by Robin Jarvis
A whirling cloud of dust spiralled about the bomber's propellers as it stormed onwards, rising clumsily into the air—its Plexiglass nose questing for him.
Rooted to the spot, Frank couldn't move. The clamour of the engines was deafening and his eardrums thumped, but still he remained, his eyes fixed on that terrible sight.
‘It's g-gonna get me,’ he breathed, ‘it followed me here.’
At that moment, Edie's small figure scrambled beside him. Not pausing to look on the rampaging nightmare below, she gave the airman a rough shove that sent him blundering back down the hill.
Frank let out a distraught howl as he skidded and staggered, but the action had revived his senses.
‘You-you saw it, too?’ he cried, ‘I-I thought I was seem’ stuff again. Heck! We gotta get outta here! Come on, sweetpea!’
Snatching her up again, he tore from that evil place as fast as his long legs could carry them. His mind was racing, nothing made any sense—the sight he had just witnessed was impossible. How could a B-17 be in an East End bomb site?
Cradled in his arms, Edie stared over his shoulder. Over the heap of rubble the Fortress rose, its landing gear dragging through the wreckage and inflaming the night with its crackling gunfire.
Tearfully, the girl slapped the American's back, urging him to go faster.
Frank hurtled through the shadows, one more high hill and they would be out of the barren landscape and he could seek refuge from the atrocity that hounded them.
Edie turned to see where they were going and immediately pulled on his collar. This way was treacherous, the ground was not safe. Beneath the ruins of this demolished building there was a large and unfilled cellar.
But Frank was too absorbed in his own fears to take any notice of her.
Leaping on to the slope, the American tore upwards but, without warning, a slab of concrete tilted beneath him and he lost his balance as a section of the cellar ceiling ripped open.
Shrieking, Edie was thrown from his arms and they both plummeted into the sudden chasm that now yawned below.
Toppling down through the filth and plaster, Frank struck his head against a rafter with horrible force and his skull gave a sickening crack.
Hitting the submerged floor, his legs buckled under him and he rolled sideways as a shower of stones and dirt poured over him.
Groaning with pain, he spat out the dust and shakily tried to stand.
Close by, Edie was nursing a bloody knee and staring up at the fissure above her head, but she forgot all about it when she saw the American peer at her drunkenly and put his hand to his forehead.
‘S-sorry, sweee-peeaaa. . .’ he muttered, as a bristling blackness closed over his vision and his legs turned to water.
Flopping unconscious to the floor, Frank Jeffries’ thoughts went drifting out into the void.
At once, Edie sprang across to him. Shaking the airman by the clothes and pummelling his face, she desperately tried to wake him—but it was no use.
Overhead, the noise of the berserking bomber steadily drew closer.
If only Arnold Porter had been wrong, if only the demon did not hunt by scent. Perhaps, if they cowered out of sight quieter than mice, it would pass over them.
Taking hold of the American's shoulders, she vainly tried to drag him out of the dim light that filtered through the ruptured ceiling. When she realised that she wasn't strong enough, Edie cast around for something to cover him with. Then she found it, a battered door had followed them into the abyss and she quickly scurried over to it.
Sharp splinters drove into the girl's palms as she trawled the door towards the American and propped it gently against his body, shielding him from any curious eyes that might stare hungrily into the cellar.
When she was satisfied that Frank was completely obscured by her deception, she darted into the furthest corner and huddled into a small, terrified ball.
In the world above, the horrendous uproar of the demonic B-17 was painfully loud and a winged darkness came sweeping over the ruined cellar, plunging it into absolute night.
Edie shivered and covered her pounding ears as the blaring engines screamed directly overhead and the basement shuddered beneath its awful weight. Walls buckled and the plaster crashed down in ragged sheets, then the concrete floor cracked as the foundations shook and, trapped in the middle of the calamitous tumult, the small girl screamed.
*
It had turned eight o'clock when Angelo awakened. Stretching his arms, he gave a yodelling yawn and blinked. Then he blinked again.
‘Jeez,’ he mumbled, ‘I'm seem’ double.’ Sitting on the other armchair, there were now two teddy bears, identical in every detail except that one of them was noticeably shabbier than the other.
