“You said you had three other children Mam?” I asked, taking a bite of a cucumber sandwich.
“Oh yes,” she answered with great warmth in her tone, “My two eldest, the boys, they’re with their father in the RAF, learning to fly at Porth Neigwl. It’s a bit of a way from yur, too far to visit like, but it’s nice to know they’re still on Welsh soil, isn’t it?”
“Do you suppose they’ll be training for the war?” I asked, fascinated.
A softness came to Mam’s eyes, her smile faded just slightly before she brushed off her apron. “Oh if they’re as brave as their father, they’ll be out there battering the Germans in no time,” she exclaimed, “He was in the first war you know, my Clive.” She smiled again proudly as I ate. “And,” she continued, “I have a daughter, who is in the house somewhere. I don’t know where she’s got to, actually, I did tell her you were coming.”
Even as she was saying the words there came a clattering sound and a voice answered her: “She’s been all over the house, actually, because her mother gave her a million impossible things to do before lunchtime.”
The young woman who entered the kitchen was carrying a large stack of washing which she dumped onto a counter with a huff. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, with pale skin and blonde curls and sparkling blue eyes. I envied her instantly, most especially her strong, slender legs. I’d have bet any money in the world that she was good at dancing.
“Blodwyn, this is Catherine and Leighton Cavendish,” Mam said in her sing song voice, “They’re just arrived from London.”
“Pleasure,” said Blodwyn without smiling. Her voice didn’t quite have the same melody as her mother’s. “I’d be more welcoming, of course, if someone hadn’t worn me out asking me to do every bloody chore in the house, whilst she set about making a ridiculously big lunch that the five of us couldn’t possibly bloody eat.”
“What’s all this language, Blod?” Mam chided in a shrill tone. She seemed more amused by her daughter’s moaning than annoyed. She turned to me with a knowing look. “I thought she’d grow out of this attitude when she stopped being a teenager, you know, but she turned twenty last month and there’s been no change.”
The beautiful girl gave a frustrated groan so loud that it startled Leighton, who spilt the cordial he was drinking on his shirt. He looked at the pink stain with a frown.
“Oh dear!” Mam said kindly, “Let’s get that cleaned up quick, come with me love.”
Leighton obeyed, exiting the kitchen by the far door. I saw him take Mam’s hand as they went and I smiled, content that he was going to be well looked after at Ty Gwyn. When they had gone I realised that Blodwyn was watching me. She was leaning her perfect frame against the sink with a thoughtful look clouding her eyes.
“I’d love to be twenty,” I said awkwardly, “I bet you’ve got all kinds of freedom about the village.”
“Not any more,” Blod said, her rosy lips turning to a sneer, “Thanks to your arrival, I might add.” She folded her arms sharply. “Now that you’re here, Mam says I have to pick up the slack, because she’s going to be busy seeing to you all the time.”
I got the distinct impression that she didn’t mean ‘me and Leighton’ when she said ‘you’. She was looking at my wheelchair disdainfully and I felt like I wanted it to fold up and swallow me whole. Blod approached me suddenly, her blonde tresses flowing like some vicious goddess. Her blue eyes hardened as she looked down into my face.
“So don’t go thinking we’ll be like sisters, or friends, or anything like that,” she snarled, “Because all you mean to me is more bloody work.”
She stormed away after that, nearly knocking Ness off her feet as the little girl appeared in the doorway. She groaned that loud groan again in anger. “Out the way, pest!”
Ness stumbled around her so she could continue to parade from the room in fury. The little girl blinked in surprise, but she didn’t seem upset by her sister’s remarks. Instead she caught sight of me and started to smile again, ambling up with her hands behind her back. She bit her lip, then brought her arms around to her front to reveal a little ragdoll with ginger-brown hair the same shade as mine.
“Dolly!” she said proudly.
I tried to smile for her, but it was suddenly difficult again.
