Whistling in the Dark

by Shirley Hughes

  Joan shot a glance at Doreen. She thought how characteristic of her it was to have such a crazy, upbeat idea in the face of general dreariness. She was a wonderful friend, someone who could always be relied on to liven up even the most trivial event with a lot of laughs. She also had the confidence to stand up to bullies or anyone she thought was a “phoney”, and, above all, she was truly loyal.

  “OK, we could try it,” Joan said. “Let’s tell the others and try to fix a day.”

  Ross and Derek took a lot of persuading.

  “A bit chilly for a picnic, I should think,” Ross said. But when they heard that Brian, David and Ania were all game, and that Doreen might be able to get hold of some cakes, they decided to give it a go.

  When the day came, the cutting wind that usually blew in from the estuary seemed to have calmed down a little. Great hordes of seagulls soared and dipped over the shallow pools that the receding tide had left in the mud. There was nobody about.

  When Joan arrived with some plastic cups and plates that she had stolen from the attic, she found Ania already there, wrapped up warmly in the winter coat that her new hosts had found for her. It was several sizes too big, and her little face emerged eagerly from the turned-up collar. Ross and Derek were next. They had managed to get hold of some sticky buns. All four of them sat in a row on the less draughty side of the shelter and made desultory conversation while they waited for the others to arrive. As the afternoon light began to fade, Ross and Derek started to get restless.

  “Don’t think much of this picnic,” said Ross. “Looks as though the others aren’t going to turn up.”

  “They’ve probably found something better to do,” said Derek. “Let’s eat these buns and clear off!”

  Ania was disappointed. “A little while longer, yes? This is like special day for me, to be with my friends, when I am so hopeful that I see my Uncle Lukasz again soon. It make me so happy.”

  But almost as soon as she had spoken, Brian appeared, speeding along the deserted pavement on his bicycle. As he flung it down, they could see from the look on his face that he had bad news.

  “What’s wrong?” Joan asked him anxiously. “What’s happened to Doreen and David?”

  “They won’t be coming,” said Brian. “They’ll be at home with their mum. It’s all over town. Mr Russell’s been arrested for selling food on the black market!”

  CHAPTER 26

  The picnic was abandoned, of course.

  The news of Mr Russell’s arrest was so sudden, so completely unexpected, that Joan found it more dismaying even than Ronnie’s fall from grace. That such a serious allegation should be made against the father of her best friend was shocking. “And such a popular man too,” Mum said. “This will send shock waves through the whole community.”

  Mum explained that Mr Russell was being held for questioning with two other senior executives of the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board, where Mr Russell worked, with regard to black market offences.

  In the newspaper it said that a cover-up had been attempted, but “relentless police inquiries” had at last completed the case against them. “Access to transport to and from the docks would have been easy for people in such high authority to arrange,” the paper wrote. “A whole network of black marketeers, operating nationwide, is suspected of being involved in the distribution of goods throughout the country.”

  Joan’s first thought, when she heard the news, was for Doreen.

  “Do you think I should ring her up?” she asked Mum anxiously.

  Mum shook her head. “I don’t think you should, not yet, Joanie. They’ll be fending off all kinds of unwelcome attention from the press, and may not be answering the phone, anyway.”

  Doreen missed school for one day. She arrived the following morning looking rather pale but otherwise much as usual. Angela Travis and her gang were awaiting her arrival with gloating triumph. As soon as she walked into the classroom, Angela shot up her hand.

  “Well, what is it, Angela?” said Miss Sanderson.

  “Please can I have permission to change my desk?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I don’t want to sit next to Doreen Russell. My parents wouldn’t like me to mix with someone whose father is in trouble with the law. Someone who may even be a convicted criminal!”

  Miss Sanderson’s reply was scathing. “Please don’t be ridiculous, Angela. You know as well as I do that whatever is happening outside this school is not our concern. You are all here to learn and get on with your work, and not to be influenced by local gossip.”

