In the morning, I tied the polka-dot bandana from my best dress round my hair to hide the rough ends, and took Jeff’s letter to the post office. The woman behind the counter raised an eyebrow at the address on the envelope. ‘You’re Jeff McCaffrey’s wife, aren’t you? He was in here a lot.’
I nodded.
‘I am sorry he has been sentenced,’ she said. ‘It was in the paper the other day. A line at the bottom of page six.’
Her sympathy made me want to cry. I didn’t understand how I could have lost everything I thought was good. The only person I wanted to speak to was Douglas, but his visits were booked for weeks ahead. The people who might have campaigned for his release were getting fewer and it looked as if he would be locked up for the whole twelve months. He might even have to go back in again as I couldn’t see him changing his mind any time soon. I laid the coins for the stamp on the counter and tried to smile at her. I felt like the women behind me in the queue might be staring at my shorn hair, thinking I had lost my marbles, gone mad with grief. The assistant pushed a coin back across to me. ‘You’ve given me too much,’ she said. ‘Keep calm and carry on, as they say.’
I stopped outside the post office and looked up Morningside Road. I was meant to take my new ration book to the shops to re-register for groceries and give the shopkeepers the counterfoils, but I was afraid Mrs Black might have turned them against me and then I would have to walk as far as Tollcross to get food. I held the three old books in my hand in my pocket and decided it could wait. I wasn’t hungry anyway.
Turning left, I walked back down Nile Grove past the terraced houses in their bonny gardens, now planted with vegetables, and tried to hold in my tears in case I met anyone I knew. Part of me almost hoped I might, so I could tell someone what had happened and ask their advice, but the street was deserted and I turned into Falkland Terrace without meeting a soul.
That afternoon, there was a knock at the door. I opened it, thinking it might be Hannes, but a policeman stood there. I heard a bolt slide shut on Mrs MacDougall’s door and knew she would be standing with her ear pressed against it, listening. She must have seen the officer from her window as he approached. He was over forty, with tired, grey eyes.
‘Mrs McCaffrey?’ he asked, tipping his helmet.
I held on to the edge of the door.
‘Yes, but I wish to be known as Agnes Thorne.’
‘You are Jeff McCaffrey’s wife?’
‘Yes.’ I straightened my back.
‘Mrs McCaffrey, I wonder if you could accompany me to my motorcar?’
I looked round the hall but there was no way out. ‘Do I need to bring anything?’ I asked, not sure where I had put my bag. I wondered if I could leave Professor Schramml’s key with Mrs MacDougall, if the officer would let me. Perhaps she would take pity on Hannes and feed him.
‘No, you’re alright. I have a number of your husband’s papers to return for your safe keeping. Perhaps you could give me a hand?’
My heart slowed down. He hadn’t noticed I was finding it difficult to breathe. I hoped Hannes wouldn’t look out of the window as I went out. He might misunderstand what was happening and try to run. I could imagine the officer blowing his whistle, shouting at him to stop.
I stood beside the car in my slippers waiting for the officer to tell me to get in. I was sure that the letters were just a trick to get me out of the flat without a stramash, but he put a box in my arms.
‘Too heavy for you?’ he asked.
‘No,’ I said.
‘One more? You look like a strong lassie.’
I shook my head. ‘I am an Edinburgh lady, officer, not a beast of burden.’
He looked at my short hair with its uneven edges escaping from my bandana.
‘I am sorry I haven’t had time to set my hair,’ I said.
‘Well, perhaps you have had other things on your mind.’ He laughed.
‘What do you mean?’ It sounded sharper than I intended, like a real nippy sweetie.
‘With your man in Saughton.’
I blushed.
‘Better out of harm’s way. What would a university type do on a battlefield? Although I dare say he might have enough of a fight on in there with Jack Frost this winter. It is not the warmest place.’
