Beware This Boy

by Maureen Jennings

Eagleton had placed markers at the spots where the girls had been seated. He continued: “The injuries each girl sustained are consistent with their proximity to the primary explosion. Miss Sumner got caught by flying shrapnel from the fuses in the box.”

  On his table he’d also put various ragged pieces of cloth, each labelled. Tyler went over to have a look. All were stained with blood.

  “As best I could, I matched the material with the position of the operative at the bench,” said Eager. “They’re all scraps, sir. Nothing identifiable except for a bit of a collar with an initial embroidered on it. Letter A, so I’m assuming it was part of Audrey Sandiland’s uniform.”

  There were five black felt shoes lined up.

  “I haven’t matched the slippers to the owners, sir. I haven’t got information on the identifying characteristics of the women. Shoe sizes, that is. I’m assuming the missing shoes went with the victims.”

  “Thank you, lad, you have been most conscientious. I take it nothing has turned up that is unexpected?”

  “No pins or jewellery, sir. Nothing metal at all. I’ve sieved through everything. No accelerants to indicate arson.” He gave Tyler a shy grin. “That course you sent me on was useful. First thing I looked for.”

  He held out his hand. “I did find two loose buttons. They’re regulation issue, so I assume they came from the overalls. But there was also this.” He pointed to a small silver medallion.

  “Looks like a Saint Christopher medal.”

  “Isn’t he the patron saint of lost causes,” said Eagleton.

  “You’re right about that, lad. Put them in an envelope and let’s store what we can in boxes. If any boffins from Special Branch want to verify your findings, they can. I’ll tell the management; they can get to work on repairing the area by tomorrow.”

  “If you’ll excuse me saying so, I for one would like to see us getting back at the bloody Jerries as soon as possible. Only wish I could be fighting them myself.”

  Tyler patted him on the arm. “I’m not sure you could hit the side of the pyramids, Eager. But leave this for now. Any tittle-tattle you picked up from the canteen?”

  “No, sir. I did sit myself at one of the tables but the girls were all chatting about film stars. I tried to steer the conversation round to the explosion but they said they didn’t want to talk about it. They’re taking up a collection for the funerals and they dunned me for half a crown.”

  “Include it in your expenses.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, sir. It’s a private donation.” He gave a self-deprecating cough. “Might I have permission to go to the pictures tonight if there is no further work for me, sir? There’s a George Formby film on and I haven’t had a chance to see him before. Everybody says he’s very funny.”

  “I might come with you, Eager. I haven’t seen him either. A laugh would do us good.”

  “Yes, sir.” The constable couldn’t hide the expression of chagrin that flitted across his face.

  Tyler chuckled. “I get it. You want to go with a lass, not your old inspector. Did you ask her already?”

  “Sort of, sir. As it turns out, I was acquainted previously with one of the girls. Just before the war I happened to be in Birmingham and we met at a roller-skating rink.” He grinned. “We ran into each other literally. She’s very good, but I was a beginner.”

  “Well, before you go off gallivanting there’s a bit of work I’d like you to do. If you come with me to my pantry, I’ll give you the list. You can use the telephone at Steelhouse Lane to make the calls. Don’t be put off by the desk sergeant. He thinks we country cops don’t understand modern technology. Go along with him – it’ll make him happy.”

  Tyler was thinking of turning in. He wasn’t particularly tired but the station was empty, Alf Mason wasn’t back yet, and Eagleton had gone off to the flicks with his roller-skating friend. Tyler had hurried off from Whitchurch without bringing anything to read, and except for newspapers, the station seemed to have a dearth of reading material. He was about to go in search of something when the door opened and Mason came in. He’d removed his coat and hat downstairs but he looked damp and cold.

  “Come on over to the fire,” said Tyler. “I’ll stir it up a bit.”

  “You do that and I’ll fix us a drink,” said Alf. “Single malt be all right?”

  “More than all right,” said Tyler.

