‘Take it easy,’ says another voice.
Someone who looks like a nurse gently pushes more pillows behind me to prop me up.
‘Don’t worry, Felix,’ says Anya. ‘We’re safe here.’
‘Aha,’ says a loud voice. ‘Our hero is awake.’
A figure appears by my bed. An officer. Not the wounded one from the truck, a taller one with a moustache. His uniform looks English and he’s speaking Polish with an accent.
‘We’re very grateful to you, young man,’ he’s saying. ‘I’m Group Captain Thomas, commander of this air base. It seems you saved the life of one of my pilots. Please accept the gratitude of our entire military reconstruction team.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I say. ‘Is he alright?’
‘Mending well,’ says the commander, holding out his hand.
I think he wants me to shake it.
I do, which makes my ribs hurt.
‘I’m told by my supervising medical officer,’ says the commander, nodding towards a man next to him in a white medical coat, ‘that you and your friend Mr Borowski have been examined and neither of you is in any immediate danger from your injuries. I’m very pleased to hear that.’
I’m very pleased to hear it too.
The supervising medical officer shines a light into my eyes.
‘Still just a bit of concussion,’ he says in English to the commander. ‘Bed rest will fix it.’
I hope Gabriek is getting bed rest too. I squint around, trying to see him. There are other beds, but they’re all too blurry.
‘We’re also told,’ says the commander to me, ‘by your young friend, that you need some glasses.’
I can’t see Anya now. She must have moved away from the bed. She hasn’t had very good experiences with military people, so she tries to stay away from them as much as possible.
‘Yes, sir,’ I say. ‘I do.’
‘Please accept some with our compliments,’ says the commander.
A younger officer in an American uniform comes over with a cardboard box.
Inside are about twenty pairs of glasses.
‘Take your time,’ says the younger officer. ‘The staff and aircrew here were very touched when they heard how you saved Flight Lieutenant Wagstaff. So they took up a collection. All their spare specs. Choose whichever pair suits you. Two pairs if you like.’
He speaks Polish almost perfectly. I wish we’d had his language teacher when me and Anya were learning English.
I try the glasses on.
Most of them are too big or too blurry. But finally I find a pair that fit and that work as well as my old pair. Better, because the old ones had a crack in them from shrapnel.
‘Thank you,’ I say to the doctors and nurses and orderlies, who I can see clearly now.
They all clap.
I know it’s rude not to have more of a proper conversation with people who’ve just given you a very useful gift, but now that I can see again, I just want to find Gabriek.
I peer around the ward.
And see him, standing a few beds away, giving me a thumbs up.
Gabriek doesn’t look weak or sick. Not even concussed. The shirt we put round his head must have done the trick. Somebody’s replaced it with a bandage, which isn’t showing any blood leaks at all. Which is a big relief. When the Nazis burned Gabriek’s farmhouse down, part of the roof fell on his head so I’m always nervous about him getting more head injuries.
I give Gabriek a wave, then look for Anya.
She’s standing on the other side of the ward. She gives me a thumbs up too.
‘Felix,’ says the officer with the cardboard box. ‘When Flight Lieutenant Wagstaff comes out of intensive care tomorrow, he’ll want to thank you personally. Until then, if there’s anything you need from our medical staff, just let them know.’
I think for a few moments.
‘Actually,’ I say, ‘there is something.’
The officer waits for me to continue. But it’s medical and private, so I’d rather not say it to him.
I give the supervising medical officer a look and he comes over.
‘What is it, Felix?’ he says in very bad Polish.
I glance across at Anya.
I know this is involving her with the military, but it’s important, so I don’t think she’ll mind.
‘My friend Anya has been pregnant for seven and a half months,’ I say to him, ‘and she’s never had a medical examination. Can she have one here?’
I say it in English, because I want to be sure he understands.
The supervising medical officer looks over at Anya, frowning.