  “But my father says—”

  “That’s quite enough. Now hurry up and get your books ready before the bell goes for prayers.”

  But everyone knew that this was just an opening salvo. Angela’s eyes were gleaming with satisfaction as she sat down. She knew that she only had to wait until mid-morning break time to mount her major assault.

  When the bell went, Joan, Doreen and Ania walked out into the playground, arm in arm. Angela and her gang were waiting for them, grouped in a tight huddle. They spread out to stand directly in their path. Everyone else melted away to a safe distance.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, Doreen,” Angela began. “We all know you’ve always thought of yourself as posher than most of us – you and your brother – with your big house and all that. But now your dad’s probably going to be sent to prison, things are a bit different, aren’t they?”

  Doreen lifted her chin up. She remained silent, but Joan felt her arm tremble a little.

  “Oh, shut up, Angela,” Joan said bravely. “We all know how much you love picking on anyone who’s in trouble. It’s your speciality, isn’t it? Kicking anyone who’s already down?”

  “Well, all I know is that my mum and dad say they’d never stoop to getting things on the black market, let alone dealing in it. They say it’s as unpatriotic as you can be. And they don’t want me to mix with people who do. I’d be ashamed if it was my dad. We all would. That’s why I don’t want to sit near someone like Doreen in class.”

  Before Joan could think of a good enough comeback, Ania suddenly stepped forward. To everyone’s surprise, she walked up and stood very close to Angela. When she spoke, her voice was quiet but very clear.

  “Perhaps you would wish Doreen to wear a yellow star?” she said. “Something so everyone will know she is too low for you or your friends to sit near? This I have seen done to many people, in Poland, before I come here. Perhaps you would like this to happen here? So you can feel more good about yourself. Mr Russell has bad trouble. So now you want us to forget the good things he has done? Like help my Uncle Lukasz when they want to send him to a military prison? Like find me a good place to live? Like to be always…”

  “Generous?” offered Joan.

  “Yes, generous. Something you never be, Angela, because you do not know how. And now you want that we all think bad of Doreen and her brother and Mrs Russell too, though we know nothing against any of them? When I come from Poland, I think here will be different. But now I find you and your friends just the same as those who drove us out!”

  There was a stunned silence. Nobody at school had ever heard quiet little Ania speak like that before. It took Angela some moments to collect herself. But as she opened her mouth to reply, her voice was drowned out by a rousing cheer from all those bystanders who were within earshot.

  When, at last, school was over for the day, Joan and Doreen trudged home together as they always did. It was their first opportunity to talk privately, but now Joan was at a loss to know what to say.

  Finally, Doreen broke the silence. “Thanks a lot for sticking up for me today. You and Ania. It was great what she said about my dad.”

  “Angela Travis and her rotten lot stink,” said Joan. “We all think so. Everyone else in the class was right behind you.”

  “You were all great. I couldn’t have faced it…” She paused, her voice faltering, then she went on. “I just keep worrying about
how David managed at his school today. He went in, of course. But he’s all buttoned up about it. Won’t talk to any of us, not even Mum…” She trailed off miserably.

  “You’ve all got lots of friends, don’t worry,” Joan said. “Brian will stick up for him.”

  “But no one will believe that none of us knew Dad was in such trouble, not even Mum. I can’t imagine how he managed to keep it all from us, especially her. He’s been a lot different since Ronnie Harper Jones got transferred, of course. Bad-tempered, snapping our heads off when we tried to talk to him, acting like he never has before. And at night I could hear Mum crying and him pacing around downstairs. David and I both knew what an awful state Mum was in. It was obvious. But she never let on how worried she was about not knowing what was wrong with Dad. She’s very good at keeping up appearances.”

  Abruptly, Doreen stopped walking and turned away. Joan knew she was crying.