  Mason was carrying a briefcase and he snapped it open, removed a bottle of Scotch, and poured some into two of the glasses on the sideboard. He brought one over to Tyler as he tossed back the other. By the time Tyler had taken his first appreciative sip, Mason was pouring himself a second. He smacked his lips. “That’ll warm your cockles, Tom. As for me, I feel as if a whole bottle won’t do.”

  Mason plunked himself into the chair close to the fire. “Tom, this is a rotten bloody war. I thought I’d done with it, done with wars, but we never learn, do we. I had to sit with a man for a couple of hours today who’d just heard his only son had been killed in a plane crash. Lad was nineteen. A training run apparently, nothing heroic. He’s a good bloke, is Sam, one of the best. But he went to pieces when he heard the news. Hard to take. We were in the station. His wife rang. She probably should have told him just to come home and given him the news there, but she didn’t.” Mason poured his third whisky. Tyler hadn’t even finished his first.

  “You never know how blokes are going to react, do you.” Mason continued. “I mean, you’d have thought Sam was the stiff-upper-lip type. He is normally, but he just sat down on the floor. Not even a chair – the floor. And he cried. I thought he’d never stop.”

  Mason swished the Scotch around in his glass and Tyler could feel himself going still. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to his own tragedy. He’d cried only once and Clare had held him as if he were a child. But he’d also thought he’d never stop.

  He got to his feet and went over to Mason. “Listen, mate, why don’t I get you some grub from the kitchen to go with that firewater? The last thing you need is a hangover tomorrow.”

  Mason looked up at him. His expression was bleak. “To tell you the truth, I’m getting used to it.”

  The evening had fallen early and dark, with a steady drizzle. The four of them were all huddled close to the fire, listening to the wireless. It was Beattie’s favourite program, “It’s That Man Again.” At least they could still laugh at “That Man” Tommy Handley. Joe, who looked exhausted, was dozing in his easy chair; Eileen and Beattie were both knitting. Beattie was good at socks, while Eileen stayed with the easier task of a khaki-coloured muffler. Brian seemed to be alternately paying attention to the wireless and then to his own tormenting thoughts.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Joe woke up at once. “Hide him,” he said to Eileen, who lifted the tablecloth.

  “Quick, Brian, get under here.” He scrambled to do so.

  There was a second knock.

  “I’ll get it,” said Eileen. She waited to make sure Brian was truly hidden. Both her parents were regarding her anxiously.

  Eileen switched off the light in the hall before she opened the front door. It was so dark that she didn’t immediately recognize the girl standing on the threshold. She’d tied a scarf around her head and turned up the collar of her raincoat, but she still looked wet and miserable.

  “Hello, Auntie Eileen. Can I come in?”

  “Vanessa, we weren’t expecting you … I, er …”

  “It’s all right. I know he’s here.”

  “Do you indeed? Then you’d better come inside.”

  Vanessa stepped into the hall and Eileen closed the door behind her.

  “Let me take your coat.”

  “I didn’t think to bring a brolly. Stupid me.” Vanessa giggled nervously. “He sent word to me through Jackie.”

  “He’s in the living room,” said Eileen.

  The girl hesitated for a moment. “How is he?”

  “As you might expect. Nervous. He’s got h
imself into a lot of trouble.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Vanessa answered. “I wish he’d had more sense.”

  Eileen led the way into the living room. “It’s Vanessa,” she said.

  Brian scrambled out from underneath the table, almost dragging the cloth with him. He came over to the girl immediately and kissed her.

  “Hello, sweetheart. My God, your cheek is like ice. Come over to the fire and take my chair. Here, let me rub your hands. Where are your gloves?”

  “I’ve lost them somewhere,” said Vanessa.

  Beatrice made room in front of the fire and mustered up a polite smile, but there was no mistaking her disapproval.

  “Hello, Vanessa,” said Joe.

  Brian was warming his wife’s hands but she soon withdrew them. “We thought it best if you knew that I knew …” She giggled again. “That sounds a bit funny, doesn’t it.”

  Beatrice put down her knitting. Eileen went to the table to check if there was any tea left. When in doubt, pour tea.

  “We got together last night,” said Brian. “In the shelter.”

