The Girl With No Name

by Diney Costeloe

  ‘Yes, I know, she told me all about that.’

  ‘About meeting with Harry?’

  ‘No, about the house being destroyed and how she’s found her foster parents again, since.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Caroline said. ‘Well, after that one visit, Harry disappeared again and it turns out he’s been in prison.’

  ‘And you let him take Charlotte into town?’ Billy was horrified. ‘A gaol-bird?’

  ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it,’ Caroline said defensively. ‘He only turned up again today and it was hardly a day for asking his intentions. Charlotte is fond of him and he’s the only link with her life before the war, with her family. She was surprised to see him after so long, but she was pleased as well. If I’d known you were coming, Billy... if she’d known you were coming, I’m sure she’d have waited for you, so you could all three have gone together. But I didn’t and she didn’t, and I thought she’d earned herself the chance to celebrate the end of the war with everyone else.’

  ‘And she didn’t know where he was all that time when he didn’t show up?’ demanded Billy.

  ‘No. Though I have to admit that I had a pretty good idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  Caroline sighed and told him about the letter from Brixton prison. ‘I have to say that I don’t like him and I don’t trust him, but I felt if I tried to turn her against him, I’d be doing just the opposite and pushing her into his arms.’

  ‘Have you still got the letter?’ asked Billy

  ‘No,’ lied Caroline. ‘I burned it.’

  ‘Did you read it?’

  ‘No, but I didn’t want Charlotte to know I’d kept it from her.’

  ‘You’ve told me about it,’ Billy pointed out. ‘I can tell her.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ conceded Caroline, ‘but it won’t change things. She now knows Harry has been in prison, and all it will do is stir things up.’

  Billy sat and considered what Caroline had told him. ‘Is she in love with him?’ he asked at last.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so, but she does feel something for him; gratitude maybe, friendship, the bond of a shared past?’

  ‘Has he got a some sort of hold over her?’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘Who can say? Not a hold as such, but I’d say he’s a manipulator and perhaps he puts emotional pressure on her. He’s certainly a survivor, and survivors have to be very good at looking after number one. He may not be too choosy about how he tries to get his own way.’

  ‘And you’ve let her go into London with a man like that?’ Billy’s disgust was barely suppressed.

  ‘Billy, I couldn’t have stopped her. She’s nineteen next month. She has to make her own decisions. I’ll admit I wasn’t keen on her going, but I couldn’t stand in her way.’

  ‘When’ll she be back?’

  ‘I don’t know, Billy. Late, I imagine, with all the festivities the BBC tell us are going on in the West End. I don’t think you need to worry about her safety. I don’t think Harry’ll harm her.’ She got to her feet and said, ‘Come on, you must be starving. Let me find you something to eat.’ She smiled across at him. She was fond of Billy and hoped that one day he and Charlotte might make a go of it.

  ‘At least you haven’t got to sleep in the scullery this time,’ she said as she led the way into the kitchen. ‘Several of the children have moved on recently and we’re all back in our own rooms for now. You can have the camp bed in the sitting room.’

  Darkness fell and most of those in the home went to bed. Caroline and Billy sat in the sitting room and waited for Charlotte and Harry to come home. They could hear the sounds of continued celebration echoing in through the open window, the revellers’ singing becoming increasingly tuneless as the beer still flowed.

  It was past midnight when they heard the front door open and the sound of whispers in the hallway. Billy went straight out and saw Charlotte creeping in, shushing Harry who was hard on her heels. When she saw Billy she gave a little cry, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound.

  ‘Billy,’ she whispered in delight and stepped towards him. Without a second’s hesitation he enfolded her in his arms. All earlier caution gone, Billy bent his head and kissed her, long and deep. He was claiming her as his, determined to leave this Harry bloke in no doubt as to his claim.

  ‘Billy,’ she said, when she could say anything at all, ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

  Still with his arms round her, he smiled down at her. ‘So I see,’ he said. ‘Never mind. I thought we should celebrate together and here I am.’ He glanced across at Harry who stood in the door, his face like thunder. ‘Who’s this?’ Billy asked, as if he didn’t know already.

