Tyler’s heart ached for the girl.
He was able to see Peter Pavely, who still had no further recollection of the explosion. “No, Inspector. Like I said, the last thing I remember is walking into the shed.”
“And there was nobody there, I gather.”
“The workers weren’t in yet, if that’s what you mean. Phil Riley was checking to see how many fuses were left over from the previous shift.” He hesitated. “At least I think he was there. It’s all a bit fuzzy. He always has to check at shift change. Maybe it was a different day I seen him. I went in on Friday to have a look at what had to be done. Maybe that’s when I seen him.” The effort to remember was clearly upsetting him.
“Don’t worry, mate. I’ll check it out,” said Tyler quickly. “That’s it, then? Maybe Mr. Riley?”
“The cleaner, the foreign chap – we might have passed him in the passageway.” He rubbed at his head. “I’m not positive. That might have been another day too. He has to clean around the floor when shift changes.”
“Nobody else? No dillie man making a delivery?”
“I don’t think so.” A look of terror came across his face. Tyler had seen a similar expression on Sylvia’s. “Is this going to go away?” Pavely said loudly. “I’ve got terrible ringing in my ears and my mind is jumping all over the place. Do you know, when you sat down, for a minute I thought you was my brother, Dan. Could have sworn it was him. But then I remembered he’s dead and gone a long time ago. First war.” His one eye focused on Tyler. “You’re not Dan, are you? You’re not Dan come for me?”
Tyler stood up and patted Pavely’s shoulder. “No, I’m not. It’s the sedation playing tricks. Try not to worry. You’re going to be all right.”
Pavely caught him by the arm. “When is somebody going to tell me what happened? I keep thinking I was to blame and you’re all keeping it from me.”
“That’s not the case, Mr. Pavely. Tell you what, why don’t you lie back in bed and try to get some sleep? I’m going to have the nurse look in on you.”
Obedient as a young child, Pavely slipped down under the covers. Tyler tucked the sheet up close to his chin.
“Hush, now. You’re going to be all right.”
Donny Jarvis was hiding in the shadows of the house next door when Jack and a woman approached. He recognized her right away. When he was in second form, he’d contracted a bad case of scabies and a shocked and repulsed teacher had sent him to the local clinic. The nurse had been kind, soothed his maddening itch with some ointment, shared her lunch with him, and wrote a note to his parents. Bloody laugh that was. His father had clipped his ear for causing trouble and his mother had gone on a rant about them interfering. Nothing came of the letter – no better food, even less cleanliness.
He supposed he was grudgingly grateful to the nurse. She’d tried, and she at least had treated him like a human being. Her name was Abbott, he remembered, and Brian and Jack were related to her. Too bad it was her family he’d got in the squeeze.
Jack made the drop while she waited outside, then Donny watched them walk away.
He collected the money and went to the meeting he’d arranged with Comrade Patrick. As he entered the gate, he felt uneasy. In early November a bomb had landed in a churchyard and bones and bits of ancient corpses were spewed all around. Live blokes Donny felt he could handle; bloody stiffs were something else. Funny he didn’t worry about getting killed himself. In fact, he found the raids exciting. And of course there were rich pickings after. During a raid he often went into the middle of the street to watch the action. He loved the roar and crackle of the blazing fires, the thwump, thwump of the bombs landing, the sharp rattle of the ack-ack guns. He breathed in the smell of cordite and burning wood like somebody else breathed in the fresh smell of pine trees.
He might even consider signing up when he was older. Nothing to do with love of country. As far as he was concerned, the government could stick their flag up their arse as far as it would go. They’d never done anything for him. But he sort of fancied being in a battle. Having a big, deadly gun. You could just mow men down with one of them. And a bayonet. He’d seen a newsreel at the pictures of soldiers training. They stuck the bayonet into a stuffed dummy, all looking very chuffed and calm about it. The dummy didn’t look anything like a real man. No blood gushing out, no terror on the face of the dying. Not like it really was. But it was all legit. All paid for by the government.