  Both Joe and Beatrice stared at him.

  “You do understand the bad position Brian is in, don’t you, Vanessa?” said Joe. “If anybody discovers he’s here, he’ll be sent back to his regiment and put in jail.”

  “I’ll help out,” said Vanessa. “I can bring rations as well.”

  “We can manage,” said Beatrice. “He’s hardly eating more than a bird as it is.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, Ness,” said Brian, and he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, a gesture so naked in its passion that even Eileen turned away in embarrassment.

  Beatrice was fidgeting with the knitting on her lap. “What do you think, Joe?”

  “I’m sure Vanessa will be careful.”

  “Course I will … But, sorry, I wasn’t going to stay long. Just wanted to say hello and let you know the lie of the land. I’m on fire-watch duty tonight and I need to get a bit of shut-eye before I check in.”

  “You can sleep here,” said Brian. “I’ve got my old bedroom.”

  “I’d better not, Bri. Mum and Dad will wonder.”

  “We’d best not get them suspecting anything,” said Joe.

  Beatrice couldn’t help adding, “And your parents have never been partial to our Brian, have they.”

  Vanessa didn’t answer. She stood up.

  “I’ll see you to the door,” said Brian.

  Eileen caught his arm. “No, you won’t, my lad. I will. You’ve got to keep away from the windows and doors at all times.”

  Brian nodded, pulled Vanessa to him, and kissed her. She squirmed and broke away.

  “Bri – not here. I’ll try to come tomorrow. In the evening. Ta-ra, Nana Abbott, ta-ta, Granddad Abbott.”

  In the hall, Vanessa stopped to check her appearance in the mirror. She took a lipstick out of her handbag. “That was quite a scene in the canteen today, wasn’t it. I’ve never been partial to Mary. Do you think she was responsible for locking the doors?”

  “I don’t know,” said Eileen.

  “The detective was sweet, I thought. And good-looking for a man his age. The Yank too. He can take my picture anytime.” She applied a new layer of crimson to her full lips and made a kissing gesture to seal the lipstick, then pinched her cheeks to bring some colour to them.

  “This situation with Brian must be very difficult for you,” said Eileen. “We need to stick together. If you want to drop by the clinic and talk to me anytime, you can.”

  The girl looked at her, eyebrows raised and wariness in her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m hunky-dory. I’m over the shock now.”

  She checked the mirror again, studied herself critically for a moment, then fluffed up her hair. The rain had made it curlier than usual. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from her front teeth. “Well, I’m off, then.”

  She reached for her wet raincoat and shrugged herself into it. The buttonholes were straining.

  Before she could open the door, Eileen stopped her. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you,” she said quietly.

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, I’m a nurse. I’d guess you’re about two or three months gone. Brian has been away for five months. It’s not his.”

  Vanessa shrugged off her hand. “That’s a load of bollocks.”

  “You’ve been seen with an airman on more than one occasion.”

  “Says who?”

  “Phyllis saw you going to the pictures. She said you two were very chummy.”

  “She must have made a mistake. Weren’t me.”

  “Vanessa, Brian will know. He can count as well as the next man.”

  “Good thing he come home when he did, then.” Vanessa’s voice was spiteful and Eileen felt her sympathy evaporating.

  “I had no idea you were so callous.”

  “I don’t know what callous means but I can imagine it’s not too nice. I’m not any of those sorts of names. I just know how to get through life.”

  “What if he guesses?”

  Vanessa scowled. “I’ll make sure he don’t.”

  Eileen knew that was as close to admitting the truth as Vanessa was going to come. Eileen removed an umbrella from the stand. “Here. It’s still raining. Take this.”

  “Naw, I won’t melt. I’m not made of sugar.”

  Eileen took the usual blackout precautions and Vanessa stepped out into the rain and hurried away.

  Suddenly a wave of exhaustion swept over Eileen. What with the events at the factory, not much sleep, and worry, she felt as if the weight of the world had descended on her shoulders. What was it Churchill had said? “We can take it.” Easy for him to say. He should come and walk in her shoes for a while, not to mention the people who’d been bombed out. “We can take it.” Of course.

