by K. C. Finn
“Oh good,” Idrys answered, “I was hoping there’d be even more work to do today than usual.”
Blod put her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss on the cheek before strutting out of the room. Idrys watched her go, rolling his eyes.
“Bloody women eh?” he remarked to Bickerstaff.
“Don’t get me started,” the doctor replied.
I huffed at both of them, but they were actually right about Blod, if not women in general. All Bickerstaff had done was ask the big question, now his very life was in Blod’s hands. All in all he didn’t seem to mind, in fact his bad moods were lifting more quickly than they used to, giving way to more frequent happy moments as well as some very thoughtful ones where he let Ness talk his head off about everything under the sun.
After lunch the men cleared out of the room slowly, leaving me with Mam and Ness. I propped myself up at the sink to dry the cups and plates as she washed them, watching her rosy face as she focused her eyes out of the window on the frosty winter scene in the distance.
“I bet it’ll be snowing by Friday,” she mused, “Blod won’t have thought of that.”
“I suppose you have to let them do it their way,” I mused. Mam gave me a knowing nod.
“It’s funny how she’s come back round to him,” Mam said as she scrubbed out the butter tray, “I think he was about twenty five when he arrived yur, strapping young doctor from England, you know. All the girls were mad on him back then, Blod too. She talked on forever about his big blue eyes; oh I was sick of it!” She passed me the tray with a shrug. “And now yur we are, five years on and suddenly they’re in love. It’s a mad world, innit?”
“Very mad,” I agreed, thinking about all the mad things that Mam didn’t even know were going on.
“She went off him for ages, said she hated him,” Mam continued, putting down her things and wiping her hands dry, “She’d never go to the doctor when she was your age, not even when-” She caught herself, looking at me carefully for a moment. “Well, not even when she really needed him. But he always came yur if we called him, you know? He’s been very good to our family.”
I dried the last of the dishes and sorted myself out, turning just in time for Ness to bump into my crutch. She rubbed her head for a moment before she started to smile again, looking up at us with her huge blue eyes. Mam picked her up, inspecting the place where she’d hit her head carefully.
“And what do you think of your sister getting married eh?” she asked, bouncing Ness in her warm arms.
“I like Steven,” Ness said with a grin, “He’s going to make me a house for Dolly.”
“Is he now?” Mam asked. Something changed in her usually peaceful face as she studied Ness again.
“Why you looking at me?” Ness asked, suddenly wriggling to get away.
I realised all too late that Mam was putting the pieces together, looking at Ness’s face from every angle, scrutinizing her tawny hair, blonde at the ends, and her oval eyes the wrong shape for the Price gene pool. I watched wordlessly, unable to act because I shouldn’t have known anything, not even that Ness didn’t belong to Mam. The older woman set the little girl down and straightened out her apron.
“Look after her a minute Kit,” Mam began, her voice suddenly low, “I’m just going to have a chat with Steven.”
Whatever happened between Mam and Bickerstaff meant that they spent the rest of the day in separate rooms after their little chat. But the wedding hadn’t been cancelled and Bickerstaff hadn’t been strangled, so I thought that was probably about the best that we could have hoped for given the collection of secrets Blod had been keeping from her mother for the last five years. I was worried that Blod and her husband-to-be might have thought that I’d given the game away, but they were both so temperamental anyway that it was hard to tell if much had changed. I decided to put them out of my head the next day, leaving them to their frantic planning whilst I considered my options for checking on Henri.
His meeting was somewhere around one o’clock in France which would be twelve at Ty Gwyn. It was an awkward time for a Saturday, right when I’d be expected to help prepare and then eat lunch. I came to the conclusion I would have to beg off with a sore stomach after I’d eaten something, perhaps catching the end of the secret meeting or at the very least getting to Henri when it was all fresh in his mind to tell me what was going on. I had a feeling that everyone would want to make excuses to get away from the lunch table anyway today, the memory of the tension at breakfast did not promise a peaceful meal at midday. When the time came I was right and I was excused without anyone complaining, clunking up the stairs under the pretence of lying down in my room. I tried my best not to make my footfalls sound too eager on the echoing stone steps.
Henri was alone in a small back room filled with brown cupboards, sitting at a table where a huge black cat was stalking towards him. It’s fluffy face and curious eyes filled my vision for a moment as Henri’s smooth hand went out to tickle the cat under its chin. It curved its neck; I felt its soft fur pushing against Henri’s wrist as it came closer for more attention.
“Hi kitty, kitty,” Henri said.
Hello, I answered.
He laughed out loud, still fussing the cat. “You picked a good time,” he mused, “if someone comes in at least I can say I was talking to the cat.”
You’re not in the cupboard then?
Henri shook his head. “I’ve been told to wait. Someone’s coming to that window to take me… I don’t know. Somewhere new.”
As he spoke of the window he looked up from the cat to show it to me. A large pane framed in black was ajar, leading out into what appeared to be a back alley.
No meeting then? I asked.
