George’s heart soared at the thought of seeing Charlie again. He’d probably be surprised at first. Worried, even. But he’d understand when he told him how rotten Jarvis was; he knew he would.
He started. What was he doing, wasting time standing here? ‘Come on, boy. Let’s go and find Charlie.’ He took a deep breath and set off towards the entrance.
There was a barrier across the entrance when they got there. As George and Spud approached it, a stocky man in the blue-grey uniform of the RAF stepped smartly out from the guard hut next to it and stalked round in front of them, a rifle clutched across his chest.
Spud leapt up barking, hackles raised. The man jerked the rifle up and pointed it at him.
‘No. Don’t!’ George dragged the dog back by the scruff of his neck. ‘Down, boy! Sorry, mister. He don’t mean anything by it.’
The guard lowered the rifle and frowned. ‘That animal should be on a lead. Anyway, what are you doing snooping around here? Be off with you, laddie, before I call the police.’
George pulled back his shoulders and forced himself to look the man in the eye. ‘I’ve come to see my brother. I’ve got a message for him.’
The guard’s frown deepened. ‘How do you know he’s stationed here?’
‘He told me.’
He shook his head. ‘He shouldn’t have done that. It’s against the rules. What’s his name?’
George wavered. The last thing he wanted was to get Charlie into any trouble.
‘Come on. Out with it. I won’t report him, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
George drew in a breath. ‘Penny. Charlie Penny. He’s just finished his pilot’s training.’
‘A sprog, eh? All right.’ The guard held out his hand. ‘Give it here and I’ll get it to him.’
George took a step backwards. ‘It . . . it ain’t written down.’
The guard’s eyebrows bunched together. ‘Civilians aren’t allowed on the base. Not unless they’ve been authorized.’
George slumped his shoulders. He threw a glance at the hut. ‘Can’t you call him then? Get him to come down here instead?’
The guard jutted out his chin and fixed him with a stern stare. ‘Some of us have got a war to fight, you know. Now push off back home to your mum sharpish, before I lose my patience.’
‘But I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Cos . . . cos she’s dead.’
The guard’s features softened. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, laddie.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, how about if I fetch a pencil and paper and you scribble down what you want to say to your brother now? I’ll pass it on to him when my shift finishes at six.’
George’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t come all this way just to leave Charlie a note. He slid his eyes to the hut and back to the barrier again. ‘All right, mister.’
With a quick nod, the guard turned and marched back inside.
George waited until the man was safely out of sight, then clicked his tongue. ‘Quick, boy. Let’s go!’ The pair of them darted beneath the barrier and set off at a sprint towards the base.
An angry shout rang out behind them. George kept his head down and sped on, heart pounding. They were halfway to the aircraft hangars before he dared take a quick look back. There was no sign of the guard. He was probably phoning through a warning. The sooner they found Charlie, the better. He gulped in a mouthful of air and put on a fresh spurt.
As they neared the first group of planes, a low drone of voices sounded away to his left. He wheeled round. A group of young men sat slumped in deckchairs outside one of the huts, some reading, others playing cards or talking. One or two of them wore leather flying jackets, but most were in their shirtsleeves, their blue uniform jackets slung over the backs of their chairs or cast down next to them on the grass.
George held his breath. Was Charlie among them? As he peered over, torn between getting closer and trying his best to avoid them, a hand grabbed him by the arm and spun him round. An airman stood in front of him, mouth open, brown eyes wide with surprise.
‘George?’
Before he had a chance to say anything else, George flung his arms round him and buried his face against his chest.
For a blissful few moments all he knew was the smell of wool mixed with Woodbines, the comforting warmth of Charlie’s arms and the steady thud-thud of his heart against George’s cheek. Then, as Charlie pulled free, the world came crowding back in again, dazzling him with its light and noise.
Charlie stared down at him, his expression of surprise replaced by one of worry. ‘What are you doing here?’
George frowned. ‘Ain’t you glad to see me?’
‘’Course I am, Georgie, but—’
George’s jaw dropped as he caught sight of the Spitfire standing a short distance behind Charlie. ‘Gorr! Is that your plane?’ He dashed over to it, Spud bounding along behind. A ripple of excitement pulsed through him as he ran his hand along the brown and green fuselage. The panels were smooth and warm to the touch. He’d never been so close to one before. As he stood on his toes, trying to see inside the cockpit, a shadow fell across the bullseye target painted on the fighter’s side.
‘George, you ain’t answered my question.’
A knot formed in George’s chest. He blinked and turned to face him. ‘I . . . I wanted to come and wish you luck. Before your first mission.’
‘Does Mister Jarvis know you’re here?’
‘Er . . . not exactly, no.’
‘What do you mean?’
George drew in a breath and met his gaze. He’d have to tell him sooner or later. It might as well be now. ‘I’ve run away.’
Charlie’s eyebrows jerked up. ‘You’ve done what?’
George licked his lips. ‘It was awful there, Charlie. Me and Spud, we couldn’t stand it a minute longer, could we, boy?’ He dropped down and pulled Spud to him.
Charlie’s eyes flicked to the dog as if noticing him for the first time. ‘You mean you’ve stolen his dog?’