  Donny hurried to the meeting place. Nobody was around. The night was so raw and chill, everybody who could stay at home had done so. Comrade Patrick had got there first as usual and was standing, almost invisible, in the shadowy recess of the church. Donny went through the ritual of asking for a fag and a match.

  “Parcels all delivered as ordered, comrade.”

  The other man didn’t answer and Donny raced on. “When can you have the passport and visa to Ireland?”

  “What passport?”

  “I told him we’d get him out of the country.”

  “Not a chance. He’s a liability. As soon as we get those timers made, you’ve got to deal with him.”

  “What d’you mean, deal with him?”

  The man stabbed the end of his fag in Donny’s direction. “You want to play with the big boys, Donny, you’ve got to use your noggin. I’m not going to spell it out to you. Your pal’s the kind of man who’d blab out everything the moment a copper got hold of him. He knows who you are. He doesn’t know me, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  Donny could feel his heart beating faster. He himself could be seen as a liability. He was in the know as well. His throat went dry.

  Suddenly the man gave him a slap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, lad. You are very useful. I’m not referring to you. Anyway, let’s take things a step at a time. I want those timers right away. Tomorrow. No reason to delay. The factory’s still weak.”

  Donny felt as if his bowels were loosening. It was one thing to bash a man or two, rob some houses, make plans on paper, but this was seriously big-time. It scared the shite out of him.

  Patrick’s eyes, just visible above the muffler, seemed to crinkle. He looked almost friendly. “You’re playing with the grown-ups, Comrade Bolton. Do you think you can handle it?”

  “Course I can. But after the, er, the incident, when are you going to get out of here?”

  “Not right away. Too suspicious. But I will have to get another job because there won’t be one at Endicott’s. I’m thinking of applying at BSA. More money, bigger group to get lost in.”

  “Are they going to get the same treatment?
”

  “Of course. Endicott’s is our dress rehearsal.”

  Donny shivered. “What about the Chief? Is he getting out too?”

  “Nice of you to think about that, lad. The Chief will do just fine. Oi, you’re going to get perishing pneumonia if you don’t get indoors soon. Meet me tomorrow and bring me the timers.” The man reached out and stuffed a pound note in Donny’s pocket. “Here’s some payment in advance.” He ground his fag underneath his boot, then turned and walked off.

  Donny leaned against the wall. He took the pound note from his pocket and sniffed at it. Lovely smell. What would he do with his share of the money? Maybe he could buy passage on a ship for America. It was risky he knew that, U-boats like bleedin’ wolves, but some were getting through and he’d heard there were good places over there. Better weather, better food … a sharp lad could make himself a good living if he put his mind to it.

  Brian could hear his granddad snoring. It was one o’clock. He rubbed his head hard. He was having trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He’d have to ask Donny for more details. Where should he head for? Donny had mentioned contacts in Ireland. Who the fuck were they? Brian hoped they weren’t IRA terrorists. He just wanted to disappear until the war was over. Just him and Vanessa, maybe on a farm somewhere. Blending in.

  He turned off the light in the room, went over to the window, and lifted the curtain. It was black as a coal hole outside. Not a wink of light anywhere. No bombers tonight, thank God. He was pushing his luck. He had to move the body from the shelter before it was discovered. He fished out a heavy, dark jersey from the dresser. Wait a minute, didn’t he see his old balaclava in the back of the wardrobe last night? Yes, grand – there it was. He pulled it on. Whew, it smelled of camphor. His gran was always strewing mothballs around. He pushed up the window and climbed outside. There he had to wait for a minute until he got more used to the darkness, then crawled along the roof to the drainpipe, swung his legs over, and climbed down.

  At the entrance to the shelter he paused, drawing in his breath in a half-sob. It was almost as if there was a running commentary in his brain. Got to be done. You’ve got to move her now, before it’s too late. Remember, it was an accident. If she wasn’t so old, all that would have happened was she’d get a goose egg on her noggin. You lost your temper, but that happens to people. But he couldn’t shake off his feelings of shame and regret.