Above Us the Sky

by Milly Adams

  Miss F said, ‘Something woke me, I thought it was Dan collecting him, I came down at about five and Francois was here, and Jake had gone. I thought … Oh my God, Phyllie. Why would he go out without Francois?’

  There was a knocking on the back door now. It was Peter, Miss Deacon’s nephew. ‘I was telling Auntie I saw the Great Mitherton gang in the village, with that Ron, earlier on. They were hanging about down your end. I was cycling, bit slippy but all right, and I didn’t think anything of it, because they went on to towards the pond.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About three or four o’clock.’

  Phyllie pulled him in. He snatched off his woollen hat, and crushed it in his large hands. His nose was red, and he smelled of beer. Even under-age Scouts drank, then, on New Year’s Eve. ‘I was at the pub, and Auntie Anne nipped in to see me, to tell me. Mr Burley said he’d get up a search party.’

  Miss F was clinging to the kitchen chair for support. ‘We need to think. I’m going to phone Joe, in case he’s gone there.’

  ‘Why would he go there, without Francois?’ Phyllie shrieked, but Miss F was already in the hall. Three or four o’clock? But that could have been for any reason. And Jake had been here when she left, so it probably meant nothing. Stupid woman, she knew it meant something. He wouldn’t forget Dan. ‘Where do we start? It’s dark; he could be anywhere.’

  Peter said, ‘Sit down, Miss Phyllie. Sit.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘We could follow Francois. He’ll know.’ She looked round for Francois, but he was gone, and the back door was open. Peter said, ‘I’ll go out after him, he’ll have left a trail.’

  He ran out, just as Miss F came back into the kitchen, shaking her head. ‘No, he’s not with Joe and Andy, but they’re coming down the track, looking. We mustn’t worry, Joe said.’

  Miss F was heaving herself into her mackintosh, and hauling on her gumboots. ‘Come on, we’ve got to use Francois, Peter’s right. He’s gone off to try and catch up with him. Do come on, Phyllie.’

  But Phyllie was already out of the back door. ‘Catch me up, Miss F. You’ll need your scarf.’ She hurried down the side, then out of the front gate, to the right she kicked something. She picked it up. The paper bag with cake. Clever darling Jake. They must have gone this way. She hurried as fast as she dared, towards the pond, holding her belly. She was forced to slow to a fumbling walk after slipping and nearly falling. Peter was clearly visible in the moonlight cycling back from the lower end. ‘No sign, no sound of the wretched dog. I’ll go up to the top end now.’

  ‘He dropped his paper bag full of cake,’ she called. ‘It’s a clue. I’m heading towards the pond.’

  She moved onto the untrampled snow at the verge, hearing Miss F blowing her nose behind her. She shouldn’t be out, but they needed everyone. She called back to Peter, ‘Please thank Mr Burley; we need everyone, do you hear? We need absolutely everyone’s help.’ He was so far away that she didn’t know if he could hear, but he waved without turning. She began to cry, and dragged her hand across her face. Shut up, no time now. She had reached the point where the graveyard started when she saw someone running and sliding towards her – a boy, surely.

  ‘Jake, Jake,’ she cried.

  It was Ron. He was crying, his nose was bleeding and dripping onto his mackintosh. He stopped, bending over, and blood dripped onto the snow, visible in the moonlight. ‘They made me get him, miss. I got away, I didn’t want that, I tried to stop it. They hit me first, then sent me to find him. I made him come, because I was scared. I thought they’d duck him for gobbing on us, but they’ve got a rope. Two of them took me back to the stone store by the stream just as they got into the woods. They stuck that tape over my mouth, and some on me wrists, behind me back. They locked me in, but I got me hand free, I shouted but no one heard. They thought I’d get help, you see, and I wanted to. I tried but I couldn’t get out. I undid a hinge with me penknife; that’s what I did. They didn’t know I had it.’

  She shook him. ‘What do you mean, they’ve got a rope.’

  ‘We’ve got to find him. They was going to hang him in the woods, I think. Might be an old oak tree, but I don’t know. He’s a Yid and they said they’d teach any other gobbers and Yids a lesson. They taped me, like they taped him. But he couldn’t get free, there were too many. I should have fought ’em, but there was too many.’

