When We Were Warriors

by Emma Carroll

  She nodded. ‘She saw my feet dangling down.’

  June, being June, hadn’t gone back to bed as she’d been told to, she’d simply tucked her feet out of sight. In the half-dark of the landing, his sister’s face was all hollows and shadows. Her teeth were chattering.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he whispered, crouching next to her.

  ‘I know it sounds stupid, but someone was sitting at the bottom of my bed,’ she said, frowning. ‘I was having a dream about fire, or explosions, or something. The person being there woke me up.’

  Stan shivered a little. ‘What, like happened to Sadie last night?’

  ‘I think so. I felt her there. She didn’t say anything – just sat there, that’s all.’

  ‘Was it a woman, then?’

  ‘I reckon so, though I didn’t see her. She smelled nice. Sort of flowery.’

  It really wasn’t like June to make up stuff like this. All over again, Stan began to wonder if the house was haunted. Hadn’t Tilly mentioned something about bad memories and tears?

  The ice skate, meanwhile, was digging into his ribs.

  ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ Stan said, hoping it would cheer her up.

  ‘Go on, then,’ June said, yawning into her hand. ‘What is it?’

  As soon as she saw the skate she sat up, alert. ‘Jeez, Stan! That’s awfully old, that is! Where’s the other one?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Stan was pleased at her reaction. ‘The boot’s for a left foot, and from the size of it, I’d say it belonged to a man.’

  ‘Let me have a proper look. Where did you find it?’

  Stan gave it to her.

  ‘In a cupboard, in the servants’ quarters,’ he answered. He’d no plans to tell her why he’d been down there in the first place. And luckily, she was too busy inspecting the boot and running her fingers along the blade to notice he was wearing school shorts.

  ‘It’s not very sharp,’ Stan pointed out.

  A slow smile spread across June’s face. It was ages since he’d seen her look like that. ‘But I bet Clive Spencer hasn’t got one. I’d say that’s two–nil to us, wouldn’t you?’

  8

  The next morning, Stan overslept. Everyone else was already at breakfast, so at least when he threw back the blankets there was no one there to see his damp, sheetless mattress.

  As he took his seat at the table, he sensed he’d just walked in on more good news. Maggie waved to him, beaming. Lalit was laughing and telling awful jokes. The only person not chatting, not grinning from ear to ear, was June, which, come to think of it, wasn’t that unusual.

  ‘What’ve I missed?’ Stan asked Lalit, as he prodded a bowl of rubbery porridge.

  His friend grinned. ‘Can you believe it? Some American soldiers turned up here in the night!’

  ‘Never!’ Trying to fake surprise made Stan nearly choke on his breakfast. He was dying to tell Lalit that he’d seen the Americans arrive. And that they were magnificent, like heroes from a comic book, and Miss Barrington had fallen in love with their colonel. But then he’d have to explain why he’d been hiding behind the baize door, which wasn’t a great idea.

  ‘And …’ Lalit jiggled his knee impatiently, ‘they’re using the library as their quarters, so we can’t have any lessons this morning! Miss Potter’s just announced it!’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Now that was proper good news.

  Out in the hallway, the soldiers were on the move. Hearing their accents, the stomp of their boots, Stan put down his spoon. He was too excited to eat.

  The front door opened.

  ‘Are they leaving?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘They can’t be!’ Lalit cried. ‘Not already!’

  And suddenly everyone was on their feet, rushing to the windows for a glimpse of the Americans.

  ‘I can’t see!’ Maggie squealed, so Stan hoisted her on to his shoulders.

  As they waved and whistled, the soldiers waved back. Stan would never have guessed they’d spent the night sleeping in the library in its uncomfortable chairs. They looked bright-eyed and strong, and ready for anything.

  In amongst them Stan spotted Johnson, the truck driver. He supposed it must be a bit embarrassing to crash a truck, especially when all your mates were on board. But if Johnson was feeling it, it didn’t show. He seemed as cheery and upbeat as every other soldier marching past the front of the house.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, children, come away from that window at once!’ Miss Potter bellowed. No one took any notice. Tommy gave Clive a leg up so he could open one of the windows.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted to the soldiers. ‘Got any gum, chum?’