He went to the appointed place, the alcove sheltered by an overhang of the church roof. There was a row of ugly shapes along the roof edge, heads with twisted features. Why people would decorate a church with those things Donny couldn’t fathom. He stamped his feet, which were getting cold in spite of his wool socks. He’d nicked them from Lewis’s department store on one of his little excursions.
He wondered if he could risk lighting a fag. He didn’t want some nosy air-raid warden seeing him. They came out after dark like gnats at twilight.
Finally he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path. Somebody was coming. He slipped his fingers into the knucks in his coat pocket, just in case. A man’s figure emerged out of the gloom. He was whistling softly, a popular tune, “Run Rabbit Run.” It was Patrick. Donny stepped forward a couple of feet so he could be seen. Patrick stopped.
“Evening, lad. You’re nice and punctual. Seen anybody?”
“Not a bleeding soul. There’s just me and the corpses.”
“Good. Let’s tuck in here for a minute, then.”
Patrick moved ahead to the darkest place along the wall, where there was a shallow depression. He wasted no time. “Have you got the stuff?”
Donny handed over the shopping bag. Patrick set it by his feet. “And the money?”
Donny fished inside his coat and took out the envelope. Patrick had a small torch with him and he snapped it on, focusing the beam on the contents of the envelope. He riffled through the notes.
“There’s only thirty-five here. I said forty.”
“That’s all they could come up with, I suppose,” Donny replied quickly.
He thought the other man smiled, thin and cold, but he couldn’t be sure. As usual, most of his face was hidden by a muffler. “Too bad. I was going to give you a fiver for yourself but I won’t be able to do that now.”
“ ’S all right.” Donny could actually feel himself sweating in spite of the cold. He thrust his hand into his pocket again and felt the reassuring smooth weight of the knuckle-duster. “When can he get the papers?”
Patrick chuckled. “Don’t be an idiot. Where would I get forged papers? I’m not the Secret Service.”
“Right, course … so our friend is going to be disappointed?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“What shall I tell him?”
“Tell him whatever you bloody well like.”
“Do you want to get more dosh out of him, then?”
“No, we’re going to get plenty of money soon. But your pal is a liability. When he knows he’s paid for nothing, he’s likely to go into a sulk. You never know what he might take into his head to go and do. We’ve got what we wanted.”
“And the plan is in place?”
“It is. Won’t be long now.”
Donny decided to risk rolling a fag and lighting it. He took the packet of papers from his coat but Patrick caught him by the hand. “Don’t do that yet, Bolton. Wait till I’ve gone. I don’t want anybody coming for a look-see.”
Donny could feel the other man’s breath on his cheek, slightly sour-smelling. “Is there anything more for me to do, then?”
“No, I’ll take it from here. You know the drill; you’ll get notice when I want you.”
“Wait. What shall I do about my friend?”
Patrick was already walking away. “Deal with him any way you bloody well want. Like I said, he’s a liability. Don’t mess up, me boyo. Tomorrow will be our Guy Fawkes’ Day.”
The darkness swallowed him up almost immediately. Donny took out his cigarette makings. That
had been a close shave. He’d been stupid to think he’d get away with keeping back a fiver from the money Patrick was expecting. Good thing he’d factored in what he considered to be his commission from the start. He’d picked up almost fifteen quid. Not bad.
He struck his match and lit the fag, drawing the tobacco deep into his lungs. He’d mixed in a little of the remaining ganja with the regular tobacco.
“Deal with him,” Patrick had said.
You dealt with rats. You dealt with the odd yowling tomcat that came into the back entry. You dealt with blokes who thought they could put one over on you. It was one thing to have a dust-up with some sod from another gang, say, or whack your girl, or hurt a kid like Jack. But to actually kill somebody in cold blood, that was a different story.
Shit. Bloody hell. What was he going to do?
Eileen sent Jack back to the house to report that they had delivered the money and she went on alone to Bennett Street, where Vanessa’s parents lived. A gust of wind hit her face; bits of newspaper wrapped around her feet. She could see the headlines: “High-Explosive Bombs Drop on City Centre. Many Lives Lost.” That had happened only a week ago. She knew another attack was probably coming soon. The moon had appeared, trailing clouds. In the past, before the war changed everything, she’d loved to see the moon grow full. Now the sight brought dread. It was a deadly beauty. She wondered if Lev had been disappointed by her note. Maybe he’d gone ahead and invited some other woman to go to the dance. Some younger, prettier woman?