  “That’s the trouble with this place,” Doreen said in a muffled voice, “especially now there’s a war on. We’re all supposed to keep cheerful − never say if you’re having a rotten time. Even when something like this happens, and your dad might get sent to prison and all that spiteful crowd at the Bluebell Cafe can’t wait to make mincemeat out of your mum, you have to carry on as usual, as though everything’s normal…”

  “I know,” Joan said with conviction. “I do know, believe me.”

  The following Saturday morning Mum announced that she was going to invite Mrs Russell for a coffee at the Bluebell Cafe.

  “But why the Bluebell?” exclaimed Audrey. “You never go there, Mum. You’ve always said you wouldn’t be seen dead there with that lot. And can you imagine what sort of reception the two of you will get now?”

  “That’s just why I want to go,” said Mum. “Sylvia Russell is my friend, and I want to show that crowd that whatever her husband may or may not be accused of, it will always be the case.”

  When Saturday morning came, Joan and Doreen insisted on tagging along to give moral support. A silence fell when they all walked in together and sat down at a table near the window. Slowly, conversation among the other customers was resumed. Nobody acknowledged them or offered a greeting. Two women rather abruptly called for their bill, gathered their belongings and left.

  When the coffee arrived, Mum chatted gallantly, and Mrs Russell did her best to behave normally. But Joan and Doreen remained helplessly silent.

  This was a terrible idea, Joan thought. But whatever happens, we’ve got to see it through now, for Mum’s sake, if nothing else. Sometimes she wished that Mum was not such a loyal person. It seemed to land her in so much trouble.

  They stuck it out for as long as they could, and then walked homewards together in silence, subdued by what had happened.

  When they got inside, Joan climbed up into her attic studio and sat there, fuming. She had always known that the Bluebell Cafe crowd were a lot of narrow-minded, snobbish old cats, but she had never been on the receiving end of their particular brand of spite before. It was terrible to see Mum and Mrs Russell snubbed like that, and not being able to do anything about it.

  “As soon as I’m old enough, and this horrible war is over, I’m getting out of here,” Joan muttered. “I don’t blame Brian for wanting to, and I will too. I’ll run away and go to art school, and never come back except to visit Mum and the family and see the few friends I like. I’ll live in an attic, so long as it is as far away from the Bluebell Cafe as possible!”

  CHAPTER 27

  Mr Russell and his suspect colleagues were released on bail after several days of questioning. It was thought that a big cover-up had been attempted, but nevertheless police enquiries had at last built up a strong case against them.

  After he returned home, the whole family withdrew into themselves and were hardly seen socially in the neighbourhood, although Mrs Russell was keeping up her war work. It was David and Doreen who faced the worst ordeal − that of having to turn up at school every day. Joan saw David cycling past their house a couple of times, but he failed to see her. Or, if so, he did not wave.

  Then, one day, Joan bumped into him quite by accident. He was walking Raffles, the family dog, in the lane which led down beside the golf course to the shore. He was trudging along, head down, shoulders hunched, and didn’t see her until they were almost face to face.

  Joan stopped, at a loss as to what to say. She began with a faltering greeting, but David cut her short straight away.

  “Don’t worry about trying to say it – about my dad, I mean. I’ve had rather a lot of it at school, you see. Most of my friends have been very decent about it all. And your mum and all your family have been great.” He looked away, and whistled to the dog.

  “Doreen’s been managing pretty well at school,” said Joan lamely.

  “Thanks. Thanks a lot for sticking up for her.” He paused, and when he looked back at her, she could not help noticing how pinched and pale his face was. “Dad had big debts, you see,” he said at last. “We none of us knew, of course. If only he’d told us – or Mum, at least – how bad it was. But he always liked entertaining and stuff. We wouldn’t have minded doing without at all, like everyone else, if only he’d asked us to. It never occurred to us. I did think it was a bit weird, all that tinned stuff with American labels in our store cupboard, but I never did anything about it, and neither did Doreen or Mum. We just sort of took it for granted. But those others – the people he was involved with – were in it far deeper. They were a lot more crooked than he was, and a lot more ruthless. But I guess things got so tricky that he couldn’t get out, no matter how much he wanted to. What finally finished it − made him sort of collapse in on himself − was when Derek got run down by that lorry, out by the old mill. Dad knew that they were using it to store hot goods, of course. But he couldn’t bear to think that he was in with people who could sink so low as to run down a teenage boy on purpose.”