  Before she could answer, Harry stepped forward and said, ‘I’m Harry Black, an old friend of Lisa’s. We go a long way back.’

  ‘Lisa?’

  ‘Lieselotte Becker, from Hanau... like me.’

  Their voices had been getting louder and Caroline, who had followed Billy into the hall, said, ‘Keep your voices down, or you’ll wake the whole house. Come into the sitting room.’ She led the way, closing the door firmly behind them. Harry glanced at the camp bed that was made up in one corner. Charlotte followed his gaze.

  ‘Billy has a camp bed in a corner somewhere when the home is very full,’ she said in explanation.

  Harry grunted. ‘Here a lot, is he? Surprised he ain’t in the army.’

  ‘It’s late,’ Caroline said, ignoring this remark. ‘We’ve got to be up early in the morning as usual, so it’s time you went now, Harry.’ She turned back and opened the door.

  Harry didn’t move. ‘Went?’ he said. ‘Went where? I haven’t got anywhere to go.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, Harry,’ Caroline said firmly, ‘but you can’t stay here. We haven’t any room.’

  ‘You got room for him.’ Harry jerked his head towards Billy. ‘He don’t live here, neither.’

  If Caroline noticed the East End creeping into Harry’s voice, she ignored it. ‘Billy comes here from time to time,’ she said. ‘He’s great with the children and we all love to have him.’

  She walked into the hall and opened the front door. The sounds of revelry drifted in from further down the road, where for the first time in nearly six years the street lamps were on, casting pale green pools of light on the pavement. For the first time in nearly six years Caroline was able to stand in a lighted, open front door, a true sign that there was no more danger from the sky.

  Harry stared, stony-faced, at Charlotte and Billy as they stood together, Billy’s arm still round Charlotte’s shoulders. No one spoke and then, with an exaggerated shrug he said, ‘I’ll be back in the morning, Lisa. We can make our plans then.’ With that he slouched out of the room. He paused in the hallway where Caroline stood beside the open door.

  ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and I’ll be telling Lisa that you stole her letter. I know you did. I could see it in your face. You could be regretting that before too long, Miss High-and-Mighty Morrison. She’d never have given that bloke the time of day if she’d knowed I was coming back for her.’

  ‘Goodnight, Harry,’ said Caroline, and she closed the door behind him.

  For a long moment Harry stared at the closed door. He wondered if Lisa would come after him and so he waited a little further down the street, but the front door remained closed and in the end he gave up and strode away. Since he’d come out of prison he’d actually been dossing down at a rescue centre, pretending to have been bombed out, with nowhere to stay. At least it had meant he had somewhere dry and warm to sleep. He’d been back to Kemble Street once, thinking he might be able to use the cellar again as temporary accommodation, but he found that the houses had been bulldozed. All that was left of number sixty-five and its neighbours was a cleared site waiting for the end of hostilities.

  With his change of name, he’d had to move shelters and for the first time offered his new papers. He held his breath as the WVS volun
teer glanced at them and looking at the address said, ‘That block went weeks ago. Where’ve you been since then?’

  Harry smiled at her sadly. ‘Just got back,’ he said. ‘I was at sea at the time. Came home to find it gone, my home. Just a hole in the ground now.’

  ‘Oh, poor you!’ cried the woman, her eyes full of sympathy for this brave young man who’d lost his home while serving at sea. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find you somewhere very soon. In the meantime, Mr Merritt, you can stay here. There’s only a men’s dormitory, but I can find you a space in there.’

  ‘That’ll be fine,’ Harry assured her. ‘It’s only till my leave’s up.’

  He wasn’t the last to return to the centre that night. Although there was normally a curfew so that late comers didn’t disturb those already in bed, tonight, VE night, no one cared and many of the beds in the dormitory remained empty as their occupants stayed out celebrating.

  *

  When Caroline closed the door behind Harry she went back into the sitting room. Billy was at the window, looking out into the street, but Charlotte was standing beside the cold fireplace. When she saw her expression on the girl’s face Caroline knew that Harry’s parting comments had been overheard.

