Out with it, I demanded, you can’t hide from me Henri Haugen. What’s wrong?
He shook his head and let out a defeated sigh, removing his hands from the cat to run them through his mess of dark hair. It was then that I felt the feelings pour out, the nerves running up and down his spine, the heavy weight dragging down his lungs, making me feel like he was drawing laboured breaths up from his boots.
“The Germans shot some people in the square this morning,” he said solemnly, “they were Resistance collaborators, like the people who are helping me here.” His throat ran dry at the words as he tried to go on. “I heard the shots.”
You’ll be out of there soon enough, I soothed, but I could feel the lump in my own throat choking my thoughts.
“If they catch me here, they’ll think I’m a spy,” he said, his hands starting to tremble. The cat became skittish, slowly backing away on the table. “Then I’ll go the same way.”
You’re leaving soon, Henri. I wanted so desperately to be there, to hold him and give him more comfort than just my hopeful words. This person, the meeting-
“But that’s just it,” Henri said, growing angrier, “this man who’s supposed to be on his way to take me. He’s a spy too.”
“I’ll thank you not to say that quite so loudly,” said a whispering voice from behind us.
The voice was smooth and definitely English. Henri froze, looking at the window where he’d been expecting the man to appear. It was wide open; he had passed by totally unnoticed. I felt the hairs on the back of Henri’s neck rising up into the cold breeze now streaming in from the back alley.
“Turn around then boy; let’s take a look at what the Gaullists have sent me.”
Henri gently rose from his chair, the cat making a dash for freedom out of the open window. It felt like Henri wanted to follow it; he fought to keep his legs from shaking as he turned around. The man who stood before him was tall and slim, his dark brown hair swept into a wave. He was suited all in black with a French moustache curling above his smiling lip. I let out a gasp. When Henri’s eyes found the smiling man’s face an explosion of emotions filled his chest. We both stared at the figure in shock for a few moments before Henri rushed forward, throwing himself into the fellow’s arms.
“Mr Bavistock?” he cried in disbelief, thumping the back of his old teacher as he wrapped an arm around his waist.
Henri, I murmured, my heart hardly beating. His name isn’t Bavistock.
Henri stepped back from the man’s embrace, taking him in again, listening hard to my strained, panicked voice.
That’s my father.
Dad looked thinner and older than when I had seen him last, but the sparkle in his brown eyes was the same as ever. He smiled at Henri a while longer, but soon raised a brow. He looked funny got up as a Frenchman, under different circumstances I might have laughed at his fancy collar and curly moustache.
“Who were you talking to just now?” Dad asked, “I don’t think it was Gail?”
Pieces of my past were slowly starting to come together. Dad had been posing as a tutor in Norway, perhaps for a long time before the war had even started. He and Mum were both working for the government, and she had led Henri to him. Who better to help him escape than a British spy? I couldn’t quite get my head around the idea of my mild mannered parents doing all this despite the overwhelming evidence now staring me in the face.
Answer him, I told Henri, tell him I’m here.
Henri swallowed dryly. “It’s your daughter, Mr… Cavendish. I was talking to Kit.”
My father smiled, his shoulders dropping a little. “Is she still there?”
Henri nodded.
“In that case her mother did a damn fine job of keeping her out of the war, eh?”
Charming, I said to Henri, considering being so deeply involved in the war seems like a family tradition I’ve been missing out on.
“Pardon me sir,” Henri said, his heart recovering slowly from the shock of everything, “but your daughter is a smart girl, capable and resourceful.”
Dad came closer to Henri and clapped a hand on his shoulder warmly. “I always liked teaching you, Henri,” he mused, “you’re a respectful boy. I once thought you’d be a good match for Kit, actually. I suppose that’s where the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ comes from.”