I hadn’t thought of the cold months stretching ahead for Jeff or me; months alone without heat or vegetables or rabbits. I wasn’t sure what I would do. He saw my face fall. ‘Just leave that box at the foot of the stair,’ he said. ‘The station can do without me for five minutes while I help a damsel in distress. Anyway, the sky isn’t exactly filled with planes.’ And he looked up at the blue expanse above us. ‘Let’s hope it is all over by Christmas.’
He stacked the boxes in the hall and came through to the kitchen for a glass of water, leaning against the sink. ‘Nice place you have here,’ he said, looking round. ‘Plenty of room to start a family. My youngest laddie signed up last week, but they made him a munitions worker in case anything happened to his brothers at the Front and his mother was left with no sons. Must be thankful for small mercies. He’s based at the old Singer factory in Clydebank. Plenty of banter to take his mind off his wounded pride.’
He looked up at the ceiling. I followed his eyes. ‘Looks like you have a bit of damp starting there. You want to watch that.’
I nodded, afraid the floorboards might creak and he might ask who lived upstairs, but there wasn’t a sound. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ he said, putting the glass in the washing up bowl. ‘Good day to you.’
When I had closed the door, I carried the boxes into Jeff’s study and sat down at his desk. The chair was upholstered in brown leather and swivelled. I span round. The three pigeonholes on the left were empty, like three dark doorways to an empty church, but the crinkled edge of a photograph stuck out from the fourth. I pulled it out. It was a picture of Jeff and Millie raising their glasses to the camera. He had his arm round her waist and she was laughing. I wondered when it had been taken and turned it over, but there was nothing written on the back. I thought of his jealous rage, the way he had gone on at me about Douglas after just one visit – and that to a prison – and I tore it up. It lay as a jigsaw on the desk, fragments of teeth and hands, busy saying and doing things I never knew anything about. I swept the pieces into the wastepaper basket and closed the door. I walked through the empty rooms, trailing my fingers over the surfaces of the heavy mahogany furniture from Jeff’s mother, and then I sat in her old wing-back chair in the sunny corner of the bay window. The room looked empty and dead, like a stage set after the play had finished. I tried to sew for a while but the picture of Jeff and Millie kept flashing over my work. I remembered the WAAF’s march past Lord Provost Darling on Princes Street and I wondered if she had been there; smiling, neat and smart, at the heart of things, looking for Jeff in the crowd, and for some reason the advert for Weston biscuits popped into my mind and I began to sing, ‘She really takes the biscuit. Although WAAFs may not be pilots, they fairly fly to the canteen when they hear that Weston biscuits have arrived.’ I sang it in different voices, high and low, sombre like a hymn and quick like folk music. ‘She really takes the biscuit.’ I imagined crumbs of her caught in Jeff’s teeth, and I laughed until I cried, and then I lay my head on a cushion on my lap and howled like a dog.
When my tears stopped, I didn’t want to be alone so I splashed my face with cold water and took Hannes some bread and cheese. He felt like the only person I knew. He smiled at me as I went into the kitchen. He had found a wireless and was sitting with the dictionary at the table writing down words. I turned it off. ‘This is not for you,’ I said, feeling uneasy.
It was silent without the broadcaster’s voice. He shrugged and closed the book. I put down the food, but he didn’t pull the plate towards him. He stood up and moved closer to me, reaching out a hand. I flinched, turning my face away. He smoothed out the frown on my brow with his thumb and asked, ‘Wie geht’s?’ Then he said, ‘How are
you?’
