A Wartime Friend

by Lizzie Lane

  Hammer in hand, he kept to the path, his feet never straying on to the turned earth of the garden so no footprints would be left. Thieving in London had taught him a lot and so too had some of the criminals he’d encountered. A wooden lean-to shielded the shambolic back door from the worst of the weather. The back of the house was pitch-black making the lean-to hard to distinguish, but from memory he knew where it was and its approximate size.

  Inside the construction was somehow even darker than outside. Bert clutched his hammer, relishing the thought of what he was about to do. Reaching into the darkness, his fingers met the iron latch that was keeping the door closed. It was stiff but lifted when he gave it a tug. Suddenly, just when he was about to push it inwards, a light came on. Surprised, he jumped back and collided with the zinc bath hanging on the wall. The bath jangled against the uneven wall like a church bell on Sunday. The dog began to bark.

  Before anyone could challenge him, he was off, stumbling through the dark garden, branches scratching his face as he climbed the apple tree. The sharp stones set into the top of the wall to hinder intruders cut into his palms. He swore when he dropped the hammer on the garden side. His fingerprints would be on the handle but there was nothing he could do about it. Resigned to whatever happened, he let himself go, landing on the gravelly surface of the lane.

  Inside Bluebell Cottage, his hearing attuned to the smallest sounds, Rudy heard the footfall of feet on loose stone. He barked wildly when the back door rattled as somebody on the outside tried to force it.

  PC Carter, having just returned from Rethman’s Farm, decided to do a quick walk around the village before making his way to the dance. All seemed peaceful until he closed on Bluebell Cottage. Rudy was barking, his tone sharp with warning. As he neared the cottage he saw the light in the downstairs window. Meg wasn’t usually so careless, but perhaps in her present state she wasn’t thinking straight. He’d heard women acted differently at certain times of their lives. Pregnancy was one of those times. Forgetting the blackout, she might even have considered leaving the light on as a deterrent to burglars, especially after hearing about the recent thefts in the village. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t leave the dog barking like that. Best, he decided, to let Meg know and have her deal with it.

  Heads turned when he entered the village hall, carefully closing the blackout behind him. He saw Meg talking with an American airman and immediately felt a pang of jealousy. He waved to get her attention and beckoned her over. She saw from his expression that something was wrong. The smile dropped from her face.

  ‘What’s happened? Is it Lily? Is she all right?’

  His greatest wish had been to dance with her tonight. It peeved him that he had to drag her away instead. ‘Nothing to do with Lily. Sorry to interrupt your evening, Meg, but your dog’s been barking fit to burst. I thought you might like to know. Not that there have been any complaints,’ he added briskly. ‘You don’t have to come. I can see you’re enjoying yourself.’

  Meg immediately thought of Mr Amble who had come to take Rudy away. It occurred to her he might be trying to take him from behind her back. She couldn’t allow that. ‘I have to go,’ she said, sliding her arms into the coat John presented to her – a blue one he recognised among all the others hanging from coat pegs behind the double doors. She called to Alice. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Do you need company going through the dark?’ asked the American she’d been talking to.

  ‘No need,’ said Carter in an authoritative manner, slightly miffed that somebody had filled his absence. ‘I’ll escort Mrs Malin all the way. It’s my job.’

  Meg allowed herself to be escorted from the room. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she said to John as he held the door open for her. She was worried. If only she hadn’t been persuaded to come to the dance. She’d really thought they were safe – that Rudy was safe. She couldn’t let him be taken now. ‘Do you think it’s Mr Amble?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Anyway, do you know you left a light on?’

  She paused in the act of fastening her coat as they walked from the hall. ‘No, I did not!’

  ‘Hang about while I get out my torch.’

  ‘Hurry.’ Meg didn’t hang about for very long. She was off, John following behind, the light from his torch throwing a spotlight on the ground for her to follow. They ran most of the way, Meg desperate to find out what was wrong. To John it might appear that she was unnecessarily concerned, that Rudy was merely barking because he’d been left alone. She tried to persuade herself that Rudy had only heard foxes out in the garden.