  The Americans laughed, rolling their eyes like they’d heard it all before. But a couple of them, checking their pockets, came right up to the window. It made Stan feel suddenly shy and small.

  ‘There ya go, sonny,’ one of the soldiers said. In hands as big as shovels, he held out a dozen or so bits of gum. There were squeals, fingers scrabbling, pushing and jostling. Most people got some before Miss Potter elbowed her way through and slammed the window shut.

  ‘That’s quite enough of that,’ she said briskly.

  Yet once they’d cleared the breakfast things, she did consent to take the children up to the gates to watch the soldiers’ truck being pulled from the ditch.

  They set off up the drive, a wriggling crocodile of children. Stan was enjoying himself – not that he was a great fan of motor trucks like some of the other boys, but he was fascinated by the Americans. So much so he’d almost forgotten about the lake, and seeing it now as he glanced behind him at the view, the thrill of swimming there stirred him again. It was the last forbidden part of the estate. The final dare in the game. A place full of bad memories that were best left in peace, so Tilly said.

  Except, seeing it diamond-bright in the morning sunshine, it looked so tempting. He could almost feel the cool water lapping over his feet, his shins, his shoulders.

  ‘That Clive Spencer is a pain in the neck,’ June fumed, catching him up as they walked.

  ‘What’s happened now?’ Stan asked. He’d thought she’d still be pleased as punch after last night’s find.

  ‘He reckons he knows where the other ice skate is. Says he’s heard a rumour it’s at the bottom of the lake, and he’s going to fetch it.’

  ‘Oh, he said so, did he?’ Stan sighed: it was a typical Clive Spencer-type brag.

  ‘He did,’ June insisted. ‘Says he overheard one of the servants talking. He reckons if he can find it then he’s won.’

  ‘But that’s only one dare. We’ve won two,’ Stan reminded her.

  ‘True, but according to him this is the most difficult dare by far. He says it’s worth all the others put together.’

  It sounded like Clive was making up the rules as he went along. But Stan could see how determined his sister was: much as he admired her for it, it worried him too.

  ‘I’m not letting him think he’s the best,’ June stated. ‘I’m going to the lake myself, just as soon as I can get away. Give me a few minutes’ head start then come after me, will you?’

  Stan hesitated. His sister wasn’t a particularly good swimmer. She didn’t like diving under the water, either. So how on earth did she think she was going to find an ice skate in such an enormous lake?

  ‘Don’t go chicken on me, Stan,’ she warned. ‘I’m counting on you to help.’

  So he found himself nodding. He’d be glad when this dare game was over. More than anything, though, he wanted his sister to win.

  *

  At the gates they met an oldish man leading an enormous chestnut horse.

  ‘You’re the Bristol kiddies, are you, eh?’ the man asked. He told them he was called Mr Potter, and with his square jaw and mop of thick grey hair he did look like his daughter. Unlike her, though, he smiled a lot. He then introduced his horse, who stood patiently while the soldiers attached ropes to her harness.

  ‘Blimey, she’s the size of an elephant,’ Tommy Cooke s
niggered.

  ‘And she’s got a name, son,’ Mr Potter said pointedly. ‘Gladys. She’s a Suffolk Punch, not an elephant, just so you know.’

  ‘That’s a breed of horse,’ Lalit whispered, seeing Stan looking confused.

  Gladys was the biggest, shiniest, most gentle horse Stan had ever met. When Maggie tried to stroke her all she could reach was the horse’s shoulder. Even the Americans had to climb on to the gates to fasten the harness across her armchair-wide back.

  Once everything was ready, the children were ordered to stand at a safe distance. The truck was a few yards further down the lane, the wheels on its left side wedged in the ditch. The whole thing was at a very dramatic angle. Its right wheels were off the ground, its windscreen smashed. Stan couldn’t believe no one had been hurt.

  ‘Whoa!’ Lalit breathed in sharply. ‘Look at that, would you?’ He was pointing behind the truck to the lane beyond. ‘A dead straight road. No skid marks in the dirt. Those tyre tracks look like the driver swerved.’

  ‘Maybe a deer jumped out, or a rabbit or something?’ Stan offered.

  ‘Maybe.’ Lalit shrugged. ‘Or maybe it was deliberate.’