“I think this ‘someone’ is taking me to the meeting,” Henri explained.
Has my mum been to speak to you? He shook his head again. The cat watched him with interest, curling up under his touch.
“I stopped hearing from her a couple of days before you found me again,” he said quietly.
There was something troubling about the way he felt, like he was trying to withhold his feelings from me. His heart was beating faster than usual, but every muscle in his body was straining as if to stay forcibly calm.
Out with it, I demanded, you can’t hide from me Henri Haugen. What’s wrong?
He shook his head and let out a defeated sigh, removing his hands from the cat to run them through his mess of dark hair. It was then that I felt the feelings pour out, the nerves running up and down his spine, the heavy weight dragging down his lungs, making me feel like he was drawing laboured breaths up from his boots.
“The Germans shot some people in the square this morning,” he said solemnly, “they were Resistance collaborators, like the people who are helping me here.” His throat ran dry at the words as he tried to go on. “I heard the shots.”
You’ll be out of there soon enough, I soothed, but I could feel the lump in my own throat choking my thoughts.
“If they catch me here, they’ll think I’m a spy,” he said, his hands starting to tremble. The cat became skittish, slowly backing away on the table. “Then I’ll go the same way.”
You’re leaving soon, Henri. I wanted so desperately to be there, to hold him and give him more comfort than just my hopeful words. This person, the meeting-
“But that’s just it,” Henri said, growing angrier, “this man who’s supposed to be on his way to take me. He’s a spy too.”
“I’ll thank you not to say that quite so loudly,” said a whispering voice from behind us.
The voice was smooth and definitely English. Henri froze, looking at the window where he’d been expecting the man to appear. It was wide open; he had passed by totally unnoticed. I felt the hairs on the back of Henri’s neck rising up into the cold breeze now streaming in from the back alley.
“Turn around then boy; let’s take a look at what the Gaullists have sent me.”
Henri gently rose from his chair, the cat making a dash for
freedom out of the open window. It felt like Henri wanted to follow it; he fought to keep his legs from shaking as he turned around. The man who stood before him was tall and slim, his dark brown hair swept into a wave. He was suited all in black with a French moustache curling above his smiling lip. I let out a gasp. When Henri’s eyes found the smiling man’s face an explosion of emotions filled his chest. We both stared at the figure in shock for a few moments before Henri rushed forward, throwing himself into the fellow’s arms.
“Mr Bavistock?” he cried in disbelief, thumping the back of his old teacher as he wrapped an arm around his waist.
Henri, I murmured, my heart hardly beating. His name isn’t Bavistock.
Henri stepped back from the man’s embrace, taking him in again, listening hard to my strained, panicked voice.
That’s my father.
Dad looked thinner and older than when I had seen him last, but the sparkle in his brown eyes was the same as ever. He smiled at Henri a while longer, but soon raised a brow. He looked funny got up as a Frenchman, under different circumstances I might have laughed at his fancy collar and curly moustache.
“Who were you talking to just now?” Dad asked, “I don’t think it was Gail?”
Pieces of my past were slowly starting to come together. Dad had been posing as a tutor in Norway, perhaps for a long time before the war had even started. He and Mum were both working for the government, and she had led Henri to him. Who better to help him escape than a British spy? I couldn’t quite get my head around the idea of my mild mannered parents doing all this despite the overwhelming evidence now staring me in the face.
Answer him, I told Henri, tell him I’m here.
Henri swallowed dryly. “It’s your daughter, Mr… Cavendish. I was talking to Kit.”
My father smiled, his shoulders dropping a little. “Is she still there?”
Henri nodded.
“In that case her mother did a damn fine job of keeping her out of the war, eh?”
Charming, I said to Henri, considering being so deeply involved in the war seems like a family tradition I’ve been missing out on.
“Pardon me sir,” Henri said, his heart recovering slowly from the shock of everything, “but your daughter is a smart girl, capable and resourceful.”
Dad came closer to Henri and clapped a hand on his shoulder warmly. “I always liked teaching you, Henri,” he mused, “you’re a respectful boy. I once thought you’d be a good match for Kit, actually. I suppose that’s where the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ comes from.”
He was certainly the man I remembered, no matter how strange he looked in foreign clothes. Dad was always rattling off old proverbs to Leigh and me whilst we rolled our eyes at each other or pretended to yawn. It was odd to see him speaking that way to Henri. They had a whole history I didn’t even know about, but I supposed that it was fortunate that they already knew and liked each other a great deal. I could feel his familiar hand on Henri’s shoulder like it was resting on my own, and no matter how bitter I’d once been about him leaving us all, I had missed him so much.
“We’d best be moving off,” Dad said, retuning with a cat-like grace to the window. He stuck his head out and had a look around. “Kit, you can stay if you don’t distract Henri. I need him to focus, ready to do whatever I say if we get into a crisis.”
“She agrees,” Henri said before I could even reply.
