by Milly Adams
He remembered the brown paper bag into which Phyllie had put some slices of Christmas cake for Miss Deacon. ‘Just a minute,’ he called and returned for the bag. He didn’t like the cake really, because there was no icing, but he wouldn’t tell anyone that because Miss F and Phyllie had been so proud of it.
He stroked Francois. ‘It’s Dan. Be a good boy, I’ll be back later.’ He shut the kitchen door behind him, and rushed down the hall, opening the door. ‘Sorry—’ he began. It was Ron, not Dan, standing on the front step in the gloom of the late afternoon and he was panting, as though he’d been running. He had a black eye too. Jake stepped back in surprise.
Ron said, ‘Thought you’d never come. I heard you call Dan’s name, but he’s at the pond, helping Mr Andy with a pram he was bringing for Miss Phyllie. The wheel’s fallen off. I said I’d come to get you to help because Mr Andy said Miss Phyllie was too big to help. So can you? I know we ain’t been friends, but I feel bad. I thought if I said I’d fetch you it might make it better.’
Jake felt confused and a bit nervous, trying to think if Mr Andy had said anything about a pram. He didn’t think so. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I’d better ask Miss F and I should take Francois too. Why’s your eye all bruised?’
Ron reached out a hand. ‘I slid on the ice. Look, I’m sorry about your dad, that’s why I came to the pond for the prayers. I’m lucky, mine’s still alive. Come on, I’ll show you where, it’s only by the pond. We can do it, the four of us. You, me, Dan and Mr Andy.’
Jake hesitated, trying to decide if Ron was really being nice. Ron dropped his hand to his side and shrugged. ‘I’m only trying to help, for once.’
Jake thought he looked different, sort of awkward, almost scared, not as though he was going to shove and push. And he had come to the pond for the service, and if he was being helpful, then it would be rude to be difficult. And what would Mr Andy think if he said no? He said, ‘I need to get Francois and then I’ll come.’
Ron bit his lip, then said, ‘Nah, we don’t need ’im. He’ll get in the way.’
Jake insisted, half turning, ‘I’ll just get him.’ At that, Ron grabbed him by his mackintosh collar, pulling him right up against him. ‘You think you’re such a clever little snot, don’t you? OK, there’s no pram, but we’ve got Dan, and we won’t let him go until you come, so don’t make a noise. Eddie wants to talk to you about telling tales. He thinks you’ve talked about the sugar, because the police saw him trying to sell some yesterday. He thinks they’ve been watching him. We’ve got your mate, so you’d better come or he gets hurt.’ His breath stank of cigarettes, and something else? It was a bit like Eddie’s cider, and Jake was frightened, but they had Dan. Ron said, ‘Come on, if you want to help your friend. Come on, or I’ll get it too, I’ll really get it.’ His voice really did sound scared.
Jake tried to pull free, but then he thought of Dan and in the end he let Ron drag him down the path. As he did so, Bryan stepped out from behind the buddleia bush and Jake’s heart sort of stopped, and his legs felt funny, and he wanted to pee himself. Bryan grabbed his other arm. Jake tried to call out, but he couldn’t find his voice. His mouth was moving, but that was all.
Bryan said against his ear, ‘Not a sound, if you don’t want your friend hurt. Do you think we don’t know where you were going tonight? We know everything, so we got to him before he reached you.’ He was dragging him out into the street and along the road. Jake tried to pull away, but Bryan twisted his arm. Jake felt his hand open, and the bag of cake dropped. The front door of Myrtle Cottage was still open, and Miss F would feel the cold and come. She’d bring Francois. He’d attack them.
Bryan hissed at Ron, ‘Door’s open. Go and shut it, I’ve got him, and don’t you call anyone either, Ron.’
Jake could have cried as Ron tore back, closing the door quietly, before catching back up with them. Bryan had put his arm around Jake’s shoulders and gripped him tightly. ‘One sound and Dan pays for your loudmouthed rubbish. Tell the cops, would you?’ Jake was shaking his head. Bryan pulled him closer. ‘Well, it must have been you, because if it’d been Ron he’d have told us after the whacking Eddie gave him. Eddie’s got to go to court, he has, and that’s got to be at your door. You need to be taught a lesson that everyone can see, to stop any more of this gobbing.’