“Get a grip on yourself, Eileen Abbott. Miss Eileen Abbott,” she whispered out loud. She was glad when her torch picked out the numbers on the gate of 62.
She went up the path and knocked. No answer. She knocked again. Did she have the right number? She contemplated the arch of a rose trellis over the doorway. Frost-seared, marooned roses. Vanessa’s mother liked gardening, she recalled. What was her name? Joan? June? They’d only met once, at the wedding breakfast. Jane. That was her name. Beattie had referred to her as “Jane, ever so plain.”
She was about to knock again when the door opened. It was Jane herself.
“Good evening, Mrs. Wainwright, Eileen Abbott here. Is Vanessa at home? I’d like to talk to her for a minute.”
Jane Wainwright was wearing a flowered housedress, a shapeless beige cardigan, and down-at-heel slippers, and she had a fag between her stained fingers. She could have been the model for the cartoon character Sally Slattern, who appeared in the Daily Mail. She also smelled strongly of booze.
“Oh yes, Miss Abbott. Didn’t recognize you for a minute. It’s dark on them steps. The landlord won’t fix the bulb no matter how often I ask him. It’s the blackout as will kill us, if you ask me. Nessie’s upstairs. She’s going to a flick with one of her mates from work. I wish she wouldn’t, but you can’t keep young girls shut up all the time, can you. Especially when we might all be dead tomorrow.” Jane Wainwright had a perpetually disgruntled way of speaking, as if early in her life she’d been given the short end of the stick and felt hard done by ever since.
She stared at Eileen as if she expected some kind of answer. Eileen nodded at her. “Indeed not.”
“I’ll tell her you want her. Hold on.”
She yelled over her shoulder. “Vanessa, Miss Abbott is here to see you. Brian’s aunt.” She stepped back. “Would you like to come in for a cuppa?”
The invitation was given with such reluctance that Eileen wouldn’t have accepted if she were dying of thirst. “Thanks, but I won’t. I don’t want to be out too late. I just want to talk to Vanessa for a minute.”
“Nothing wrong, is there? With Brian I, mean. He’s not dead or missing, is he?”
“No, he’s not.”
Mrs. Wainwright waited for Eileen to deliver more information, but Vanessa appeared in the doorway behind her. She eyed Eileen warily. “Auntie Eileen. This is a surprise.”
“I won’t stay. I just wanted to have a word with you.”
“I was on my way out, to tell the truth. I’m going to the flicks with one of the girls.” She was rather dolled up for a mere trip to the cinema with a mate. High-heeled shoes, smart frock.
“I did ask her in, but she wouldn’t,” said her mother. The original invitation had been given ungraciously, but now Jane seemed aggrieved that Eileen had turned it down.
“I was ready to leave anyway, Ma. Don’t wait up.”
“Be careful, my girl.”
Vanessa grabbed her coat off the peg in the hall. “You’d better close the door quick. You’re showing a light.”
Her mother went back inside with a flounce.
“Let’s walk to the end of the road,” Vanessa said to Eileen. “Ma can be a right cow sometimes. She always wants to stick her nose in my business. You lead the way.”
At the corner Eileen turned to face her. Vanessa’s blonde hair gleamed in the moonlight. She smelled of violets.
“We have given money to the man who is to bring the passport. As soon as he’s got it, Brian wants to leave for Ireland right away. You’ll have to be on standby.”
“I see.” Vanessa’s voice was as tiny as a child’s.
“Do you intend to go with him?” Eileen asked bluntly.
Vanessa began to shuffle her feet. “Brr. It’s freezing. I need a fur coat.”
“Do you intend to go with Brian to Ireland?” Eileen asked again.
“Bri thinks it’s going to be easy, but it won’t. I don’t want to be on the run. And Ireland, for Pete’s sake. I’ve heard they don’t even have electricity or proper toilets. I don’t fancy it.”