Then he saw the scraps of sheepskin littering the floor, leading off to the dining table where...
‘What the..!’
Leaping from the chair, the American rushed to the table where his beloved flying jacket was lying leather side down. Aghast and dumbfounded, he stared at the awful holes that had been snipped out of the fleecy lining.
‘Ah,’ Jean said, standing in the doorway, ‘I see you're awake. I'm so sorry. I really don't know what came over me. It was so weird, one minute I was covering you with the eiderdown, the next thing I knew I was putting the sewing basket away.’
Angelo gawped at her, and lifted the jacket in his hands, only then realising that a tiny circle had been cut out of the leather as well.
‘I think I must've used that bit for the nose,’ she admitted sheepishly, ‘but to be honest, I really can't remember, I must've been half asleep or something. Maybe it was worry about Dad—I just don't know.’
Passing a critical eye over her handiwork, she had to confess that the new teddy bear was rather good.
‘Isn't it a fabulous match?’ she asked. They're like two peas in a pod—even the eyes are the same! I must've got really carried away ‘cos I even used some of the stuffing from the eiderdown as there's a big hole in it.’
Angelo looked from the new teddy bear, back to his mutilated jacket, then repeated the movement.
‘You, you hacked up my number-one lucky piece,’ he stammered in a careful voice, ‘the thing that's kept me alive through thirteen missions, to make ... to make a doll!’
'Teddy bear!’
‘Yeah, a teddy bear.’
The airman was so shocked by what she had done that he didn't know how to react and then, to his complete amazement, he laughed. Sitting beside his new twin, Ted watched as the woman became infected by Angelo's laughter and tutted to himself as they collapsed in a fit of hysterics.
‘Being a gooseberry sure ain't no fun,’ he muttered, ‘Wish these two would vamoose.’
Presently the mirth subsided and to the bear's relief, Jean led the American into the hall. ‘Sometimes you gotta laugh before you cry,’ Angelo sighed, pulling the breezy jacket on.
Jean put her hand to her mouth shamefully. ‘I'm so sorry about that,’ she declared. ‘God knows what possessed me.’
The really weird part,’ Angelo said, ‘is that I ain't sore at all.’
‘Does that mean you'd forgive me anything?’
‘Don't get carried away.’
Smiling, Jean led him to the hall. ‘I’ll come with you to Kath's,’ she said, ‘but I mustn't stay long, Daniel and Neil are still in the Anderson.’
And so, together, they left the house.
Alone with his duplicate, Ted gave it a cautious prod in the tummy.
‘Jus’ makin’ sure which one of us is me,’ he explained, ‘You know, I think it's true what they say, you do get better lookin’ as time goes by. You ain't got that loveable, sat-on look yet. Now, if you'll pardon me leavin’ you so soon, I got a little sunshine to bring to a kid's face.’
Bouncing off the chair, Ted scurried through the house and ran into the garden.
Neil had spent a miserable night in the Anderson shelter. It had been perishingly cold and his bunk was the most
uncomfortable bed he had ever slept on.
‘Hey, kid!’ a voice called in his miserable dreams. ‘You up there, it's reveille!’
Standing small in the entrance, Ted tried to wake the boy, but it was Daniel who heard him.
In the bottom bunk, the two-year-old squirmed round to discover that his favourite teddy bear had magically come to life.
‘More!’ he cried, clapping his hands together excitedly.
‘Oh, brother,’ Ted grumbled. ‘I done woke up the king of the slobberers. Hi there, Danny boy—how you keepin’?’
Daniel gave a squawk of joy—the shrill sound waking the occupant of the top bunk more effectively than a bucket of iced water ever could have.
‘What... who?’ he cried, sitting upright and banging his head on the corrugated roof.
‘Up an’ at ‘em!’ Ted called, jumping aside as Daniel reached down and made a grab for him.
“Where've you been!’ Neil cried, hastily climbing out of the bunk. ‘I thought I was stuck here for ever!’
‘That could still happen,’ the bear told him, ‘you an’ me got our work cut out for us.’