  Phyllie couldn’t grasp the words. These were children. What did he mean, hang him? Gobbers? But he was pulling her back, down the road, and now Miss F was with her. ‘Come on,’ Ron was saying. ‘We’ve got to follow Francois. He passed me, he’ll have a scent.’

  Peter was skidding to a halt beside them. ‘Nothing at the top end.’

  ‘He’s in the woods,’ Phyllie called. ‘Francois is on the trail. Hurry the helpers.’ But he was already cycling towards the pub. She hurried then, clinging to Miss F’s arm, and at the turn-off to the farm Andy and Joe were waiting. Ron told them again, and Joe thrust a handkerchief at him. ‘Wipe that nose, lad.’

  Andy passed around torches. ‘Phyllie, take Miss F home. We’ll find him.’ His voice was shaking, and he wouldn’t look at them. ‘Ron, come with us. You’ve done well.’

  Phyllie cried out then, ‘What do you mean, he’s done well? He was with them, he took my boy.’ She launched herself at Ron, but Andy stepped between them, his arms out. He wore a hook. It glinted. She hadn’t seen it before. He held her gently against him and said, quietly but firmly, into her hair, ‘Now is not the time, Phyllie. We need to find your boy, and this lad put himself in harm’s way to help. We need to go, and you must head off home and look after Charlie. Can I let you go because we haven’t time for this?’

  Joe and Miss F were already heading to the woods, with Ron. Phyllie rested her head on Andy’s chest. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, and you’re quite right, but I love him so much.’ She pulled away. ‘Come on.’ She headed after the others. Andy caught her up. ‘That’s a no to staying at home, then?’

  She didn’t bother to answer, but waved him on. ‘Go ahead, Andy, find him. I can’t run and you can.’ She heard voices behind her, and turning, she saw what seemed like hundreds of narrow blackout beams of torchlight jogging as people ran towards her. Mr Burley passed her with ease. ‘Don’t worry, lass, we’ll find him.’

  She called, ‘Talk to Andy, he knows about it all.’

  ‘Right you are, go steady.’ They were all running on past, puffing and panting, and there was Jack Thompson too. They would be forced to slow when they reached the woods, or stumble into trees, or over roots. The smell of cider had been like a cloud, bless them; it was New Year’s Eve, they were celebrating, and now this.

  Where was he? Hanged? Hanged? How could children do this to one another? How could beliefs be so corrupt? Or was it just a stupid game? Please, let it be that. Hanged? She twisted her ankle, and nearly fell. ‘Where are you, Jake?’

  She had left the pond behind, and the ducks they had disturbed. She could hear the distant barking, and voices shouting. At the edge of the woods, Miss F waited for her, and they were joined by Mrs Symes and Mrs Speedie. Miss Deacon was staying in with Dan, in case he took off, trying to help, and made things worse, Peter said, as he ran past them. They heard Joe and Andy calling to Francois, who was barking in the distance, high-pitched and desperate. But where was the damned dog? How much time did they have? Had they any? Was it all too late?

  The women hurried on. They could hear the men calling to one another, but there was no, ‘We’ve got him, he’s fine.’ Just an increasing desperation as they searched. How could they ever find him or the dog in this darkness? She shouted then, cupping her hands round her mouth, ‘Francois, here, come here, now.’

  Why hadn’t she done that earlier? Where were her brains? The barking stopped for a moment, and then began again but drawing closer. Miss F joined her, and together they called him, ‘Francois, come here. Come here.’

  He burst through the bushes then, like an arrow. Miss F b
rought out his rope lead from her pocket. Phyllie smiled at her. ‘You think of everything.’ She put the noose over his head, holding the end tightly, shouting, ‘I have Francois. Find him then, find our boy.’ Her voice wasn’t calm, it came out as almost a scream.

  She took a breath. ‘Come on, boy.’ Jake mustn’t notice her fear if he heard her calling. Inside, though, the panic was building, brick upon brick. She stared at the noose around Francois’ neck, at the way he pulled, choking as he led them. Miss F took him from her. ‘We can’t have you being tugged like that, Charlie might think it’s time to pop out, and we have enough to do without fumbling about delivering a child in the snow.’

  Her voice was a poor attempt at heartiness, and she was coughing continually. ‘You should be home in bed,’ Phyllie panted.

  ‘If I’d been up, this wouldn’t have happened.’ Miss F’s voice was broken, but then she straightened. ‘But it will be all right. We’re on the trail now.’