  ‘What letter?’ Charlotte said without preamble. ‘What letter was Harry talking about?’

  Caroline sighed and looked across at Billy, but his face was impassive. ‘Sit down, Charlotte,’ she said. Charlotte did as she was told, perching on the front of an armchair as if about to leap to her feet again.

  ‘That Saturday, when Harry didn’t come as promised, you were so upset. I was furious with him for standing you up. Remember the next day I sent you back to Kemble Street to try and get news of the Federmans?’

  Charlotte nodded, but made no reply.

  ‘Well,’ Caroline drew a deep breath, ‘you found them and suddenly your world changed. You were so thrilled to find them again, to see the baby...’

  ‘What about this letter?’

  ‘I’m coming to that,’ Caroline said. ‘You seemed so much happier than I’d seen you for ages,’ she went on. ‘And then one morning, when you were down at Wynsdown seeing Mr Thompson, a letter came for you. It had an HMP Brixton postmark. The only person I could think of who might write to you from Brixton prison was Harry.’

  ‘And what did the letter say?’ asked Charlotte coldly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Caroline said quietly. ‘I didn’t open it.’

  ‘You threw it away.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I kept it. There were several times when I was about to give it to you, but you seemed to have taken control of your life and,’ she glanced again across at Billy, ‘I didn’t want to stir everything up again.’

  ‘You never liked Harry,’ Charlotte said, her voice breaking as she spoke. ‘You didn’t want him to come back into my life, did you? But it was my life and I did want him back.’

  Caroline could see the tears in Charlotte’s eyes and she was filled with regret. Charlotte was right, she’d no right to have kept the letter from her, however good her motives had been.

  Charlotte fought to keep her tears at bay. ‘So where is it now?’ she demanded, ‘This letter?’

  ‘It’s in my bureau.’

  Billy, standing a silent spectator as Caroline admitted what she’d done, started at this information. She had told him she’d destroyed the letter and hearing Charlotte’s reaction he’d been feeling relief that she had. Now the inevitable was about to happen. Harry was staking his claim.

  Caroline turned and went into her office, coming back holding a buff-coloured envelope and handing it to Charlotte. She took it and looked at it, addressed to her at Livingston Road. The postmark was smudged, the date unreadable, but the frank HMP Brixton, though faint, was there.

  Without a word, or a look at either Caroline or Billy, she left the room and went upstairs to her own room, her refuge. She sat down on the bed and for a long time she looked at the envelope and then at last she slipped her finger under the flap. Opening it, she pulled out the single sheet it contained; a letter written in pencil on a sheet of lined paper.

  Dear Lisa

  I’ve been arrested and charged with lots of things. Most of them aren’t true and it’s a fit up. I don’t know when they’ll be letting me out again. I’m being tried next month some time. When I do get out I’ll come and find you and we can get together again. I’ll be here in Brixton for a while yet, so you can write to me here. Can’t believe I’m banged up again after I’d just got out of the internment camp.

  Please write.

  Love Harry

  Charlotte read the letter through twice and at last allowed the tears to spill down her cheeks. Harry had written to her, but because Caroline had hidden the letter he thought she’d abandoned him. She lay down on her bed, still fully dressed, and wept.

  The next morning she woke, tired and miserable. Everything about her life had seemed to be moving to some sort of resolution, an equilibrium. The war was over, here in London anyway; she was going to search for her family, she had a home if she wanted to move back to Somerset, she knew Billy loved her and she’d come to believe that it might be safe to love him in return. And now, because of this letter, a letter she should have received nearly three years ago, everything had disintegrated round her. Her plans for searching for her family seemed as stupid as Harry had told her they were. Her reunion with the Federmans seemed far away. They were not responsible for her any more, they had young Nicky, now four and half. Her brother, they’d called him, but he wasn’t and now it seemed silly to pretend that he was. She and the Federmans would drift apart as England picked itself up, dusted the war off its knees and got on with life.