Eileen had expected this and swallowed her impatience. “I don’t think it’s that bad. But you’ve got to make up your mind right away. He can’t stay here. He’ll break down. He’s on the verge now as it is.”
Vanessa’s voice was sullen. “I don’t know why he can’t just turn himself in. They need soldiers. I asked a bloke and he said as long as he wasn’t on the front line and getting others into danger, he won’t get the full monty. Just a few months in the glasshouse.”
“At the moment even being in jail would be too much. He feels he can’t continue to serve in the army.” Eileen hesitated. “It has a lot to do with you, Vanessa.”
“Me? That’s ridiculous. I’m not to blame if he’s nervy. He always has been. It’s got nothing to do with me.”
“He’s very attached to you. It might help if you talk to him. Persuade him to go back to his regiment. Assure him you’ll still be waiting for him.”
Vanessa bent her head so that her hair curtained her face. “That’s easy for you to say. You can’t take anything for granted these days, can you.”
Eileen knew at that moment that if Vanessa had ever been in love with Brian, she was so no longer. “You’re right about that. Not even marriage vows, it seems.” Eileen knew she was being harsh but she couldn’t help it. Her own pent-up feelings made her impatient. She wanted to shake the girl. “So, am I reading this correctly? You don’t intend to go to Ireland with Brian?”
Vanessa shivered and pulled her coat closer around her. “What would my mum say? I wouldn’t be able to write to her or anything, and who knows how long this sodding war will last. She’d be broken-hearted.”
Vanessa hadn’t demonstrated a great deal of tender feeling towards her mother, but Eileen let that ride.
“I can’t go, Auntie Eileen. I just can’t. He’ll have to go back to the army or go to Ireland by himself.” She caught hold of Eileen’s arm. “I’m scared of him is the truth. He’s changed. I’d be afraid to be with him, just him and me.”
Eileen could feel her stomach knotting. Vanessa was right. Brian had changed, and the man he had become was disturbing. Her anger towards the girl evaporated and she touched her hand. “There’s also the matter of the baby. No, there’s no use denying it … What are you going to do about that?”
Vanessa let go of Eileen’s arm and stepped back. “If there was a kid on the way, which I’m not agreeing there is, it’d be bette
r if he wasn’t here.”
“Easier to make up a story, you mean?”
Vanessa glanced over her shoulder as if she was afraid her mother might be close enough to hear her. “He should just go back to his regiment. He’ll be all right.”
Eileen frowned. And then the penny dropped. How could she have been so thick? She raised the torch so the light was shining in Vanessa’s face. Her eyes were glistening with fear.
“You informed the military police where he was, didn’t you. That’s why they came to us first. They knew where to look.”
Vanessa tried to move out of the light but she had her back to the hedge and couldn’t move. “No, no, of course I didn’t. I’d never do anything like that.” Her nose was running and she wiped away the mucus with the back of her hand. The tough, brash young woman vanished and she became a child, lost and overwhelmed. “Honest, Auntie. Honest I didn’t.”
But Eileen knew she was lying. She lowered the torch. “I don’t believe you, Vanessa. But right now Brian is the top priority. I’ll have to pass along what you just said about not going with him—”
“No, wait,” interrupted Vanessa. “I didn’t say that exactly. I’ve got to think about it. Don’t tell him anything yet. Please.”
“Very well. But if we get another visit from the MPS, you are going to be in royal trouble. Do you understand me?”
Vanessa nodded.
Eileen pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket. “Here, wipe your nose. You’d better get going. You’ll be late.”
Vanessa blew into the handkerchief as if she were a child. “I’m sorry, Auntie. I’m so sorry.”
“Not half as much as I am, Vanessa.”
Mary Ringwald-Brown lived in a rooming house a few streets over from the hospital. Tyler walked there, glad of the opportunity to clear his head, not to mention his heart. He’d told Sylvia he was the lucky one to have Janet for a daughter, and he’d meant it. He considered he’d been a bloody failure as a husband, but he thought he’d been a decent father. Most of the time, anyway. Could have done better with Jimmy, he knew that. But it was too late now. He had to push that thought away.
Beware This Boy Page 24