  Phyllie held Miss F’s hand. ‘They’d have got him some time, you know what they’re like.’

  Miss F didn’t answer, just held on grimly to the lead, calling, ‘He’s heading in the direction of the old oak. I think Ron mentioned it, didn’t he? But it’s too hard to find in the dark.’

  Phyllie stood still, holding her side. She had a stitch, and Charlie was headbutting. She cupped her hands again and called, ‘Head for the old oak, Francois is going in that direction. He’s pulling us that way. Quick, all of you, for God’s sake.’

  Mrs Symes took up the call, and further ahead John Myers, from the top end, echoed it. All along the line, the call was carried, as they wove under snow-heavy branches and over roots. When they were much nearer to the oak, Miss F called back to Phyllie, ‘Shall I let him off? But what if that’s not where he’s headed?’

  Phyllie was straddling a fallen log, her gumboots heavy with clumped snow, but she was over now. She stumbled, righted herself, and plodded on. ‘I don’t know. No, let’s keep him. If he’s not there, then we have to start again. Let him take us.’ Francois was yelping now, trying to run. Phyllie didn’t know where she was in the darkness, and blundered into branches. They hurt. Snow fell, but what did it matter?

  ‘Where are you, Jake? Stay alive, stay calm. I’ll kill those little devils. Where are you? Isaac, help him. Sammy, please be there for him. Look up at the sky, Jake, remember I’m under the same one. I’ll kill them, kill them. Find him, Andy.’ She was alongside Miss F, who was coughing and wheezing.

  Miss F said, ‘Save your breath, I’ll kill them, if anyone does. It’s that Eddie if it’s anyone. Like his father he is.’

  Mrs Symes was with them, they were almost running as Francois wrenched Miss F’s arm. She said, ‘He’s trying to be a big gangster, stupid boy. It’ll be a prank. It’s got to be.’

  There was shouting, a lot of it, not far ahead. ‘We’re here. We’ve got him.’

  Miss F said, ‘I’m letting him off; come on, Phyllie.’ She let Francois go, and he was off, kicking up leaves and snow in his wake. Phyllie was really running now, with the other women, and Charlie would just have to cope. The breath was jolting in her throat. Jake, Jake.

  The shouting had stopped. Instead, there was utter silence. An owl hooted, but that was all. The women ran on.

  ‘Oh no, please no,’ Miss F was crying, really crying, and the clearing was ahead. They passed banks of rhododendrons, and thinning silver birches and young beech saplings. They could see the moonlight up above, casting shadows. Joe was ahead of them, with Ron. Joe faced them, his arms held out, and John Myers was there too, stopping them. There was no noise except for the whining of Francois and Ron’s crying.

  Joe said, ‘Wait, a minute, just for a minute. Let Andy sort it out.’ But Phyllie and then Miss F burst past, tearing into the darkness beneath the oak. The men were gathered there, but parted to let them through. Andy crouched, with Jack Thompson by his side. Andy was kneeling now, on the ground, busy. Jack too. Then came the sound of Jake’s voice, weak but clear. ‘Thank you, Mr Andy. Thank you.’

  ‘Let’s be having you now, Jake. I expect you’re numb with cold.’ Phyllie watched as Andy lifted her boy up in his arms. He’d been wrapped in Andy’s mackintosh. He turned, shivering in his shirtsleeves, Phyllie saw.

  ‘Here’s someone who’s aged a fair bit over the last hour or so, young man. He was tied to the trunk of the tree, but he’s safe and sound, ladies. Just cold. Very cold.’

  Phyllie was stroking Jake’s face, kissing away the tears that ran like a stream across his cheeks. Some, though, were hers. Andy laughed his relief, and said, ‘The little buggers. They just meant to frighten him, I reckon. But it’s too damned cold, and he could have been here all night. Just think of that, young Jake. These women would have been grey-haired by the morning. Just think how they’ll be from now on, when you’re late home from the pub, or from taking a girl out.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Andy, I don’t like girls.’

  Joe said, ‘You will lad, you will.’ He patted him as Andy walked on.

  Jake said, ‘I expect I’m heavy, you can put me down and I’ll walk, Mr Andy.’

  ‘Light as a feather, you are, Jake,’ Andy said. ‘Let’s keep going as we are, shall we?’

  Miss F was rubbing Jake’s shoulder, and bunching her scarf up round his neck. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry. I was asleep so I didn’t hear them.’