  ‘Deliberate?’ Stan thought it over, but couldn’t imagine why Johnson would have caused an accident on purpose.

  Any evidence of Lalit’s suggestion was lost pretty fast under Gladys’s gigantic hooves and the boots of the American soldiers as the ground got churned up, pressed down, scuffed. A few almighty heaves and the truck came free. With a creaky bounce it was back in the lane, all four tyres on the ground. Everyone clapped, whooped. This was far better than a maths lesson any day of the week. Even Miss Potter was smiling. Though you could see from the oil dripping out underneath that the truck wasn’t roadworthy yet.

  ‘Easy, good girl.’ Mr Potter clapped Gladys’s sweating neck.

  A circle of kids quickly gathered round, wanting to make a fuss of the horse and chat some more to Mr Potter. Stan looked for June but couldn’t see her, so guessed she must’ve already slipped away. Silently, he started counting down the few minutes’ head start he’d promised her.

  It was then he realised Johnson was beckoning him over.

  ‘Say, young fella, you fancy showing me where Mrs Potter lives?’ he said. ‘I’ve something for her.’

  Stan stopped counting.

  ‘Tilly, d’you mean?’ It was the name he knew Mrs Potter by.

  ‘That’s the one,’ Johnson confirmed. ‘Called Tilly Higgins before she married.’

  Stan didn’t know about that part of things, and he was surprised that Johnson, an American GI, did. But he’d an idea of where she lived. There were two cottages behind the main house, where he’d seen her going to and fro.

  ‘Can we go, like, now?’ Johnson sounded urgent. ‘I’ll cover for you if you get into trouble.’

  No one seemed to be looking their way. And because Johnson was so very tall and smart, and super polite, Stan was rather chuffed to have been singled out to help.

  ‘All right,’ he said, knowing June would be expecting him at the lake. ‘But we’ll have to be double quick.

  9

  Johnson took such huge great strides Stan had to jog to keep up. By the time they reached the cottages he was sweating. He’d also learned that Johnson’s first name was Edward.

  ‘Buddy, you can call me Eddie,’ he said, which made Stan like him even more.

  The two flint cottages were reached by cutting through the stable yard and going down a cinder path. When Tilly answered the door of the first one they came to, she had a shawl round her shoulders, her hair still plaited for bed. At her feet on the front step was a pile of bridles, halters and ropes.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ she said, tutting. ‘My husband couldn’t find the right ropes this morning, and he’s never one to tidy up after himself. It’s him you’re after, I take it?’

  ‘No,’ Stan panted. ‘It’s you we want – or rather, Eddie here wants.’

  He glanced at Eddie, who’d gone quiet. He’d taken off his funny little army cap and was twisting it nervously in his hands.

  ‘You’re one of them Yankees, are you?’ Tilly looked him up and down. ‘Did my husband and Gladys get your truck out all right?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am,’ Eddie mumbled.

  ‘An accident, was it? Or you boys having a lark?’ Tilly asked, amused.

  ‘Um … errr …’ Eddie had gone so tongue-tied all of a sudden, Stan wondered what was the matter with him.

  ‘An accident,’ Stan said for him. He didn’t honestly think Eddie had crashed their truck on purpose. He was pretty sure Lalit had got that wrong.

  ‘I’d best be off,’ Stan said now, backing away. ‘My sister’s waiting for me.’

  ‘Oh?’ Tilly’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Speaking again, are you? Not going for the sixty-year record like me?’

  Though she was joking, Eddie looked suddenly even more uncomfortable. Something was going on here, and Stan had no idea what. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in it, either.

  ‘There’s a game of dare going on between the boys and the girls, that’s all,’ he told her.

  Tilly tutted again, more crossly this time. ‘Don’t play dares, that’s my advice. It never ends well.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that. Clive Spencer says there’s an old ice skate at the bottom of the lake, so we’re going to—’ Stan stopped, seeing Tilly’s face. She looked plain horrified.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you before?’ she said, very quietly, very firmly. ‘You keep away from that lake and you leave the past alone.’

  ‘Why, though?’ he asked. ‘Did someone drown or something?’

  It was Eddie who answered. ‘Yes. Kit Barrington did, many years ago. He fell through the ice when he was skating.’

  ‘How the heck do you know about that?’ Tilly cried.