Ron and Bryan pulled him along. Dan was waiting, Jake thought, and it wasn’t fair to leave him with them, so he didn’t shout out, instead he stumbled and slid on the snow, along with them. They passed Old Stan who peered through the half-light, and said, ‘You boys had better be good tonight, don’t want to start 1942 on a bad note.’
Bryan laughed. ‘It’ll be a good one for us.’
They hurried him, skidding a bit on the frozen snow, until they reached the pond, which was black and still, though the snow was white and threw back some light. They carried on to Haydock Field, and the stone store where Francois had been locked when they were washing the sheep. ‘Where’s Dan?’ Jake asked, hearing the hoarseness of his own voice.
‘In the shed, waiting for you,’ Ron said, when poked by Bryan.
Jake knew he wasn’t. He knew he’d been tricked. But even as he thought it, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps Dan was in there, and couldn’t speak. It was like his mother. She’d gone to help her parents, though she sort of knew the Germans would come. She must have known that she might be made to scrub pavements like her cousin, but still she went. So how could he not go in? As he stepped forward he understood why she left him, at last. It felt like the last piece of a puzzle was in place.
He entered the darkness. It smelled of damp sacks, and was empty. It was no surprise, there was just a deepening of the fear. He was pushed to the back of the store, and a torch with the blackout slit shone in his face. He couldn’t see anything other than the light, but then the beam played across Ron and Bryan’s faces. Then Eddie’s. Crowding beside and behind him were the three other members of the gang, one of whom held the torch. Eddie gave the command in a harsh whisper and they all stood to attention and gave the fascist salute, grunting, ‘PJ.’
‘Is that right, then, Ron?’
Ron said, ‘Yes, that’s how my dad does it.’ His voice sounded funny, almost as though he was trying not to cry.
Jake didn’t understand what PJ meant, but he did understand the roll of tape that Bryan had dragged from his pocket. He unpeeled a length, tearing it with his teeth. He stuck it across Jake’s mouth as Eddie grinned beside him. Bryan ripped more tape from the roll, tore it across, again with his teeth. Eddie grabbed Jake’s shoulders and turned him round, and muttered to Ron, ‘Hold his arms together then, behind his back.’
Ron said, ‘Why? We’re only ducking him, aren’t we? He’ll need his arms to swim.’ His voice was shaking now.
Eddie hissed, ‘Shut your noise, else someone will ’ear. They’ve only got to pass down from the farm, or along the road, you bloody fool. Arnold, get the Yid’s arms.’
Another of the gang shoved Ron out of the way, and wrenched Jake’s arms behind him, hurting his shoulders. He felt the tape wound round and round.
‘But why?’ Ron persisted. ‘I’m telling you ’e can’t swim if we push him off the jetty. That’s not fair. It’s not right. That Phyllie sent money to me mum, Jake told me. Yes, I was angry, but she’s kind, and he’s just a kid, and his dad’s dead. It’s not right, I’m telling you. It’s all daft.’
‘Hold his feet,’ Eddie ordered. Another boy knelt, grabbing Jake’s ankles. Jake kicked out, catching his face. Eddie punched him in the stomach. It doubled him over and took his breath. He felt sick.
‘Leave him alone. What’re you doing to him?’ Ron was shouting now, and Eddie hit him too, and now Ron doubled over, gasping, and vomited over Eddie’s boots.
Eddie whispered, ‘Dirty pig. I told you to keep it down. ’E dobbed us in, and now he needs to learn a lesson, all you vacees do. You lot are nothing but trouble.’
Ron was on the ground, coughing and retching. ‘I
f you throw him in he’ll drown.’ He was dribbling in the light from the torch, and Jake saw Bryan nudging his brother, and grinning. Bryan said, ‘Don’t be daft, we’re not going to drown him. I told you, we’re teaching him a lesson and you’re coming along, because you’ll run off, as sure as eggs is eggs, and tell them damned teachers. You’re just a coward, Ron Cummins. A right floppy townee, you was never one of us, just a vacee, that’s all.’
Ron scrambled, retching, to his feet, and he was grabbed, but not taped. Eddie and two others lugged Jake up, carrying him between them as though he was a log. He struggled. Eddie bent over him. ‘Shut up, or I’ll visit your Phyllie and she’ll get it next, and that bastard she’s carrying.’