I hope I didn’t use the wrong words. When we learned English, all we had apart from the baby book was a Polish-English dictionary, a Hungarian neighbour with a pen-friend in Yorkshire, and two Richmal Crompton books in English which I read out over and over to Anya.
It was OK, but it wasn’t perfect.
The supervising medical officer turns to the commander.
‘Sir,’ he says, ‘it is irregular, an examination of a pregnant civilian, but I’m happy to arrange it with your permission.’
He’s speaking English too, but I can understand most of the words.
Before the commander can reply, I jump in again. Gabriek always says it’s best if people only have to say yes once.
‘And afterwards,’ I say to the supervising medical officer, ‘can Anya have the baby here?’
The supervising medical officer looks startled. The commander frowns.
‘This is a military air base,’ he says. ‘It is not a facility for the birth of babies. Right, Langtry?’
‘I suppose not if you say so, sir,’ mutters the supervising medical officer.
I think the supervising medical officer is on our side. Which is good. He’d be perfect to deliver Anya’s baby.
‘We don’t mind,’ I say to the commander in Polish. ‘A ditch at the side of the road isn’t a facility for the birth of babies either.’
The commander glares at me.
I should repeat it in English for the supervising medical officer. While I’m trying to think of the English word for ditch, somebody else speaks up in Polish.
‘Excuse me, Group Captain, I think I can help.’
The commander turns. Stepping towards him is the woman who drove the truck.
‘I’m a nurse,’ she says. ‘Well, I used to be. But I’ve helped with a lot of births, so if I can be of assistance with this young woman, I’d be glad to.’
The commander looks at her crossly.
‘Do you work here?’ he says.
The woman shakes her head.
‘Well,’ says the commander, ‘I don’t know why you’re here, but I’ll thank you not to interfere.’
The woman shrinks a bit and looks at the floor.
I struggle to sit up. It must be a stressful job, being part of a military reconstruction team, but having a bit of stress is no excuse for being rude and unkind.
Zelda taught me that.
‘This brave lady,’ I say to the commander, ‘is here because she rescued us. Me and Gabriek and your pilot. So please be nice to her.’
The commander is frowning again. I think he’s feeling ashamed of himself. But I can’t be certain because sitting up and speaking loudly has made me feel very dizzy.
I flop back onto the pillows.
The supervising medical officer hurries over and takes my pulse.
‘You mustn’t over-excite yourself, Felix,’ he says. ‘You’re suffering from concussion. You need to be as calm and rested as possible.’
He’s speaking English, but I understand perfectly. He’s a nice doctor who is concerned about me and wants me to get better.
Which is very kind of him. He signals to a nurse.
I see Gabriek coming towards my bed. Before he arrives, a needle is pricked into my arm.
My eyelids start to feel heavy. Gabriek is looking concerned. So is Anya.
/> As my eyes close I don’t feel concerned at all.
We’re in a friendly air base with good military security, excellent medical facilities, superb heating and almost certainly plenty of food. The people here don’t really know us yet, but when I show them Gabriek’s fixing skills and Anya’s organising skills and more of my medical skills, I’m pretty sure they’ll let us live here, safe from violent mobs, for as long as we like.
those fried potatoes I can smell are for me. I think they are.
I love fried potatoes for breakfast.
Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad.
I rub my eyes like I often do before I completely wake up. And I start feeling the sadness I always feel when sleep goes and painful memories come back.
If Zelda was here now, I know what she’d say.
‘Your mummy and daddy love you very much,’ she’d say. ‘But people can’t fry potatoes after they’re dead. Don’t you know anything?’
I open my eyes.
My bed and the rest of the ward are bright with early morning sunlight.
Under my nose is a big white china plate.
I reach for my new glasses and put them on and stare at what’s on the plate.
Potato slices, crispy and fragrant.
And toast glistening with what looks like actual creamy butter. And three fried eggs. That’s more eggs than I’ve had on the same plate ever in my life.
‘Hello, Felix,’ says a voice.