  He picked up a stick and threw it, and Raffles duly obliged by joyfully retrieving it.

  “We’ll have to move out of our house, of course,” he said at last. “Help pay our debts. Go somewhere cheaper, out of this district probably. I know Mum would like to get away. Avoid all the locals whispering about us every time we go out.”

  “But what about school? Your Cambridge scholarship?”

  “That doesn’t matter much any more. I’ve more or less decided to pack it in, anyway. Join up as soon as I’m old enough.”

  “But…” Joan began, then stopped, realizing how painful any further discussion on the subject would be for him. Instead, she bent down and fondled Raffles’s ears. This revelation about them moving was such a blow that she needed time to digest it. The thought of losing Doreen was almost unbearable.

  David put Raffles on his lead.

  “Got to be getting back,” he said. “I’ve got lots of sorting out to do.”

  “You will hang onto your record collection, whatever happens, won’t you?”

  “Hope so.”

  “And the piano?”

  “Not so sure about that.”

  She watched him walk away, then set off briskly in the opposite direction. She managed to put a good distance between them before she started to cry.

  Saying goodbye to Doreen was far, far worse. The Russells’ move was planned for the spring. The “for sale” notice was already up outside their house, and they had found temporary rented accommodation on the other side of Liverpool, where they were more or less unknown – except, of course, to the police.

  Doreen was somehow managing to put a brave face on things, at least in public.

  “I only hope there’s a decent cinema somewhere near there,” she said to Joan. “But it won’t be much fun going on my own.”

  “We can talk on the phone. I’ll give you a full rundown on what’s been showing at the Queensway,” Joan replied. “Although I don’t suppose I’ll be going there often either. It won’t be nearly so much fun without you.”

  “Same here. The
only really good thing about leaving is not having to see Angela Travis and her gang ever, ever again.”

  “You could give her a stink bomb as a goodbye present.”

  “Good idea. But there’s sure to be another Angela Travis at my new school. There’s always at least one of her type wherever you fetch up. Ania found that out all right.”

  “Perhaps it’ll be nicer out there. Further away from the Blitz,” said Joan.

  “Maybe. But I’ll miss this place. I’ve never lived anywhere else, you see. I’ll miss our house, and looking out at the muddy old estuary, and my bedroom, and, most of all, my friends – you and Ania and Ross and Derek. Especially you.”

  “We’ll meet in Liverpool,” said Joan. “Go to a matinée at the big Odeon cinema, perhaps. They have a cafe there, and a cinema organ, and two feature films with an interval in between. And those usherettes in classy uniforms.”

  “Sounds great,” said Doreen. But Joan could see that her bravery was beginning to crack, and there were tears in her eyes.

  They had reached Joan’s house now, and hovered by the front gate, both completely lost for words. In the end, Doreen turned and walked away without saying anything, waving casually over her shoulder as she always did, but not looking back.

  Brian and David had never been such good friends as Joan and Doreen were, but they had become much closer since the case against Mr Russell had become public knowledge.

  “He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Brian told Joan while they were washing up. “And I don’t blame him. The one thing none of them can bear is all this local gossip. But there’s one weird thing I found out. You know when Ronnie was being investigated by the police for being the Mr Black Market? Well, it turns out that he was pretty small beer compared with Mr Russell. And David says that Ronnie never split on him, never told them anything that might incriminate him or any of the Russell family. In that respect, at least, he was a loyal friend. So perhaps the old blighter had a bit of good in him after all. Although,” he added, “that doesn’t rule him out as being the biggest creep in the Western hemisphere in all other respects!”