George jumped to his feet. ‘No. You don’t understand. He was going to beat him. Don’t make us go back there. Please!’
Charlie stared at him for a moment then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, George, but you’re going to have to.’
George’s stomach gave a sickening leap. ‘Wh-what? But I can’t, I—’
Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re just a bit homesick, that’s all.’
‘But he’s a dirty rotten bully! He—’
Charlie cut across him, his voice edged with impatience. ‘This is war, George. We all have to do things we don’t want to. Now listen.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’m expecting to go up and fight the Luftwaffe anytime now, and I can’t be worrying about you while I’m doing that. So I need you to be brave and stick it out, at least until things quieten down here a bit. D’you understand?’
George hung his head and kicked at a tuft of grass with his boot. ‘When’s that going to be?’
‘I don’t know, Georgie.’ Charlie tilted George’s chin up. ‘But I’ll come and get you as soon as I can, I promise.’
George’s eyes blurred with sudden tears. ‘What if . . . what if you don’t come back?’
A look of doubt stole into Charlie’s eyes, and for a few seconds he seemed lost for words. Then he blinked and threw back his shoulders, fixing George with a steady gaze. ‘You’ve still got the ring, ain’t you?’
George gave a quick nod and stuck out his thumb.
‘Good. Look, here’s mine too.’ Charlie fumbled beneath his shirt collar and pulled out a length of brown leather cord.
George stared at the wink of gold metal nestled in his brother’s fingers.
‘Together Always. Remember?’
He sucked in a breath and nodded again.
‘Good lad. Now we’d better get you off the base before the squadron leader gets wind.’ Charlie looped his arm round George’s shoulder and steered him away from the plane.
As they
set off back across the grass in silence, the sun beat down, sending trickles of sweat running down George’s back. He was desperate to tell Charlie about Bill Jarvis. About the beatings and what had happened this afternoon – why it was impossible for him and Spud to go back. But how could he now, after what he’d said?
The guard strode out to meet them as they approached the hut, his mouth set in a thin hard line.
‘Leave this to me.’ Charlie drew the man to one side and had a quiet word. He threw a stern look at George, then gave a grunt and let them pass.
Charlie stopped at the barrier and looked down at George, his eyes full of fresh concern. ‘You haven’t had another of those turns, have you?’
George shook his head.
A look of relief washed over Charlie’s face. ‘You know what to do if you do, though?’
‘Take deep breaths and count to five ’til I feel better.’
‘That’s right.’ Charlie ruffled a hand through George’s hair. ‘You’ll be all right, Georgie. We both will. Just make sure and keep a tight hold of that ring, eh?’ He shot him a quick smile.
George’s throat tightened. He wanted to say something; tell Charlie good luck. But his tongue was thick in his mouth and all he could do was give another nod.
A loud clanging rang out across the field behind them. Charlie started and swung round, eyes wide, face paling.
‘What’s that?’
‘We’re being scrambled. I’ve got to go, Georgie.’ He gave him a swift hug, then turned and set off back across the field at a run.
George made to go after him, but the guard stepped forwards and blocked his way. ‘Come along, laddie. You’ve delivered your message. Leave your brother to get on with his job.’
He could only watch helplessly then as Charlie joined up with the other pilots, all of them tugging on their flying jackets and running at full pelt now towards their planes. For a moment George lost sight of him, but then, as the first of the fighters growled into action, he saw him again, clambering from the wing of the Spitfire into the cockpit.
Across the field, Spitfires and Hurricanes were getting ready for take-off, engines exploding into life, propellers spinning, wheels bouncing over the ground. One by one, they powered across the grass before lifting up and disappearing over the hangars and away into the blue.
And then it was Charlie’s turn. George curled his fingers over the ring and watched, heart in mouth, as the Spitfire bobbled across the field, following in the wake of a Hurricane. As the plane gathered pace, the engine noise changed from a hum to a growl to a spine-tingling roar, and then it was airborne, nose lifting, wings tilting, wheels sliding out and up beneath it. As it arced round, George saw a gloved hand lift up in the cockpit and wave. Then it sped away over the top of the hangars after the others and was gone.
The knot in George’s throat grew tighter still. ‘Where’re they going?’
The guard frowned. ‘I’m not sure.’ A sudden bring-bring sounded from inside the hut. He jumped to attention. ‘Go on, be off with you. And make sure you go straight home. Whatever’s occurring, you’ll be better off indoors.’ He turned and hurried back inside.
George’s heart clenched. Home was with his brother. But Charlie was off now, doing what he’d been trained for, fighting for king and country. For George too. As the last of the fighters took off and disappeared from view, he uncurled his fingers and stared down at the ring.
He’d do his best to put a brave face on it, for Charlie’s sake. But he couldn’t go back to Bill Jarvis’s. Not now, not ever. Which meant he’d have to find somewhere else to stay. But where? The only other people he knew were the Regenbogens. Maybe they’d put him up for the night? And after? He wasn’t sure. A sudden thought occurred. He could go back to London. Stay with Mrs Jenkins for a few days and get her to write to Charlie and explain about Bill Jarvis. If he knew the whole truth, he’d find George another place right away, he was sure. But he’d worry about that tomorrow . . .