Walking the streets of the little French village was like watching a scene unfold at the cinema. There were a few Germans in uniform gathered on the street, my father doffed his hat to them and said something in faultless French as he and Henri passed them by. The bright grey stones were wet with tiny snowflakes that were falling and dissolving the moment they touched the ground. I noticed as we walked that Henri’s ragged trousers had been replaced for a smart suit and polished shoes. He looked as though he was some sort of junior version of Dad, trailing behind him a little as he suddenly weaved a path down a side street through some market sellers braving the icy winter air.
Eventually we reached a canvas truck that reminded me of the first time the Germans had arrived in Oslo. In the front was what looked like a German officer, but when my father brought Henri up to the window of the truck, the uniformed man put his window down and spoke with a Yorkshire accent.
“This the one George?” he whispered, looking from my father to Henri. He gave us all a kind smile.
Dad nodded. “Let’s get to the meeting place, Cliff.”
“Ja mein Herr,” Cliff replied with a chuckle.
Both Dad and Henri looked around, checking the deserted little street before scurrying into the back of the canvas van. It was dark and murky, but Henri found a bench to sit on as Dad opened a flap that let in some light as well as Cliff’s voice.
“Home James,” he joked.
“Yes milord,” Cliff answered.
“Are you still there Kit?” Dad asked, turning back to Henri in the semi-darkness. He nodded for both of us. “I might as well fill you in on the way. You’re going to help us with a little operation we’ve got going to free some other chaps, then we’ll pack you all off back to Blighty in a submarine. Sound good?”
“Getting back to Britain sounds good sir,” Henri answered. I could feel inside his body that he wasn’t so keen on the rest of the plan.
“We’ve been organising a big breakout in the POW camp a little north of here,” Dad explained, “so when the boys come out I’ll need you to help direct them into hiding until we meet the rendezvous for the submarine.”
Are we near Toulouse? I asked. Henri repeated my question to my father.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “What have you been up to Kit? What do you know?”
I told Henri about Ieuan Price and the Wing Commander and everything I could remember from sitting in on their meeting. Henri repeated it as best he could, though I seemed to be thinking the words a lot faster than he could say them. Dad listened to his stunted ramble carefully for the important bits.
“My, my,” he said when the story was told, “you do get around my girl. But this is brilliant; we’ve been trying to get a psychic contact in that camp for weeks. You could help us! Ow!”
Dad suddenly held his hands up over his ears like something loud had happened, but the truck kept rolling along on the quiet road. He grumbled to himself as he rubbed at his head, suddenly holding his hands up.
“Okay, okay,” he said, looking back to Henri and me, “apparently your mother thinks that’s a very bad idea.”
Mum was there in his head. We three were all together for the strangest of reunions.
Well tough, I said to Henri, I’ll be there whether you like it or not.
Henri chose not to repeat my words exactly. “Would it really be so dangerous for Kit to just pass a few messages?” he inquired.
My father sat and listened quietly for a moment, then sighed. “She’s not a baby any more, Gail,” he reasoned. I could well imagine my mother’s heated replies going straight into his brain. “She was bound to come into this sooner or later, at least I’ll be there to guide her.”
There was more silence, then Dad slowly started to grin. He had always won the arguments at home too. He gave Henri and me the thumbs up, I could feel Henri smiling, his chest bathed in relief.
Told you nothing would stop me, I whispered to him. His smile widened.
“Oi,” said my dad, pointing a finger at us, “no lovey-dovey talk while I’m sat here. This is serious business. You kids will have to do as you’re told if we’re going to make this op a success.”
“We will sir,” Henri answered for us both, “just tell us what to do.”
Dad nodded at something we couldn’t hear. “All right,” he said to Mum, “yes dear.” Then he turned to us, his dark eyes glowing in the dim interior of the truck. “We’ll be at the meeting point soon. The plan’s going to be mostly in French. Do you speak any?” I knew he was talking to Henri, who shook his head. “In that case you just wa
tch and nod your head enthusiastically. I’ll translate it all for you two later on. Shall we say five o’clock Kit?”
I’ll be there, I promised. Henri repeated my words, still smiling.
“See you then,” said my father, winking as he gave me his old familiar grin.
I could hardly process how I felt when I returned to Ieuan’s room at Ty Gwyn. Everything in my world had collided in one big jumble, filling my head with all sorts of new ideas that didn’t marry well with the old ones. I had resented my father for more than two years for his abrupt departure, but now so much of his sudden leaving made sense that I couldn’t make peace with those old feelings of rage. What’s more he’d stood up for me, given me the chance to do what Mum was so desperate to keep me away from. Mum, I now realised, already had one person she loved exposed to the horrors of war every day of his life, I was starting to understand why she was afraid of me going the same way.
I rushed onto my crutches and out of my room, intending to find Idrys and tell him the good news, when I found Leighton sitting alone at the top of the stairs. He had his head on his knees and a slump in his shoulders. I clonked my crutch to let him know I was there. When he turned to face me his looks were pale and confused.