He turned down the corners of his mouth and raised his eyebrows. It made me laugh. It was hard to remember he was the enemy. He gazed at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. There was a dimple in his left cheek and his neck was still brown where it disappeared into his collar. He must have seen the sun in his other life. His lips were soft as he kissed my hand, and then he turned back to the table. He pulled out a chair for me and brought me a glass of water. I took a sip but I couldn’t think of a thing to say, so I took my sewing out of my apron pocket and we sat there together in the sun. After a while he brought through some cards and we played racing patience. We didn’t speak. The cards piled up in number order: jack, queen, king, ace, two, three. His hands were quick and once brushed against mine. He paused, but I didn’t look up and put another card on the pile. I think he let me win that time. Then I said I had to go and pointed to the clock, but time was meaningless as I had nothing to do. I don’t think he was pleased when I took the wireless and carried it downstairs to be sure he wouldn’t listen to it again, but he didn’t try to stop me.
There were two phone calls that afternoon as I lay on my bed listening to Hannes moving about in the room upstairs. He trod more heavily now that Jeff was away. The jangling of the bell in the quiet of the flat made me jump. The first was Mr Lamont, asking if the SHRA might have the use of Jeff’s typewriter until his release as theirs was broken and it was proving difficult and expensive to get spare parts sent from England. The other was from the prison, saying Jeff had forgotten his ID card and that I should bring it in on a visitor’s pass next Tuesday. I could have fifteen minutes with my husband as I was a spouse, but after that, I would have to apply to see him.
‘I can understand it is all very upsetting, Mrs McCaffrey,’ the voice on the end of the line said, misinterpreting my silence, ‘but I can assure you he is being well treated. Not quite home comforts, I am sure, but as well as can be expected.’
I was pulling a small piece of wallpaper off in a thin strip, watching as it peeled away from the plaster, leaving a trail of brown paper underneath. It tore and I scratched at the paper to start a new piece.
‘Thank you for your call,’ I said, the way Jeff had taught me. I hated hearing a voice and not seeing the speaker. ‘I will be there next week. Yes, I will report to the main gate.’
I walked through the hall and sat for a long time at the window in the drawing room watching the neighbours come and go. The clock had just struck eight when I realised that there hadn’t been any sound of movement from Hannes. The silence was unbroken. His routines had become familiar to me but although he seemed freer, I was afraid Jeff might tell someone about him. What would Douglas say if he told the bear my secret? Perhaps he could use the information to get out of jail early? I just hoped Jeff still loved me enough to keep quiet and protect me. I put on my shoes and tiptoed upstairs. The flat was gloomy and quiet. I called for Hannes in a whisper but there was no reply. He wasn’t sleeping on any of the beds and I lit the paraffin lamp in the kitchen. The words ‘Kino – komme gleich wieder’ were neatly written on a scrap of paper. I ran to fetch the German dictionary and flicked through the letters to ‘K’. I moved my finger down the unfamiliar lines to read, ‘cinema’, and then, ‘back soon’. A picture of Professor Schramml’s jam jar of lucky sixpences in the kitchen flashed into my mind. I should have hidden it, but I never thought there was enough money there to be a danger and, to cap it all, just last week, I had told Hannes I was going to see a movie. I could have cursed myself for letting him know the cinema was so close, pressing my fingers together to show it was a short distance away and pointing round the corner. I had wanted to reassure him that I wouldn’t be long, since he relied on me so much. I didn’t doubt he would have found it. Taking away the radio had made him even more curious about the world outside the flat. He was looking for information. He needed to know about the war. How could I have expected to keep him caged in a drawing room for weeks – a grown man, a flyer, a fighter? Perhaps, just seeing him for a short time at a stretch, I had missed how bored he was. There was nothing for him here. It was foreign in every way.