  Joe had hold of Ron’s arm, now, as the men passed by, looking at him, then away, fury in their rigid shoulders. Ron hung his head until Jack Thompson came to him. ‘You did well, young Ron. You tried to help.’ He raised his voice, calling after all those who had come to search. ‘Thank you all, and we do need to thank Ron. This would have happened anyway, whether he was there or not, and he stood against them, in the end, when the chips were down. Without his help, I dread to think …’

  The men hesitated, then Mr Burley called, ‘Right you are, Vicar, if you say so. I’ll have a pint ready for you on the bar when these youngsters are in bed, where they damn well should be.’ There was anger in his voice, just as there was in Phyllie’s heart.

  She walked beside Andy, reaching over to keep hold of Jake’s hand and his grip was so tight it hurt until he seemed to sleep and released his grip. They straggled on home through the woods. Mrs Symes had taken the arm of John Myers, and Joe stuck like glue to Miss F’s side. She was coughing fit to burst. Behind them trailed Ron and Jack, talking quietly.

  Phyllie stayed by Andy’s side. As they walked she heard the chattering of Andy’s teeth, and removed her scarf, draping it round his neck. ‘You’ll smell of lavender,’ she said, ‘and have all the girls running after you.’ She tucked Andy’s mackintosh up around Jake’s neck, and pulled up her own collar, her hands shaking, and not from the cold, but from remembered terror, and continuing fear, because this child had become dreadfully cold.

  Jake opened his eyes. ‘Mr Andy, I really can walk if I’m too heavy.’

  Andy grinned down at him. ‘I’ve carried far heavier loads than you, lad, so it’s a doddle.’

  Jake closed his eyes again, and his voice was drowsy when he murmured, ‘Phyllie, I looked up at the sky like you and Sammy did. I looked up and I knew you were under the same sky, and I knew you’d find me. Ron tried to help me. They were horrid to him.’

  They walked on. After a moment, when Phyllie could trust her voice, she replied, ‘I’ll always find you, always, wherever you are.’

  She thought he had fallen asleep again, but he was still talking. She bent to hear, clutching his hand. Andy listened too. ‘I thought of Dad and Mum. I wanted to be brave for them. I hope Dad hasn’t forgotten me, because I haven’t forgotten him. Do you think he has, Phyllie? Forgotten me?’

  She shook her head, trying to speak. She tried again. ‘Of course he hasn’t, darling boy. He will never ever forget you.’

  Behind her, there was silence for a moment between Jack and Ron and then the murmuring started again, but this time it was louder. She heard Ron say, ‘I
took the first lot of sugar, and blamed Jake. I sent the money I got to me mum, so she’d come and see me but she didn’t. Then, at Christmas, Jake said miss had sent money to me mum too. I hated him for that, for telling me. Hated him. Then they took more sugar and thought they’d do it again and again, but they couldn’t find it. Then Jake dobbed us in with the fire, and now they hate vacees. It’s gone daft, it’s all strange, and I don’t know what to do now.’

  Jack Thompson said, ‘War causes problems, my dear boy. We just have to do what we think is right.’

  Phyllie felt Miss F clutch her hand. ‘Oh, Phyllie, it’s so dreadfully awful. These are children.’

  Phyllie leaned over and kissed Jake’s head; Charlie kicked. She replied, ‘Not everything is awful. We have Jake, that’s a start, and it’s a new year, that’s another.’

  They walked along, their little group of seven, eight with Francois, and Phyllie wondered if Ron’s ‘hero’ father was enjoying his new year, safely tucked up in clink at his majesty’s pleasure, alongside his other BUF friends. And what about Ron’s mother? Was she in the pub, celebrating?

  As they reached the edge of the wood, she dropped back and walked alongside Ron. She took his hand, expecting him to shrug away, but he didn’t. She said, ‘Thank you for saving my boy, Ron. I will never forget it. It is a precious thing to save a life, while putting your own in danger. The Jews say that those who save a life save the world entire, or something like that. Just remember you have done a good thing this evening, something to be proud of.’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’ He paused. ‘Do you think my dad has forgotten me?’

  She said, ‘Of course he hasn’t. Fathers never forget a child, ever. Letters are difficult when people are fighting, especially in the desert. It’s probably just that he’s somewhere where there’s no way to get a letter home. He could be in the middle of something important.’