I look up.
Crouching next to my bed, holding the plate under my chin, is a man in a dark suit.
I don’t know him, but I’m thinking I’d like to. As well as offering me a delicious breakfast, he’s also giving me a friendly smile.
‘Hello,’ I say.
An exciting thought hits me.
Perhaps the air base people have already decided that me and Gabriek and Anya look like we’d be useful around the place, and a delicious breakfast is their way of saying they’d like us to stay.
‘How are you feeling?’ says the man.
His Polish is almost as bad as the supervising medical officer’s. And his accent is the same as the officer who was shot.
‘Good, thank you,’ I say.
My head is aching and my bruised ribs are hurting, but I’m sure they’ll feel better once I’ve had the creamy butter and the three eggs.
‘Are you American?’ I say.
I’m speaking English to be friendly.
The man smiles and shakes his head.
‘Australian,’ he says. ‘My name’s Ken.’
He shakes my hand, puts the plate onto a tray and signals to a nurse.
She comes over and helps me sit up. Which hurts, but the pain doesn’t seem so bad once she puts the tray on my lap.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
There’s a bowl on the tray as well. With lumps of something yellowy-orange in it. I sniff the lumps. They smell a bit like turnip, only sweeter.
‘Taste it,’ says Ken.
I do. The lumps are very sweet and much more delicious than turnip.
‘Mango,’ says Ken, sitting down next to my bed. ‘Lots of it in Australia. Lots of eggs and potatoes too.’
I gobble more of the mango. All I know about Australia is that it’s a long way away. Now I also know it has delicious fruit.
‘Would you like to go to Australia?’ says Ken.
I look at him, not sure how to answer.
Does he mean if the world was a different place and I was very rich and important and older?
‘You can go to Australia later this week if you like,’ says Ken.
I stare at him, stunned.
He says it again, in Polish.
A lump of mango plops out of my mouth onto the tray.
‘Before you answer,’ says Ken, ‘let me tell you a bit about Australia. OK if I go back to speaking English? My Polish isn’t so hot, plus I want to give you some practice with our lingo.’
I nod, dazed.
I didn’t understand all of that last bit, but I understood enough. When Ken stuns you, he does it slowly, which helps.
‘We’re very lucky in Australia,’ says Ken. ‘Our country came out of the war mostly undamaged. Few Jap bombs, couple of subs lobbing shells, that was about it. Nowhere near as wrecked as Europe.’
He pauses to see if I understand.
Australian is quite different to English, but I’m getting most of it.
I nod.
‘However,’ says Ken, ‘we did cop another type of damage. A lot of Aussies came over here to Europe to fight the Nazis. Quite a few got killed. As you can imagine, their families are pretty sad about never seeing them again.’
I nod again. I don’t have to imagine. I know what that feels like.
What I don’t know is why Ken is telling me all this. And why he’s offering me a trip to Australia.
I ask him.
Ken smiles, as if he’s glad I did.
‘I work for the Australian government,’ he says, still speaking slowly. ‘My job is to help people back home feel better about the war. Which is why in a couple of days we’re flying one of our warplanes back there. So we can take it around the country and give the folks a first-hand gander at what their heroes have been up to. Which is where you come in, Felix. Eat your eggs before they get cold.’
I stare at the eggs. I’d forgotten about them.
I eat. It gives me a chance to work out what some of the words mean. But the more I translate them, the more confused I feel.
‘Doug Wagstaff told me about you,’ says Ken. ‘You know, the pilot you saved.’
‘Did he say that I’d be good at cheering up sad Australians?’ I ask.
Ken smiles.
‘I’ve been looking for someone like you,’ he says. ‘A youngster who made it through. Someone who owes his life to the Allied victory. To the Brits and the Yanks and the Aussies. Someone who’d be dead if the Nazis had won. And who also speaks English. We reckon that the people of Australia will enjoy meeting you a lot, Felix. And hearing you talk about yourself. You’ll help Aussies understand that they lost their loved ones for a very good reason.’