I needn’t have worried about where I was going to sleep; it seemed Mam had thought of everything when it came to taking on an evacuee with an illness. She had turned her husband’s sitting room at the back of the house into a bedroom for me so that I would never have the stairs to tackle. There was a fireplace, a wash basin and some basic ablutions to help me stay comfortable and plenty of space around the single bed for my chair to get around the room. I rather thought the bed had come from a hospital, but I didn’t like to ask too many questions on the first day.
Mam left me to change for bed, which I could manage alone most of the time. I hauled myself out of my chair by leaning on the bed frame, then sat on the edge of the bed and shuffled out of my day clothes and into my nightie. My stockings were the hardest thing to get off; I realised sadly that Mum had always been the one to pull them off at the toes. But I managed eventually and I was rather proud of myself when Mam returned and found me wriggling in under the warm white covers.
I knew right away though, that she could see the pain it had caused me to get about half a foot from the chair into the bed. I could feel my cheeks glowing red, my arms aching from putting all my weight on them, but I didn’t like to think about the pain, much less to talk about it. Mam helped me with the last of the covers as I put my head on the pillow. She put a small glass of water and a biscuit on the bedside table.
“My bedroom’s right above yur,” she said softly, “so if you get into trouble you give me a shout.”
“Thank you,” I answered, stifling a yawn.
“You get a good rest love,” she continued, “I had a telephone call tonight. They’re sending a car for you tomorrow to go and meet your new doctor.”
The news was not the kind that encouraged a good night’s sleep. I thanked Mam politely and she put out the light, closing my door with a gentle hand. But when she had gone I shuffled my aching legs restlessly and rubbed my upper arms where they had taken on the strain. I didn’t relish the idea of being prodded and poked by a new physician, it was bad enough being examined once a month by Doctor Baxendale in London and I’d known him since I was twelve when all the pain began. I wondered idly what the new doctor might be like, but the more I wondered, the more I worried, and I decided instead that my mind needed a different occupation tonight.
Aside from Leighton and my mother, I had never been able to use my secret gift to intentionally enter anyone else’s head. I had always supposed it was familiarity that allowed me such easy access into their minds, but I also knew that my psychic ability sometimes had a farther reach. Most especially when I was sleeping, in fact. It had started to happen when I was around eight or nine, but of course for a long time I thought they were dreams. Dreams where I was in someone else’s head, looking through their eyes, hearing them speak and feeling their innermost emotions like they were my own.
Now as I lay in my new bed of my new home, I closed my eyes, hoping that something interesting would come my way as I surrendered my mind to slumber.
***
Generally I didn’t like looking through the eyes of men, and I knew this one was a man as soon as I saw the huge black boots crossed on the desk in front of me. He was clipping the end off of a cigar with two great hairy hands that looked rather old in a pale blue room with expensive-looking paintings on every wall. He lit the cigar and I felt the wave of satisfaction he got from the first long inhale he took. I was grateful at least that my powers did not extend to having to smell the smoke from the beastly thing, and I hoped that they never would.
The smoking man wasn’t alone in his room for long. He turned my viewpoint to a set of doors painted in blue and gold as another man entered the room. My man leapt out of hi
s seat so fast I felt sick from the transition; he was standing upright and saying something to the new chap in a language that I didn’t understand. I saw the new arrival properly then, in his grey-green suit and trousers. No, not a suit. A uniform. His collar had two red rectangles sticking out under his fat chin, each covered in golden leaf patterns. A row of coloured medals adorned the man’s chest and his hat bore the symbol of a bird of prey in flight, with a u-shaped golden laurel thing and what looked like a target in the middle. And under the bird of prey was a symbol I knew. A swastika.
“Generalfeldmarschall,” said the man whose head I occupied. I felt him give some kind of salute; his heart was suddenly pounding in my ears.
Even as I dreamed, I knew I was seeing something I shouldn’t be. I drifted in and out of consciousness as the men began their conversation in what I now knew had to be the German tongue. There was a trick to maintaining focus in my sleep that I had not quite mastered; it was hard to stay alert when I knew that I was actually already unconscious. I noticed that the man whose mind I held also had the grey-green sleeves of the military uniform on. The other more superior man had ordered him to clear his desk, after which he laid out a map for him, and me, to see.