  When she didn’t appear for breakfast, Caroline sent Billy up to see her. ‘She certainly won’t want to see me,’ she said, ‘but she loves you, Billy. It’s you who must be there to help her get through this. You are her rock.’

  Billy knocked on her door and when there was no answer he turned the handle and went in. Charlotte was lying, still fully clothed, on her bed, staring at the ceiling. He went over and sat down on the bed beside her. She didn’t look at him, but he took her hand in his and stroking it gently said, ‘Tell me about Harry.’

  *

  Harry woke early and having scrounged some breakfast at the centre, decided to go out and find some funds. The small handout he’d been given when he left Gloucester was fast dwindling and somehow he had to get enough money to buy his passage to Australia. His and Lisa’s. He hadn’t quite given up on her coming with him. When he saw her again and told her about the Morrison woman hiding his letter, she’d know that he’d been thinking about her all the time he was away. That clod-hopping bloke from the country would discover that he, Harry, was the one Lisa would choose. They belonged together.

  He stuffed his new papers into his pocket – there was no way he was leaving those in the centre for some thieving bastard to nick – and set off to trawl the crowds still surging about the streets. One of the skills Denny Dunc had encouraged him to acquire, while in Gloucester, was the picking of pockets. An old lag, known as ‘Dipper’ for his talent in this direction, had taken Harry in hand and by the time he left, Harry was an accomplished pickpocket.

  ‘Never know when you’ll need a bob or two to tide you over,’ Denny Dunc had said and Harry was about to try his luck. With the crowds still celebrating, many of them boozy and dozy with alcohol, it would, Harry thought as he made his way to Trafalgar Square, be easy pickings. He was just walking up The Strand when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Mick Derham, one of the men he’d taken Denny’s message to.

  ‘All right, ’Arry?’ Mick said.

  ‘Yeah, why? What’s up?’

  ‘Denny wants yer.’

  ‘Denny does? He’s inside.’

  Mick gave him a gap-toothed grin. ‘Not any more, ’e ain’t. We got ’im out yesterday.’

  ‘Out?’ Harry couldn’t take in what Mick was saying.

&n
bsp; ‘Everyone else was busy celebratin’,’ grinned Mick. ‘Seemed a good day to go for it. Anyhow,’ he went on, ‘you got to come with me. Denny wants yer.’

  Harry was about to protest, but when he saw the steel in Mick’s expression, it seemed a better idea to go with him. They turned back and Mick led him through a maze of side streets, glancing behind from time to time to make sure they weren’t being followed.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’ Harry asked.

  Mick treated him to the same gap-toothed grin. ‘Always knowed where to find you, mate. Denny knew he’d need you sooner or later. Part of the plan, you.’

  At last they reached a tiny street down by the docks, narrow, hemmed in by tall buildings. Mick tapped on a door with brown, peeling paint and moments later it opened and they went inside. Another of Denny Dunc’s henchmen led them upstairs to a small room overlooking the street and there they found the man himself, sitting in an armchair, a glass of whisky at his elbow.

  ‘Harry, boy!’ he cried as Harry came in. ‘Good to see you, son.’ He glanced at Mick and said, ‘No trouble? Good. Give the lad a drink.’ Mick slurped some whisky into a glass from an open bottle on the table and handed it to Harry.

  ‘Sit down, Harry,’ Denny said, suddenly serious, ‘and I tell you what’s going down. Surprised to see me, are you?’

  Harry took a swig of whisky and nodded. ‘Yeah, how’d you swing it?’

  ‘Never mind how, Harry, it’s been planned for months, just waiting for the right day. You played your part, now you get your reward.’

  ‘My reward?’ Harry wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.

  ‘Coming to Australia, my son. Coming to Australia with me.’

  Harry stared at him. ‘Australia?’

  ‘It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? A clean record sheet. A passport. A new name. I gave you all those, Harry, or should I be calling you “Vic” now? Anyhow, it’s all sorted.’

  ‘What’s all sorted, Denny?’

  ‘Got a couple of berths on a merchant. Maiden Lady. Leaves tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’

  ‘Not soon enough for you, Harry boy? Never mind, it’s the best I can do.’