Ken stops and looks at me closely.
‘Do you understand?’ he says.
‘Yes,’ I say after a while. ‘Mostly. You want me to be very grateful. And bring tears to the eyes of Australian people. Sad tears and happy tears.’
Ken grins.
‘Spot on,’ he says. ‘And you won’t regret it, Felix. Australia is a wonderful place. Great food. Great sport. Great beaches. Great girls. Bet you understand that last bit, right?’
I try to think of the words in English to explain a few things to Ken that he got wrong.
Not language things. Fact things.
Such as how I mostly owe my life to Mum and Dad and Zelda and Genia and all the other people who’ve given me good protection.
And how with Gabriek and Anya watching my back, there’s a chance I wouldn’t be dead even if the Nazis had won.
But I change my mind. I don’t say any of that.
I put some egg into my mouth instead.
Because I’m imagining something incredible and very exciting. Me and Gabriek and Anya and the baby living in Australia. A quiet place that hasn’t been smashed and ruined by war. Where the people are still friendly and kind. Somewhere so far away, Zliv probably hasn’t even heard of it.
Thinking of Zliv makes me glance around.
The ward is almost empty. Just a couple of nurses and a couple of patients.
Gabriek and Anya aren’t here.
I’m hoping Anya is off somewhere having her medical examination, but where’s Gabriek?
‘Where are they?’ I say to Ken. ‘My friends?’ ‘It’s OK,’ says Ken. ‘They’re staying nearby. With Celeste Prejenka.’
I stare at him.
I haven’t got a clue who Celeste Prejenka is.
‘The girlfriend of the wounded pilot,’ says Ken. ‘She drove you here in the truck,
right? Last night she offered your friends a place to stay.’
‘They should be staying here,’ I say. ‘Where it’s safe.’
‘Civilians can’t stay on a military base,’ says Ken. ‘Not unless they have a personal invitation from the commanding officer. And the C.O. here doesn’t like civilians.’
I open my mouth to protest.
‘Your friends are safe at Celeste’s,’ says Ken. ‘Her neighbours are all staff from the base. Those thugs from town wouldn’t get within half a mile of her place. And her cottage is much more comfortable than here.’
I think about this.
Celeste Prejenka said she used to be a nurse. Maybe she can give Anya a medical examination. And if Celeste’s neighbours are as protective as Ken says, maybe Zliv wouldn’t be able to get within half a mile of the place either.
Maybe.
‘So,’ says Ken. ‘What do you say? Fancy a new life in Australia?’
‘Before I decide,’ I tell him, ‘there are two things I want.’
‘Anything,’ says Ken. ‘Fire away.’
‘First,’ I say, ‘I want Flight Lieutenant Wagstaff to have a breakfast like this one.’
Ken smiles.
‘Got you,’ he says. ‘It’s hungry work, right, saving people from violent mobs. What’s the other thing?’
‘I need to talk with Gabriek and Anya,’ I say. ‘Now. This morning.’
Ken pats me on the arm.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Big thing, saying goodbye to friends.’
I look at him, puzzled.
‘If I go to Australia,’ I say, ‘Gabriek and Anya will come with me.’
Ken sighs.
‘That’s not possible, Felix,’ he says. ‘Sorry, but it’s out of the question. We must leave this week. That young lady can’t fly till after she’s had her baby. And your friend Gabriek can’t fly at all, not with his medical condition.’
I stare at Ken, hoping I’ve got the words wrong.
But I haven’t.
I know the English words for ‘medical condition’. I’ve read them lots of times in the baby book.
‘Medical condition?’ I say to Ken. ‘What medical condition?’
He sighs again.
I can see he wishes he hadn’t mentioned it.
Too late.
‘What medical condition?’ I yell.
There’s been a mix-up.
That’s what I keep saying to myself while I wait for Ken to get back with the supervising medical officer.
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