Jake lay still, because Phyllie mustn’t be hurt, and he wished he’d never said a word to the policeman.
They didn’t need the torch outside, the moon was bright now. Jake was lifted and carried between them and was jogged about as they walked along the edge of the pond. Snow made everything seem quiet. It was strange to be carried, to see just the sky, and the top half of these big boys. He had no idea of the time, he had no idea of anything. In front of him he could see the top half of Ron, who hadn’t said another word, but was being dragged along by Eddie, who had hold of his arm. On the shoulder of one of the bigger boys was a coiled rope.
They headed for the woods, and behind him, on the other side of the hedge and the pond, he heard Mr Andy leading Destiny, Desmond and Doris from their field to the stables, talking to them, as Jake talked to Francois.
He wriggled again, but Eddie whispered over his shoulder, ‘You’re taped, so no point in struggling.’ He stopped. Ron was looking over his shoulder, in the direction of Mr Andy’s voice, but he made no sound either.
As they entered the woods, Eddie said, ‘We could try the big oak in the middle, or there’s the other one, near the edge, but anything that’s big and will take a rope.’
Ron swung round, his voice a hoarse whisper, ‘You’re mad.’ An owl hooted, then another. Somewhere a fox screamed.
Eddie laughed quietly; the others too. He said, ‘He’s a Yid. It’s what your dad would do. These bloody Jews caused the war, just like that Jew Churchill. The poor old King is trying to keep us safe from the Commies and the Jews, so we need to do our bit. You told us that’s what he said.’
Ron said, ‘Churchill’s not a Jew, not really. Dad just says it.’
Bryan came alongside Ron. ‘That’s bollocks. You said Perish Judea like the rest of us.’
Jake was sore from the way their fingers dug in as they carried him, but at last he knew what PJ meant, and now he was really really frightened and he peed himself. It dripped onto the ground as they walked. No one saw, but they might smell it.
Something woke Miss F at five o’clock but when she listened, heaving herself up on her pillows, she heard nothing. She thought it was must have been Dan banging on the door, and anyway, it was time she got up, or she wouldn’t sleep later. Her head was splitting, but a cup of hot chamomile would do her good.
She dragged a shawl around her shoulders, put on her slippers, and made her way downstairs. She opened the kitchen door, and Francois almost bowled her over in his rush to get into the hall. He tore to the front door, and whined. She called, ‘Oh come here, you silly dog. Dan’s come for him, and you and I will have to keep one another company. You can’t go everywhere with your lord and master.’
He wouldn’t come and she hadn’t the voice to shout, so she hurried down the hallway and dragged him into the kitchen, shutting the door and sending him to his rug in front of the Aga. She lifted the kettle from the simmer plate and put it onto the booster and while it heated she sat and stroked his head, and smiled. ‘You and I are to keep one another company while the others are out having fun, though I’m not sure that tea and buns with the vicar quite meets that criterion. Perhaps cycling through the village with your best friend does.’
Chapter Nineteen
THE CLOCK ON the mantelpiece chimed and Miss F jerked awake, checking the time. Nine thirty. She was still drowsy, still poorly. She tightened the scarf around her neck, and reached down to stroke Francois but he wasn’t there.
She heard him then, whining, at the back door. Ah, it must be Phyllie. Perhaps she’d met Peter and Jake on their way back? She felt so thick-headed it was hard to think and it really was time she gave up on the evening and tottered up the wooden hill to her bed.
She waited, but there was no Phyllie. She topped up the kettle through the spout, wincing as the water caught an edge and sprayed her. She shook the splashes off her scarf, and placed the kettle on the booster plate. Tonight she’d have a hot water bottle, a proper one that would warm the small of her back, and keep her scarf on. At her feet she put one of the bricks they’d brought in and warmed in the oven. There, top and tailed, and tomorrow she’d feel a new woman.
She looked up at the photograph of Catherine Harvey. She reached out and touched it. ‘I do miss you, but thank heavens for my little family, and now Joe. You’d raise your eyebrows, but he’s a real dear, you know. I’m so glad you died with Melanie near. You know that Jack and Sylvia named their baby after her? How sweet is that? I’m still angry, though, my dearest Catherine, that either of you had to die at all.’