He was certainly the man I remembered, no matter how strange he looked in foreign clothes. Dad was always rattling off old proverbs to Leigh and me whilst we rolled our eyes at each other or pretended to yawn. It was odd to see him speaking that way to Henri. They had a whole history I didn’t even know about, but I supposed that it was fortunate that they already knew and liked each other a great deal. I could feel his familiar hand on Henri’s shoulder like it was resting on my own, and no matter how bitter I’d once been about him leaving us all, I had missed him so much.
“We’d best be moving off,” Dad said, retuning with a cat-like grace to the window. He stuck his head out and had a look around. “Kit, you can stay if you don’t distract Henri. I need him to focus, ready to do whatever I say if we get into a crisis.”
“She agrees,” Henri said before I could even reply.
Walking the streets of the little French village was like watching a scene unfold at the cinema. There were a few Germans in uniform gathered on the street, my father doffed his hat to them and said something in faultless French as he and Henri passed them by. The bright grey stones were wet with tiny snowflakes that were falling and dissolving the moment they touched the ground. I noticed as we walked that Henri’s ragged trousers had been replaced for a smart suit and polished shoes. He looked as though he was some sort of junior version of Dad, trailing behind him a little as he suddenly weaved a path down a side street through some market sellers braving the icy winter air.
Eventually we reached a canvas truck that reminded me of the first time the Germans had arrived in Oslo. In the front was what looked like a German officer, but when my father brought Henri up to the window of the truck, the uniformed man put his window down and spoke with a Yorkshire accent.
“This the one George?” he whispered, looking from my father to Henri. He gave us all a kind smile.
Dad nodded. “Let’s get to the meeting place, Cliff.”
“Ja mein Herr,” Cliff replied with a chuckle.
Both Dad and Henri looked around, checking the deserted little street before scurrying into the back of the canvas van. It was dark and murky, but Henri found a bench to sit on as Dad opened a flap that let in some light as well as Cliff’s voice.
“Home James,” he joked.
“Yes milord,” Cliff answered.
“Are you still there Kit?” Dad asked, turning back to Henri in the semi-darkness. He nodded for both of us. “I might as well fill you in on the way. You’re going to help us with a little operation we’ve got going to free some other chaps, then we’ll pack you all off back to Blighty in a submarine. Sound good?”
“Getting back to Britain sounds good sir,” Henri answered. I could feel inside his body that he wasn’t so keen on the rest of the plan.
“We’ve been organising a big breakout in the POW camp a little north of here,” Dad explained, “so when the boys come out I’ll need you to help direct them into hiding until we meet the rendezvous for the submarine.”
Are we near Toulouse? I asked. Henri repeated my question to my father.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “What have you been up to Kit? What do you know?”
I told Henri about Ieuan Price and the Wing Commander and everything I could remember from sitting in on their meeting. Henri repeated it as best he could, though I seemed to be thinking the words a lot faster than he could say them. Dad listened to his stunted ramble carefully for the important bits.
“My, my,” he said when the story was told, “you do get around my girl. But this is brilliant; we’ve been trying to get a psychic contact in that camp for weeks. You could help us! Ow!”
Dad suddenly
held his hands up over his ears like something loud had happened, but the truck kept rolling along on the quiet road. He grumbled to himself as he rubbed at his head, suddenly holding his hands up.
“Okay, okay,” he said, looking back to Henri and me, “apparently your mother thinks that’s a very bad idea.”
Mum was there in his head. We three were all together for the strangest of reunions.
Well tough, I said to Henri, I’ll be there whether you like it or not.
Henri chose not to repeat my words exactly. “Would it really be so dangerous for Kit to just pass a few messages?” he inquired.
My father sat and listened quietly for a moment, then sighed. “She’s not a baby any more, Gail,” he reasoned. I could well imagine my mother’s heated replies going straight into his brain. “She was bound to come into this sooner or later, at least I’ll be there to guide her.”
There was more silence, then Dad slowly started to grin. He had always won the arguments at home too. He gave Henri and me the thumbs up, I could feel Henri smiling, his chest bathed in relief.