‘Come on, boy.’ He gave Spud a quick pat on the head.
As he turned to go, a harsh croak made him start. He glanced up, squinting. A bird was circling overhead, its wing-feathers shining blue-black in the sun.
It couldn’t be, could it? As he shielded his eyes to get a better look, the bird called again, then veered away towards a line of trees on the horizon.
George shook his head. He had better things to do than waste time gawping at a bloomin’ crow. Whistling for Spud to follow, he headed off back along the road into town.
It took what felt like a good hour of walking to reach the town. They were nearing the first of the houses when a low humming noise vibrated against George’s ears. He looked up, hoping against hope the call to scramble had been a false alarm and Charlie’s squadron was flying back to base.
But the plane, when he spotted it, was on its own, heading towards him up the river valley from the coast. He shaded his eyes. It was too high up to stand a chance of making out any markings, but it didn’t sound like a Spitfire; a Hurricane neither. As the plane drew nearer, it changed tack and began to arc slowly back and forth across the sky; almost as though it was looking for something . . .
A sudden feeling of unease crept over him. What if it was an enemy spy plane, making the most of things while Charlie and the others were off fighting? But would it really fly out in the open like that and risk the chance of being seen by the Home Guard? George shook his head. There must be some other explanation. There had to be. Best stop worrying about it, and start keeping his eyes peeled for Bill Jarvis instead!
But the only people he saw as they made their way along the narrow streets of the town centre were an old man walking his dog and a couple of boys playing with a tennis ball against the wall of the butcher’s shop.
As he arrived outside the Regenbogens’, he glanced up, but there was no sign of movement behind the windows. He drew in a quick breath. What if they weren’t in? There was only one way to find out. He raised the knocker, rapped once against the door and waited.
Silence.
Heart pounding, he knocked again.
Still nothing.
Please be in, please. He bent down, pushed the flap of the brass letter box back as far as it would go and peered inside. The familiar smell of mothballs pricked his nose. He was about to drop the flap and knock for the third time when a pair of light footsteps pattered along the hall.
‘Who is it?’ It was the girl.
‘It’s me. George Penny.’
There was the sound of a bolt being drawn. As the door swung inwards, Spud sniffed the air and gave a loud yip.
Kitty jumped back with a small cry. ‘What is that?’
‘My dog. It’s all right. He won’t hurt you, will you, Spud boy?’ He bent and gave the dog’s ears a quick ruffle. ‘Can we come in?’
Kitty hesitated for a moment, then stepped to one side and let them pass.
George shot her a grateful glance. ‘Thanks. I—’
She put a finger to her lips. ‘Opa is taking a nap. I do not want to disturb him.’ She motioned for him to go through a door on their right.
As he opened it and stepped into the room beyond, he blinked against the glow of early evening sunshine flooding in from the street outside. The door clicked shut behind them.
‘What are you doing here? Did you forget something?’
‘No. I . . . er . . .’ He pushed Spud down into a sitting position and looked sideways, avoiding her gaze.
‘What then?’
He heaved a sigh. It was no use. He was going to have to spill the beans. How else would he get her to agree to let them stay? He turned to face her, took a deep breath and began.
Kitty listened wide-eyed as he told her about Bill Jarvis. How rotten he’d been to him and Spud, making George do all the hard work and beating them both for the smallest thing. And how it had got even worse after Jarvis had caught them trying to run away. When he told her about what had happened in the barn, the colour drained from her
cheeks.
‘Is he all right?’
‘I . . . I think so. He got knocked out, that’s all.’
‘What are you going to do now?’
‘I dunno.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘I went to the airbase to tell Charlie, but then the bell rang and they had to scramble.’
‘Scramble?’
‘Go into action.’ George’s stomach knotted again at the thought. He blinked and cleared his throat. ‘The thing is, I was wondering . . .’
Kitty raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’
‘Could we stay here? Me and Spud. It would only be for tonight.’ He tensed, waiting for her to say no.
Her gaze slid to Spud then back to him. ‘I suppose it will be all right.’
He puffed out a breath. ‘Thank you.’
She frowned. ‘But what about after?’
He gave a quick shrug. ‘I’ll think of something. Anyway, Charlie’ll be back from his mission by then.’
She shot him a doubtful look, then gestured at the floor. ‘You can sleep in here. But your dog will have to go in the shed outside. I will fetch him something to eat and drink.’
George reached down and stroked Spud’s head. Poor old boy. Still, a shed was heaps better than being chained up in Bill Jarvis’s smelly old barn.
Once they’d got Spud settled – with a bowl of water and a bit of bread crumbled up into some leftover broth – Kitty went upstairs again to get George a blanket. While she was gone, he headed back into the room and peered about him. He’d never seen anywhere like it before – leastways not in someone’s house. The walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets stuffed full of more of the sorts of things he’d seen in Ernst Regenbogen’s study: cracked clay pots, bits of shiny black stone fashioned in the shape of axes and arrowheads; and piles of shells and old animal bones.
Buried Crown Page 7
