of getting a cat.’

      Mrs Spinks shivered and picked up her watering can. ‘I’ll get back to doing the dinner,’ she said. ‘If you ask me, your mother should get the rat man in. Don’t be long now, and mind you shut all the bedroom doors.’

      ‘Yes, Mrs Spinks.’ Sally wheeled her bicycle round to the shed, then came back to the front of the house and let herself in.

      She walked straight past Grandfather, not stopping to look for signs of William. Instead she went down the hall that led to the kitchen, picked up the telephone and asked the lady to try Appleford 616.

      After quite a few rings, someone answered. It wasn’t the Paradise person and it wasn’t the rude man who’d said ‘damn’. It was a very old and creaky voice, a voice full of puffings and wheezings and it said, ‘Appleford 616. To whom am I speaking?’

      Sally’s heart thumped. Then she plucked up her courage and said, ‘This is Sally Bell here, I live at The Cedars, Villa Road, Broadfield. I am the daughter of Professor Thomas Bell and Mrs Ruth Bell. My father’s Abroad and my brother’s doing his National Service and Mum’s in hospital and I have a really terrible problem—’

      ‘I see.’ There was a pause, then the creaking voice said, ‘In what way can I help you, Sally Bell?’

      Though it was the voice of a lady, and Sally had always imagined that God was a man, she felt encouraged because it sounded quite kind. So after a minute she said, ‘Well, I was given your number by my friend Amber. She said that if you rang this number you could speak to God. She hadn’t tried it herself because she said it was only for emergencies. Well, this is an emergency.’