  Bluebell Cottage sat innocently in the darkness – except there was a light showing and Reg Puller was bent double at the front door looking into the letter box. Rudy was still barking. The light from the downstairs window went off. Reg was full of pompous authoritarianism, straightening up the moment he saw them. ‘You’re showing a light,’ he stated gruffly.

  ‘I didn’t leave a light on,’ Meg snapped indignantly. ‘Anyway, it’s gone off now.’

  ‘Well somebody did! Don’t tell me the dog did it.’

  ‘I left the curtains open so Rudy could see things by moonlight.’

  Reg sighed. ‘An enemy plane can see a light at ten thousand feet! Do you not realise that?’

  Meg felt cornered. ‘I apologise but I really didn’t expect Rudy to turn the light on.’

  ‘The dog turned the light on?’ Puller sounded disbelieving. ‘Thought you’d have known better …’

  PC Carter interceded. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’ The light that had shone from the window came on, then went off again. Then on, and off again. Carter sucked in his breath. ‘Is somebody mucking about?’

  ‘Perhaps the electricity’s tripped,’ suggested Reg.

  The door creaked on its hinges as Meg pushed it open. Carter gently nudged her aside. ‘Let me …’

  He didn’t get to say another word. The light went on. Rudy dropped his paw from the switch and rushed excitedly to greet everyone. Meg burst out laughing. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  PC Carter, smoothing the front of his jacket, chuckled and shook his head. Only Reg, full of bumptious self-importance, pulled a face and took out his notebook. ‘That light was turned on in direct contravention of the blackout rules …’

  Meg eyed him with amazement. ‘Do you mean you’re going to fine my dog?’

  ‘I’m not a fool, Mrs Malin. The dog belongs to you …’

  ‘And there’s not an air raid in sight,’ interrupted Carter, who couldn’t help grinning like the Cheshire cat. Reg had started acting like Field Marshal Kitchener the moment he put on an air-raid warden’s uniform.

  ‘All the same …’ began Reg, his snowy-white moustache quivering like a bunch of thistledown.

  ‘Let it be, Reg. We came as quickly as we could. Can’t you see the dog is agitated?’

  Carter was quite right. The dog was running backwards and forwards between where they were stood and the back door. Carter headed for the back door.

  ‘There has to be a reason.’ His fingers on the latch, he turned round to face the air-raid warden with a more serious expression on his face. ‘We’ve had two burglaries recently. In my estimation, the dog and you, Reg, might have prevented another one. Did you see anyone at all?’

  The hands holding the notepad and pencil went limp and his air of self-importance intensified. ‘I might have heard something, but I was only out front. I never went round the back.’

  ‘Time we did then, Reg. Better let the dog go first.’

  Rudy was lost in the dense darkness of the back garden. Reg followed PC Carter’s example and got out his torch. Meg stood by the back door, watching the beams from the flashlights flutter over the frosty ground, and the bare stalks of gooseberry, blackcurrant and raspberry bushes. She wrapped her arms around herself, her breath rising in a silvery mist. In an effort to keep the cold out, she half closed the back door, hooking her foot over it so it would not swing back open. As she stood there, she
thought of John Carter and smiled. How clever he’d been to include Reg in the hunt for an intruder who might or might not exist.

  For a moment all was silent, men and dog out of earshot, tramping through the top end of the garden where Fred Grimes had planted seedlings for spring harvesting. The air was fresh and clear. Meg took a deep breath, its freshness reminding her of chilled water. Another sniff and she discerned something else in the air. She’d always had a good nose for smells and this included the perfume she and Lily made from rose petals; such a fragile smell but to her pungent and sweet. This other smell was far from being sweet or fragile, but it was certainly pungent.

  Many years ago, her mother had taken her to visit an aged aunt. The aunt had worn the most antique clothes, mostly serge or bombazine and always black. Her mother had held a handkerchief to her nose, informing the old woman that she had a cold and didn’t want her to catch it. The old woman had kept those clothes for years in an upstairs wardrobe. Meg had noticed the smell, and after the visit was over and they were on the train back to London, asked her mother what it was.