Told you nothing would stop me, I whispered to him. His smile widened.
“Oi,” said my dad, pointing a finger at us, “no lovey-dovey talk while I’m sat here. This is serious business. You kids will have to do as you’re told if we’re going to make this op a success.”
“We will sir,” Henri answered for us both, “just tell us what to do.”
Dad nodded at something we couldn’t hear. “All right,” he said to Mum, “yes dear.” Then he turned to us, his dark eyes glowing in the dim interior of the truck. “We’ll be at the meeting point soon. The plan’s going to be mostly in French. Do you speak any?” I knew he was talking to Henri, who shook his head. “In that case you just watch and nod your head enthusiastically. I’ll translate it all for you two later on. Shall we say five o’clock Kit?”
I’ll be there, I promised. Henri repeated my words, still smiling.
“See you then,” said my father, winking as he gave me his old familiar grin.
I could hardly process how I felt when I returned to Ieuan’s room at Ty Gwyn. Everything in my world had collided in one big jumble, filling my head with all sorts of new ideas that didn’t marry well with the old ones. I had resented my father for more than two years for his abrupt departure, but now so much of his sudden leaving made sense that I couldn’t make peace with those old feelings of rage. What’s more he’d stood up for me, given me the chance to do what Mum was so desperate to keep me away from. Mum, I now realised, already had one person she loved exposed to the horrors of war every day of his life, I was starting to understand why she was afraid of me going the same way.
I rushed onto my crutches and out of my room, intending to find Idrys and tell him the good news, when I found Leighton sitting alone at the top of the stairs. He had his head on his knees and a slump in his shoulders. I clonked my crutch to let him know I was there. When he turned to face me his looks were pale and confused.
“Are you all right Leigh?” I asked.
I wanted to sit down beside him on the top step but it was a little too ambitious a move. I had visions of toppling down the stone staircase and landing with a crunch at the bottom, so I settled for reaching down to pat his head before edging away again gingerly. Leighton took the hint and followed me back to my room, sitting down on the bed with me.
“Blod and Doctor B are snogging,” he said with a ghastly look on his face, “It’s disgusting.”
“I don’t want to know,” I laughed, patting his knee. “That’s not what’s upset you is it? I know the atmosphere’s a bit funny today, but everyone’s very busy with the wedding.” Not to mention the dam full of Price family secrets that was fit to burst and flood Ty Gwyn.
Leigh shook his head. He looked more thoughtful than I had ever seen him, usually my little brother was fairly empty-headed, concerned only with where and when his next meal was coming and how best to play and fill up the time until it was served. Today he looked pensive and a little sad. I hugged him to me and he wrapped his arm around my back.
“We’ll see Mum soon,” I offered, “You can have the day off school for the ceremony, you know.”
“That’ll be good,” he mumbled against my side.
“What’s up?” I asked again, “You can tell me Leigh. I won’t be cross.”
He shook his head and pulled away. “I think I had a funny turn, that’s all. I feel better now.”
“It wasn’t a fever, was it?” I questioned warily, thinking of Mum and her little visits to his mind.
“No,” he said certainly. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It doesn’t matter.”
He got up to leave and gave me a smile, but it looked a little forced. I caught him by the wrist before he could escape.
“Tell me if you feel like that again,” I urged him, “Don’t keep it secret.”
“Course not,” he replied; smiling a bit more genuinely, “We don’t have secrets, apart from you thinking I don’t know that you kissed Henri. A lot.”
“You little git!” I shouted with a laugh, but he was already running away from me.
I sat giggling on the bed until a guilty kind of sadness washed over me. We don’t have secrets, he had said. But I did. Big secrets. Tears threatened behind my eyes as I realised I was just like Mum and Dad, hiding everything from Leigh, pushing him out and ignoring him when I needed to. It was easy to do. Actually, it was so easy I hadn’t realised how I had lied to my brother every day of his little life, spied on him, even messed with his head when I was younger. I made a silent vow to myself that I would give Leighton the truth after the wedding, once Mum was away again and couldn’t interfere. He deserved to be prepared for the madness that awaited him in his future.