I had never been any good at Geography, even when I was still healthy enough to attend school. The map was a funny looking coastline with all sorts of jagged bits that didn’t make sense, as though someone had taken a knife to the country and cut long deep valleys of water into it, with other valleys jutting off to the sides. If it was a country I knew by name then it wasn’t one I’d ever bothered to look up on a map, but through my man’s eyes I was forced to study it closely and carefully. I could feel his nerves rising the more his superior talked at him, until the high ranking man slammed a strong, old finger down on the map at a space on the coast.
Oslo.
I knew the city’s name, but the country was still lost on me. As I tried to pull the information from my conscious memory I felt the familiar cold shiver start to creep up my spine. I tried to resist, tried to stay with the mind I had found, but I knew really that it was too late. The connection was fading. I was falling into a proper sleep.
***
I awoke the next morning to the sound of birds outside the window, which alarmed me at first. The only birds to ever wake me in London were the pigeons, and whatever was outside in the farmland right now was much louder and less considerate than they were. As I lay flat looking up at the black beams of the ceiling my mind drifted back to the German viewpoint I had discovered the night before. It was such a fabulous possibility, to be able to see right into the war. I sighed heavily, knowing that it would be pure luck to ever get back to it again.
I jolted my spine as I heard my door starting to open, but I was relieved to find it was only Leighton stumbling in. The sight of him in his stripy red and white pyjamas made me ache for Mum and home suddenly. He had a sad look on his usually cheeky face that made me suspect he was feeling the same way. Leigh said nothing as he rounded my bed and clambered in, taking the biscuit Mam had left me the night before and starting to munch. He cuddled up next to me very slowly; he knew how difficult my morning stiffness was. It hurt to bring my arm down and put it around him, but I did it anyway.
“Is your bedroom nice?” I asked him as I felt his little jaw chewing against my side.
“It’s bigger than at home,” he answered with his mouth full, “But I had strange dreams.”
“Don’t blame the room for that,” I soothed, rubbing his back, “That’s just you stuffing your face with cheese all day.”
Leighton giggled for a moment, but it faded away. “Do want help to sit up?” he asked.
I felt a pang inside. Mum had always been the one to hoist me up in the morning. I wasn’t even sure that Leighton would be strong enough to pull me.
We had just about managed it between us when Mam arrived in the room, looking very smart in a pink dress that clung to her round shape. She thanked Leigh for helping and told him to dress before breakfast, which he found very odd indeed. At home he and Mum had always eaten jam on toast upstairs in my room whilst I tried to get my strength together for the day. The smell of cooked breakfast food wafted in as he stood there in doubt and I smiled as it tempted him away to find his clothes.
“Do have something smart to wear Kit?” Mam asked as she gently brought me nearer the edge of the bed.
I was about to ask what for until I remembered with dread. The German in my head had pushed out the appointment, but now I knew once again that I had a date with the doctor not long from now.
***
Leighton was invited to stop at home and explore Ty Gwyn whilst we went over the hill to meet the doctor. Though I didn’t like the thought of Blod’s version of looking after him, he seemed keen to have a wander round the out buildings in search of chickens and things, so I put my faith in Mam and let him stay. It wasn’t fair really to drag him out to sit in a doctor’s waiting room anyway, no matter how much I needed a familiar face with me. I knew Mam had sensed my nerves because she put her warm hand over mine all the way to the surgery in the car. Every time I looked at her rosy face she was smiling, which made me feel a tiny bit better when the lovely white car pulled up outside a little cottage.
It certainly wasn’t the whitewashed, sterile office in Bethnal Green that I was used to. When Mam wheeled me inside I was fascinated by the photographs of happy miners and farmers on the walls and the cosy collection of various armchairs that had been donated to make up the waiting room. The secretary that took some information from me was a dear old lady who offered me sweets as she starting telling Mam all the latest news from the village itself. I tuned out of the conversation, settling into the place and enjoying the smell of fresh flowers and peppermints as I waited.