  ‘Camphor,’ her mother had replied. ‘Aunt Frederica uses mothballs, which are made from camphor.’

  Beams of light swept from side to side down the garden path. Preceded by torchlight, PC Carter and Reg appeared out of the darkness, the dog loping along behind them. ‘Nobody out there,’ said Carter. ‘Though we did find this.’ He held up a piece of brown cloth. ‘We found it on one of the lower branches of the apple tree.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  Even before she put her nose to it, Meg suspected she knew what she would smell. ‘It’s mothballs. I smelled it here too.’

  ‘It is,’ said Carter in a matter-of-fact manner. ‘The same smell I detected at the two recent burglaries. The same as in the outhouse at Homeside Cottage too.’

  Reg was shining his torch on to his watch face and mumbling something about getting back to his round.

  ‘Reg. You reckon you’ve checked Homeside Cottage regularly since old Ivy died?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And you’ve never found anything disturbed?’

  ‘Never!’ Reg barked, absolutely beyond challenge.

  But Meg did challenge him. ‘When I tried the back door the other night, it wasn’t locked. The door was stiff and only opened a fraction, but it did open.’

  Reg almost exploded. ‘That’s impossible! I checked everything. Nobody’s broken in there. I would have noticed.’

  ‘Reg, I’m thinking I might take a look around the old place. Strike while the iron’s hot, if you like. It’s police business but I’m asking if you’d mind going with me. I do realise you have pressing duties of your own, so you can say no if you want to. I should also add that there might be a dangerous criminal inside. With that in mind, I think we should requisition the dog to go with us – that’s with your permission of course, Mrs Malin?’

  ‘Of course. I’m sure he’ll be of use to you both.’

  ‘I’m sure he will. I can’t get the fact out of my mind that if he didn’t turn the light on, then who did? And if he is indeed clever enough to do that, he did it to draw your attention, Reg. The dog’s familiar with your routine.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Apologies, Mrs Malin. Didn’t mean to swear.’

  ‘So what do you say, Reg?’

  ‘Let’s get the blighter!’

  Meg marvelled at the way John had swung the air-raid warden on to his side. By now, Alice had brought Lily round so Meg couldn’t go with them.

  ‘Did you have a good time,’ she asked Lily as she escorted her up to bed.

  ‘It was fine.’

  Tucking Lily in and wishing her goodnight had become something of a ritual so it came as a surprise when Lily stood in the doorway, effectively barring her entry. ‘I’m old enough to get into bed by myself.’

  Meg smiled in understanding without betraying what she really felt. ‘Of course you can.’ For a moment she just stood there as though waiting for Lily to change her mind.

  ‘You can go now. I’m not a child,’ Lily said again.

  Meg took a deep breath, weighing up her hurt with a need to understand. ‘Of course you’re not.’

  Once the door was closed, she stood out on the landing for a while, trying to work out what had happened to cause her foster daughter to behave like that. Harbouring a deep sense of foreboding, she descended the stairs, rubbing the cold from her arms as she entered the warmth of the kitchen. The grandfather clock in the living room struck eleven o’clock. Normally she would have taken herself off to bed, snuggling down beneath the green satin eiderdown she had bought from Mrs Crow, who had wanted money to buy replacement seeds for her flower garden. ‘It used to be on my mother’s bed before she died,’ Mrs Crow had told her. Before moving to the village, Meg would have shunned purchasing anything second-hand, let alone the unwanted coverlet of a dead woman. The war had most certainly changed all that.

  Tonight she would await Rudy’s return and the thought of it brought a smile to her face. Her own parents, her father more so than her mother, used to wait up for her to come home from a dance or the cinema. Now here she was waiting up for a dog! After making a cup of tea and busying herself for a bit, Meg pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan and checked the time. Half past eleven.