***
The plot to help the escaping prisoners of war was simple and it would be highly effective if the whole thing came off according to plan. Dad had been taking it in shifts to dig out the sturdy tunnel with other members of the Free French Resistance, those who called themselves Gaullists because they believed in the political leader Charles De Gaulle. The tunnel was secured with wooden splints, poles, girders and anything else that had been donated to the cause by collaborating villagers. It began in the barn of a farm not too far from the camp itself, the place where Henri had been taken to the meeting, and in another day’s time it would connect with the underground attempts that had been made by the Wing Commander and his men under the floorboards of their bunk house.
That was, if I did my part of the operation correctly. It had become my job to go to Ieuan and tell him that Dad and the Gaullists would be using a bird call underground to let them know when they were close to making the tunnels connect. That way the men in the camp would know which way to dig. The only real potential problem with the plan was if Ieuan didn’t believe the voice in his head. If I wasn’t convincing enough and he threw a fit or thought he was going mad, it might alert the German guards and the whole operation could go up in smoke. A tangible pressure lined the back of my throat, making me feel queasy at the prospect of being the sole reason that everything went wrong, but I agreed confidently to play my part in the plan.
The time came to do my part quite late the next evening. I found Ieuan sitting at a table with some of the other prisoners with a handful of playing cards that he wasn’t looking at. Occasionally one of the men threw a card down, but none of them appeared to be playing a proper game. They were all watching the clock above the door to their barracks and looking out at the silhouette of an armed soldier standing right outside their door. I had never seen the solider there before. Something was wrong.
“Right chaps, lights out.” The Wing Commander was standing by a little brass switch. “Into bed until the evening inspection’s passed.”
The captured fighters moved as one, obediently throwing themselves into their beds. Ieuan wriggled out of his uniform under the covers and screwed up his trousers and jacket, shoving them into a pack that was waiting un
der the bed. The lights flickered off. All was still. I took my opportunity to begin.
Mam wouldn’t like you treating your clothes that way, Ieuan.
He jumped like most people did when they first heard my echoing tone in their mind. The fellow on the bunk above Ieuan’s told him to shush. He lay back down staring up at the underside of that bunk, but now every muscle in his body was pulled into tense knots, nerves trickled like an electric river up and down his sides.
Don’t talk, just listen, or the others will think you’ve gone mad.
I felt him let out a tiny laugh. He clenched his fists.
I know, I know that this is strange. But don’t you know my voice? It’s Kit. I’m here in your room at Ty Gwyn.
Ieuan’s face was screwed up in thought; he rubbed his chin where I felt a layer of ginger fuzz had been growing. Suddenly the door to the pitch black bunk house opened and Ieuan closed his eyes, plunging us into further darkness. I heard a set of footsteps echoing around the beds, the familiar click of jackboots that I wished I didn’t recognise so well.
Bloody Germans, I told Ieuan, but don’t worry. I know about the Resistance digging in to help you. I’m here to help too.
Being told not to worry didn’t seem to do anything calming for the body I was in. Ieuan had started to sweat, his heart forcing out rapid beats. The footsteps of the inspecting solider walked away again and soon after the door closed. Ieuan opened his eyes again, now adjusted enough to the dark for me to make out other soldiers climbing silently out of their beds. Ieuan did the same, but his legs were now shaking as he put his bare feet into his boots and picked up his pack of clothes.
Please don’t be scared, I tried in a calm tone, you’re not going mad. I’m the one with the strange abilities, not you. You’ll be fine after this. I’ll never put words in your head ever again, I swear. Okay?
He nodded a little in the darkness and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Worlds Between Page 28