‘Quiet, Daniel,’ Neil told the infant, who was still swiping the air with his hands in his unsuccessful attempts to snatch Ted and yelling with the full force of his lungs.
It's today, isn't it?’ Neil asked. ‘I'm fed up with you not telling me what's going on.’
The bear nodded. ‘Yep—tonight Joshy’ll be comin’ through the gateway.’
‘I can hardly believe it,’ Neil cried, ‘tonight I'll be going home!’
‘Hold on, kid,’ Ted interrupted, ‘didn't I just say we had work to do?’
‘I’m not going to like this, am I?’ Neil groaned. ‘What is it, then?’
The bear patted his furry stomach thoughtfully. ‘It was all gonna be so sweet an’ easy,’ he murmured. ‘Not any more. You see, kid, the original deal went like this—I jus’ wanted to come back an’ save the lives of three people—well four, counting slobberpuss there.’
Sitting down with a gentle bump, Ted leaned back and let the sunlight play on his face before continuing.
‘Frank, Jean and Angelo Signorelli,’ he said quietly, ‘that's all I wanted. Save them an’ I would be the happiest piece of merchandise since the wooden kid with the big nose. Now the whole darned ball game is loused up.’
“What's the matter?’ Neil asked. Won't you be able to save them? I'll do whatever I can to help her.’
The bear smiled and hugged his fluffy knees. ‘Oh, I could save them all right,’ he muttered, ‘if that was all I had to do.’
“What else is there?’
‘First let me tell you the original plan. At exactly thirty-seven minutes to ten this very night, one mighty mother of a parachute mine is gonna come floating outta the great blue yonder—right on top of this shelter.’
‘Jean and Danny will be inside it by then,’ Neil spluttered in horror.
Ted nodded significantly. ‘No one ever found enough pieces to identify them, the mine made a crater forty feet wide, bringing half the terrace down.’
That's horrible, we've got to warn her.’
‘Sure, she'll have to go to the underground station with the old witch, if you can convince her, that is.’
‘I'll make sure I do.’
That's not all,’ the bear said, signalling for Neil to remain where he was. ‘I ain't finished. While all this is goin’ on, there's another ticklish problem we gotta solve.’
‘What's that?’
‘Angelo and Frank.’
‘Are they back here?’
‘Ain't no such thing as a homing bear, kid, I hadda hitch a ride off someone.’
‘So what happens to them?’
Ted wrinkled up his nose and rubbed one of his ears with his paw.
“Well,’ he began, taking a deep breath, ‘forty-five minutes before the mine falls, Farmboy Frank gets stabbed.’
‘By the one who killed Mrs Meacham?’
‘Not exactly, though I never did work out who.’
‘And Frank dies?’
The bear gazed up at the boy's face, a strange light glinting in his glass eyes. ‘Yeah, but he ain't alone. You see, that Signorelli guy comes wadin’ in like the born fool he is and, while he's grievin’, his back gets perforated by a whole lot o’ lead.’
Neil sat down on the bunk beside Daniel. ‘How can we stop that?’ he muttered softly.
Ted shifted on his bottom, feeling the phial of sacred water budge within his stuffing, but even as he opened his mouth to tell the boy about Belial he clapped it shut again. Why should he help the Webster sisters? They didn't play straight with him—their motives were never his own. His main priority was saving the people he cared about. No, this time he wasn't going to be anyone's patsy.
Neil shook his head. ‘You didn't tell me where,’ he said at last.
‘Where what?’
‘Where is Josh going to appear?’
Ted slouched wearily and murmured something under his breath. He knew the boy wasn't going to like it and after all he'd been through, he felt wretched and ashamed to have to tell him.
‘I didn't hear that,’ the boy said firmly.
‘All right, all right,’ the bear admitted guiltily. ‘OK, Joshy is gonna come poppin’ outta that gateway right over our heads.’
‘Here?’ Neil cried. ‘At what time exactly?’
‘Oh, round about when the parachute mine hits,’ came the subdued reply.
Chapter 19 Losing Control
Angelo and Jean returned from the Meacham house with no news of Frank—Kathleen Hewett had not seen or heard from him.