  ‘My grandmother told me,’ Eddie admitted. ‘She said he haunted this place for years afterwards.’

  ‘He haunted the lake, not the house,’ Tilly corrected him, and sternly too. ‘I know because I saw him there. I fell through the ice myself, and he saved my life, ten years to the day after he died.’

  Stan rubbed his forehead. He should’ve left just now before things got strange. Before Tilly’s story had him rooted to the spot.

  ‘A ghost saved your life?’ he asked. Standing here in the morning sunshine it sounded a load of old baloney, yet he found himself somehow believing her.

  There was something unusual about Frost Hollow Hall. He hadn’t just imagined it. Last night in the hall the air had been icy cold. It’d felt like someone was watching him all the way down the stairs. And what about the mystery woman who sat on people’s beds, waking them up in the middle of the night? And Kit Barrington himself, whose grave yesterday gave him the heebie-jeebies, and whose ice skate, he was pretty sure now, it was that he’d found packed away in that box below stairs.

  It was all an eerie coincidence.

  ‘You don’t have to believe me.’ Tilly pulled her shawl tightly about her. ‘No one did at the time apart from Will Potter, Mr Potter, my husband, as he later became. But that lake is a bad business, mark my words. No one has swum in it since the day Kit died: we don’t dare to. It’s not safe, and certainly not just for a game.’

  Stan felt his innards twist. ‘But my sister’s there now, swimming. I’ve got to stop her, haven’t I?’

  ‘You’d blinkin’ well better!’ Tilly agreed.

  ‘What’s the quickest way from here?’

  ‘Follow the path, turn right. Keep going. You’ll come to a gate. And you, Mr American, had better go with him,’ Tilly called out. ‘Here, take this, just in case.’ From the pile of horse equipment, she managed to pull out a decent length of rope.

  In case of what? Stan thought, starting to panic. Though he took the rope from her: it weighed a ton.

  ‘For flip’s sake get on with it!’ Tilly yelled.

  Heart thundering, Stan raced up the path, willing his puny legs
to go faster. At his side, Eddie hardly broke a sweat.

  ‘Don’t worry, buddy, it’ll be okay,’ he kept saying.

  But with June it was never simple. If Stan stopped her doing the dare, she’d never forgive him. He’d forever be the annoying little brother who ruined everything. And if he didn’t stop her and something awful happened, he’d never forgive himself.

  *

  When they reached the lake, it was deserted. It didn’t seem so inviting now, either, despite the hot sunshine and water that looked as cool and smooth as silk. Dotted amongst the grass were statues – not grand ones like Kit’s angel: these were old, weathered, yellow-patched with lichen. It might’ve been very smart here once, but now the whole place had a forgotten-about, neglected feel.

  What Tilly told him stuck in Stan’s mind: Kit Barrington drowned in this lake. The boy in whose bedroom they all slept, whose old leather ice-skating boot he’d stuffed down his pyjama top to take upstairs to June. It really didn’t sit easily with him: none of it did. He didn’t care about beating Clive Spencer any more. He just wanted his sister to be safe.

  ‘She ain’t here yet,’ Eddie said. ‘Told you it would be okay.’

  But as Stan bent double to get his wind back, he noticed footprints in the dirt. They looked like a girl’s gym shoes. He was pretty certain they were June’s.

  Straightening up, he stared out at the lake, scanning the left side first. It was as large and daunting as a sea, and perhaps as deep as one too, the water a shadowy greeny-grey. Even the strongest swimmer could be overwhelmed in a place like this.

  On the far side of the lake, he thought he saw something move.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing. ‘There, look, by those big trees! On the far bank!’

  Eddie saw it. ‘It’s a girl! A blonde one!’

  June had blonde hair.

  First Stan felt relief, then a great wave of fear as Eddie drew a sharp breath. ‘Jeepers, buddy, looks like she’s in trouble!’

  10

  They stood no chance of reaching June from their side of the lake. Luckily, the path hugged the water’s edge all the way round: at a frantic sprint, they followed it until they came to a clump of beech trees. Here, at a spot where the bank jutted out, they found June’s shoes and school skirt folded neatly on the grass. On top of it, gleaming dangerously in the sunshine, was the left-footed ice skate.