  Lily awoke from a frightening dream in which she was surrounded by barking dogs, their fangs bared and bloodlust in their eyes. She tried to sit up and would have screamed but she couldn’t breathe and a terrible weight pressed down on her. Again and again she tried to catch her breath and sit up but each time she couldn’t. Besides the weight there was a nasty cloying smell that made her want to vomit. But she mustn’t vomit. She must stay very still and very silent.

  Some inner voice told her to be calm, that she was only dreaming and what she was seeing had come and gone. Returning to that place would only ever happen in her worst nightmares. The time and the situation were long gone. Feeling suddenly relieved of the oppressive weight and the sickening horror, she kicked off the bedclothes and sat up. The room was dark around her. She was alone in the bed. Something, someone, was missing.

  Rudy!

  She’d got used to the weight of his body denting her gaily patterned bedspread, and when the dreams came she automatically stretched out her hand to touch him. The feel of his coat was reassuring, and when she touched him he acknowledged the gesture with a contented murmur.

  Dealing with the blackout night after night had honed her sense of direction. Using both hands to feel the door jamb, she stepped out on to the landing.

  ‘Rudy! Rudy? Where are you?’

  A rectangular glow came from downstairs before Meg stepped between the stairs and the room behind her. ‘Lily, go back to bed.’

  ‘Where’s Rudy?’

  ‘He’s gone to help PC Carter apprehend a dangerous criminal.’

  She didn’t know for sure whether anyone at all was in Mrs Dando’s old place, but if there was he was there without permission and therefore might very well be dangerous.

  ‘Really?’ Lily sounded quite surprised, but more than that, she sounded proud. Rudy was her dog and as far as she was concerned, there was nothing he wasn’t capable of.

  ‘Now go back to bed. I’ll send him up as soon as he’s back.’

  Lily went back to bed and Meg went back to her chair and a pile of sewing. Lily was growing and she was making things that would fit her better. The light was dim and the sewing was monotonous. She rubbed at her eyes, willing herself to stay awake. Was it her imagination or was the grandfather clock slowing down? Her impatience getting the better of her, she opened the cavity at the front of the clock, took out the bold brass key, opened the glass cabinet covering the clock face, and wound it up. A quick glance at her wristwatch, a present from Ray on her twenty-first birthday, proved the old clock wasn’t that far out.

  For a moment she was tempted to turn off the light and open the curtains. At least she would see John return, probably with Reg though
she hoped not. It was late and although it might send tongues wagging, she didn’t care. She’d make tea and they’d toast bread in front of the range. She could only spare a scraping of butter, but it wasn’t really eating or drinking that mattered. They would be sitting close to each other and could share their feelings until dawn.

  Eventually she heard the latch lift and the door slide slowly open. Rudy came in first with his tongue hanging out. After lapping the contents of his water dish, he darted up the stairs. She heard the thud of his paws above her before he flung himself on to Lily’s bed.

  John came in with a trickle of blood running down his cheek. ‘It’s not serious,’ he said, when she got to her feet and ran her fingers over it. He grinned. ‘I gave him a bigger clump than he gave me.’

  ‘Sit down!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Meg fetched a bowl of water and a clean flannel. He winced when she touched his face, but told her to carry on. ‘So what happened? Who was it?’

  ‘Bert Dando! I should have known. I reckon he was there when his mother was alive. He tried to kick Rudy and shouted something about keeping his fangs away from him. Now I know where the blood on the landing came from. Rudy took a bite out of him. Must say, it couldn’t happen to a better bloke! I’d bite him myself if I could! Anyway, the police came out from Bath in a car and took him with them. Apparently they’ve had police in London asking after him, so I dare say we won’t be seeing him for a while.’

  Meg poured the water down the sink and refreshed the teapot with boiling water from the kettle. She finished filling their teacups just as the grandfather clock struck two o’clock.

  ‘This is nice,’ she said after the first sip.

  ‘Nothing like a good cup of tea after arresting a no-good like Dando.’

  ‘That isn’t what I meant.’