‘I was sure he'd have gone straight round there,’ the American muttered, ‘the only thing that pulled him through that last raid was the thought of that airhead dame. I just don't understand it, where is he?’
Jean looked at him thoughtfully, her green eyes gleaming as she considered this strange man who had wisecracked his way into her life.
‘You're a funny one,’ she said, You spend all your time pretending not to care about anything and spin lines left and centre—but you're not like that at all, are you? Under that cheek and bluster you might even be quite nice.’
Angelo returned her gaze and smiled. All he wanted to do was hold her and he knew she felt the same.
Unexpectedly, the back door was flung open and Neil came storming inside. ‘Jean!’ he cried urgently behind her. There's something I've got to tell you.’
The moment was gone. Jean whisked about and ran into the garden, leaving Angelo to kick his heels.
‘Don't sleep in the Anderson tonight!’ Neil called after her. ‘It's too dangerous!’
‘Nice goin’, kid!’ Angelo said tersely.
‘I've got to warn her,’ Neil mumbled, ‘she's got to listen.’
‘Yeah, sure, hey, how's about me givin’ you a stick of gum and you get lost?’
‘Er... no thanks,’ the boy returned.
The American groaned at the ceiling. Trust me to get the only kid in this whole darned country who don't like gum!’
A look of blank astonishment flooded Neil's face as he recognized something familiar about Angelo's voice and he stared at Ted incredulously.
Making certain that Angelo's eyes were off them, a cheesy grin stole over the bear's face and his fleecy brows jiggled in mild amusement at the boy's sudden realisation.
'Took you long enough, kid,’ he mouthed.
Neil wrenched his eyes away from the softly chuckling toy and made his excuses to Angelo.
‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, ‘I've got to go and explain to Jean. She mustn't stay there tonight. I've got to make her listen.’
As the boy nipped into the garden, Angelo sauntered into the living room. Well, Signorelli,’ he sighed, ‘I think the girl's weakenin’.’
Waddling like a carrion crow on stilts, Old Mother Stokes entered Barker's Row. She had spent a most agreeable night in the tube station at Bethnal Green. All her subte
rranean acquaintances had been most sympathetic with regard to the disappearance of Peter, her son, and she had wallowed in their compassionate concern.
With her beaky nose pecking at the brisk morning air and the feathers of her great hat springing insanely over her head, she trundled along, her mind seething with the plans she had been hatching.
Bearing in mind the murder of her despised neighbour, Ma Stokes doubted if her son would ever be seen alive again and though that prospect had given her a momentary pang of sorrow and remorse, she could not be expected to grieve forever.
Without his ridiculously generous nature getting in the way and thwarting her more malicious schemes, Mrs Stokes anticipated a far sunnier future ahead for herself.
First of all, she would have to get rid of that idiot boy her son had brought into their lives and perhaps Jean could be persuaded to move out with Daniel.
Envisioning the whole house to herself, the harridan cackled gleefully.
In this most gratifying of humours, she continued past her home and veered instead towards the abode of the late, and in no way lamented, Doris Meacham.
Raising a bony fist, Mrs Stokes rapped on the front door.
‘Frank?’ Kath called from inside as she pattered down the hall. That you?’
As soon as the entrance was opened, Ma Stokes barged her way inside and made a beeline for the parlour.
“Ere!’ Kath cried, as the old woman bustled past her. ‘What you doing? You can't go in there—I was just on me way to the factory.’
‘You'd better get off then!’ the intruder advised. ‘Now, where did she keep that cream jug with the picture of the cat on it?’
Leaving the front door open, Kath trotted after the unwanted visitor and found her opening the deceased Mrs Meacham's china cabinets.
Years of stored up resentment and jealousy were now released as Jean's grandmother poked and pried her way through the cupboards, sneering at most of the pieces on display.
‘Never did know quality from tat,’ the geriatric thief proclaimed, turning from the cupboards and shambling out into the hall, where she began to climb the stairs.
Stupefied by this outrageous behaviour, Kath chased her to the main bedroom where the old woman was already ransacking the drawers and flinging sensible unmentionables behind her with disdain.