I tied a scarf round my neck, pulled on my hat and coat and then walked as quickly as I could, without running, up to Newbattle Terrace. I bought a ticket at the kiosk, went through the turnstile and found a seat at the back. I couldn’t spot him at first. All the figures were dark shapes. A soldier was kissing his sweetheart near me, so I moved forward a row and then I saw him. He was smoking. Someone must have offered him a cigarette and he was slumped down inside a coat he probably found in Professor Schramml’s cupboard. The programme started with the Pathé news; pictures of German tanks crossing the North African desert came into view, throwing up the sand in clouds. Rommel was standing on a car addressing his troops, but the German was turned down and a crisp voice said the Field Marshal’s assault on Egypt would founder in the desert thanks to the unstinting efforts of our brave boys. Hannes was leaning forward. And then they showed bombs falling on a German city. He turned his head to the side and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. His shoulders heaved and he stood up to leave, with his hand held over his mouth as if he was going to be sick. I followed him out. He was standing at the door, trying to push it open. There was a sign on it saying to contact the desk to exit once the programme had started as the wind kept blowing it open. A woman was making her way over to him in a starched, blue dress with the cinema’s logo as a pattern on the cloth. ‘Excuse me, Sir,’ she was saying, ‘excuse me, Sir. Please don’t force the door.’
She touched his arm and asked him to step back so that she could put the key in the lock. He stared at her.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
He didn’t reply and she repeated her question. I walked up to him and said, ‘There you are.’
I turned to the woman. ‘He is one of my neighbour’s nephews. He’s a bit shell-shocked. They’re hoping one of the doctors at the infirmary might be able to help.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ she said. ‘Life’s hard enough without forgetting how to open a door.’
I smiled. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I hope he hasn’t been a bother.’
‘You’re down on Falkland Terrace, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘I see you sometimes when I’m visiting my Grannie. She’s at number twenty-three.’
‘I’ll wave next time I pass you,’ I said. ‘I’d better get this one home.’
‘Do you want a refund?’ she asked, turning towards the box office. ‘You’ve hardly seen anything of the programme, although the news is always good for morale.’
Hannes pushed against the door, although it said ‘Pull’ in large letters on a brass plate.
‘Someone’s keen to get home,’ she said, as if he was a dog.
I nodded and took his arm. ‘Don’t worry about the money,’ I said.
‘It’s nae bother,’ she replied, looking through the bunch of keys in her hand, so I said I thought he might be feeling sick, and she whipped the door open after that.
I held his arm; afraid he might run or do something daft. I was so angry with him I could hardly speak and I was afraid someone might hear us, or recognise me, if I bent his ear about how stupid he had been. It was still light but we only passed one woman and she was leaning over her bairn in a pram, shaking a little knitted teddy at its tear-stained face.
In the park, I turned to him. ‘Edinburgh is a village. Do you understand? Everyone knows everyone. Don’t ever do that again.’
He was looking at me, more upset than I had ever seen him. I wondered if he knew people in the bombed town. A tear was running down his cheek. Somewhere a craw called and flapped in the branches above my head.
‘Please come home,’ I said.
He walked beside me, followed me up the stairs and I let him into Professor Schramml’s flat. He never said a word and I left him there with whatever was going round in his head, unable to help him. My mother would have said he had brought it on himself, but I wasn’t sure
it was that simple.
21
I couldn’t sleep all night, worrying that Hannes might try to escape, and I jumped at every little sound in the street. After a bath, I lay on the divan in Jeff’s study at the front so I could hear if the door opened downstairs, although I didn’t know what I would do if he did slip out. I would have had to let him go, but I was worried he might hurt someone if he was cornered, or they might hurt him. Then I remembered Jeff’s identity card was still in the flat. I eventually found it in the drawer of the hall table. It was only six o’clock, but I ran upstairs, afraid I might lose courage before I could tell Hannes my idea. He was sitting in a chair near the back window, an empty glass beside him. He was surprised to see me so early. Using Professor Schramml’s dictionary, I told him I was taking him to my family’s farm near Ayr and then across to my Aunt Ina’s in Ireland. I drew him a rough map on the back of an old envelope. He looked dubious, pacing up and down the kitchen, until I showed him Jeff’s card and his raincoat.
‘You can pretend to be my husband.’ I pointed to my ring finger and then to him, and held up the coat. It looked like it would fit quite well. Jeff had always worn things a size up to make him look bigger.
Capital Union, A Page 10