“Catherine Cavendish?”
“Oh hello Doctor Bickerstaff,” Mam said, wheeling me round to the source of the voice.
My first thought was that he looked like Robert Taylor the film star, except that he was much more fair-haired. Mum had taken me to see A Yank In Oxford last year in Leicester Square for my birthday treat. Doctor Bickerstaff couldn’t have been a day over 30. He was smartly dressed with big blue eyes that landed on Mam. He gave her a polite nod, and when he spoke again I realised that he was English.
“Ah Mrs Price, good day. I’d like to see Miss Cavendish alone for the initial assessment if you don’t mind.”
“No, no, whatever you think is best Doctor,” Mam answered. It was clear that she revered the young professional a great deal.
Bickerstaff looked down at me, but he didn’t move to take my chair. I didn’t move either, of course, which left us in a strange, awkward staring contest for a moment. The fair doctor folded his arms.
“Well?” he demanded, “Can’t you wheel yourself?”
There was something terribly harsh in his voice like a schoolmaster. I felt my nerves rising again.
“No of course not,” I answered, half anxious and half annoyed. Couldn’t he see how incapable I was?
Doctor Bickerstaff sneered, and suddenly he wasn’t so much like a film star.
“How disappointing,” he observed.
He walked with disturbingly brisk strides to take my chair and wheeled me very quickly into his office. I had to hold on to my armrests so as not to slide out of the chair when he stopped short of his desk. Instead of sitting behind it he pulled up a chair opposite me and took a paper file from his desk, ignoring me for several uncomfortable minutes as he consulted it.
“Juvenile Arthritis,” he concluded, snapping the file shut.
“Excuse me Doctor,” I said quietly, “But Doctor Baxendale called it Still’s Disease. Is that the same thing?”
“Your Doctor Baxendale’s an idiot.” Bickerstaff hardly looked at me when he spoke. “He doesn’t know his ilium from his olecranon. Now, I want to see you stand. Get up.”
He said it like it was an easy thing to do. The blonde sat back in his chair expectantly, makin
g it quite clear that he wouldn’t be giving me a pull to help me to my feet. I steeled myself, reaching both hands out to grip his desk ready to make the effort. When my feet found the ground I could already feel the pinch where the skin around my ankles was swollen, when I pressed a little weight onto them the sensation was like somebody inserting a screwdriver right into the joint and twisting it hard. I cried out at the first sharp moment of pain, looking at the doctor viciously.
“I can’t,” I said through gritted teeth, “I’m sorry Doctor, but I can’t.”
“Get up,” he repeated.
I felt the hotness of water rising behind my eyes but I did my best to bite back the tears that wanted to come pouring out. I felt like his stern face might just break into a smile if I did. The only way to win the argument was to prove myself right. With an almighty force I hurled myself onto my feet as though I was shifting my weight onto a bed or another chair, but instead I used the desk to push all of my weight onto my legs. My knees buckled under me after just a few seconds and I felt myself dropping to the floor like a crumpled sack of vegetables.
And Doctor Bickerstaff let me fall.
He actually let my head hit the lino floor in his office before he even moved a muscle. After I had landed the impact sent a shockwave of pain through me so hot I’d have sworn I’d been set on fire. It was then that Bickerstaff got up to assist. He lifted my weak little frame with ease back into my wheelchair in seconds. I kept my head down, determined to show him no gratitude for the aid, since it was his fault I’d fallen in the first place.
“I told you I can’t do it,” I spat, seething as blood flushed into my cheeks.
“How interesting,” he said.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him offering me a tissue. I snatched it out of his hand like a child in my rage. Interesting? I’m sure he’d find it terribly interesting if he fell flat on his face and nobody gave him any sympathy. After I had dried my eyes I managed to look at him again, but he had his nose back in the file and he was writing something down. Then without even checking on me he got up and went to call Mam into the room. To my great relief she came in in a flurry as soon as she saw me red-faced and teary.
Worlds Between Page 7