Within a few moments the kettle lid was rattling. She whipped the kettle off the hot plate before the whistle could start, and poured half onto the tea leaves in the pot, leaves that had only been used twice today. She left it to brew on the side plate. She kept talking because there were times when she didn’t like a quiet house. ‘Joe would like us to be … well, more than we are. We kissed, Catherine. At our age, for goodness’ sake. It was nice. We kissed again, but I have my little family here, and I feel, just at the moment at least, I’m not sure I want to move up to something else, if you know what I mean? Well, of course you do, you always did. He says to take my time, and so I shall.’
She filled her hot water bottle, and sat back in her chair, clasping it to her midriff, before slipping it behind her. The Aga was easing out heat, as it always did, but the hot water bottle was comforting. She felt she was brewing a temperature and simply hadn’t the time to deal with that, what with the WI, the salvage, after-school rotas, the preparations for school, though Phyllie, bless her, helped beyond measure working on those preparations at home, unofficially and unpaid. She heard the side gate, and so did Francois, who hadn’t moved from the back door. It opened, and she watched Phyllie start to enter, bringing in the cold, which clung to her mackintosh and hat. There was snow on her boots.
Miss F stood, and busied herself at the Aga, saying, ‘Come by the range. I’ve tea in the pot, and will do cocoa for you, Jake.’ She looked round, and saw only Phyllie on the doormat, her left boot half off.
‘Jake? He should have been home an hour ago.’
Phyllie pulled her boot back on. Francois tried to push past her to get to the door again. She was tired, and Miss Deacon had promised. Still, it was New Year’s Eve and these things happened. She said, ‘It’s all right, he’ll have overstayed so I’ll go out again and get him.’ It was so cold it was the last thing she wanted to do, but at least she’d had some rather delicious sausage rolls, a miracle in these rationed times, and she blessed Sylvia’s careful padding of the sausage meat from the Pig Club.
She yanked her hat back on, sent Francois to his rug, but he wouldn’t stay. She shrugged and laughed at Miss F. ‘I’ll take him, but on his lead or he’ll barge past Miss Deacon and upset her ornaments. I can’t cope with that embarrassment again. He can do his business while we’re out. You stay by the fire, and leave the cosy on the teapot. I won’t be long. You keep warm, now.’
She trudged along the road, slipping from time to time, especially with Francois pulling on the lead. He wanted to go the other way – to the fields, she supposed. Her back ached, and she felt as though she should hold her belly with both hands to stop it pulling her to the ground. ‘Well, Charlie,’ she muttered, ‘you’re getting to b
e big, aren’t you, with feet that kick soundly. Go to sleep now.’
She opened Miss Deacon’s front gate. The house was just past the post box, which must be handy, as a favourite niece was in the WAAF and letters could just be slipped into its gaping mouth. The path was cleared, which made things feel much safer. She knocked, and waited. There was the sound of the wireless in the front room, which Miss Deacon didn’t usually use, but she supposed it ‘came out’ over Christmas. The blackout was drawn across the door, and parted. When she saw Phyllie she looked puzzled, then smiled. She called back, ‘Douse the lights, Dan, there’s a love.’
She opened the front door and slipped onto the step. ‘Happy New Year to you, Phyllie, it’s so nice of you to call. How is Jake now? Dan was disappointed but we thought you had other plans. He knocked and no one came to the door.’
Phyllie’s breathing stopped. ‘What do you mean?’ Now she breathed again, but it was shallow, and rapid.
Miss Deacon said, ‘Just that. He came, knocked, there was no reply, so he came home. We thought you must have forgotten and all gone out. Francois barked, but that was all. Are you all right, Phyllie?’
Phyllie was hurrying back along their path now, gasping, and holding her belly. Francois pulled on the lead, wanting to go ahead, but she hurried to Myrtle Cottage and down the side path. She slammed into the kitchen. ‘Miss F, did you have a sleep?’
Miss F was in her armchair, sipping her tea. She stared, trying to catch up. ‘Yes. Why? Where’s Jake?’ She jumped to her feet. The mug dropped to the floor, its contents soaking into the rug. She came to Phyllie. ‘Oh God, why are you asking?’
Phyllie was shaking her head, as Francois whined, straining to be out again. ‘Dan came, knocked and went away again, thinking we’d forgotten. But where is he? Where’s Jake? Why didn’t he take Francois?’ She could hear her own voice ending on some sort of ridiculous screech, as Miss F reached for the table for support.
