by K. C. Finn
My heart threatened to batter its way out of my chest as I nodded too many times. Idrys and Henri sat themselves down on the sofa whilst I took a few deep breaths, trying desperately to gather my thoughts. In her letters Mum had told us that there were special shelters all over the city now in case of these attacks and that she’d be able to hide in the London Underground stations if the threat of bombs ever became a reality. I wondered sadly what Clive had really died for, why we had beaten them back once just for them to regroup and start destroying us again. I tried to push the anger aside as I raised my hands up over my eyes, shutting them tightly against the afternoon sun.
I heard the echo of what I thought was thunder as I looked into a totally black scene. My mother had her hands over her ears and her eyes tight shut. She was trembling all over, but right in the centre of her chest was a flush of anger I couldn’t understand. When she opened her eyes I looked out into a dimly lit underground station that I didn’t recognise. It was packed with hundreds of people in wet raincoats split directly in half: into those who were looking up to the sound of the thunder and those who were burying their faces down towards the ground. Mum joined the ones looking up, until another clap of the horrific noise came echoing down the stairwell nearby.
It wasn’t thunder of course. The bombs were bigger than I could ever have imagined, louder than if you’d flown a biplane straight through a thunderstorm. Most of the women in the makeshift shelter were on the ground, huddled with their children, trying to soothe them. I could hear their little cries reverberating around the station. It was strange to see this many people gathered without the faintest sight of a train. On the other side of the tracks they sat in rows along the wall, some people were even laid out trying to sleep on their wet coats. Another bomb went off overhead and the collected people shook like they were of the same mind, my mother rubbed her arms, holding herself steady.
Dad should be there to hold you, I thought.
I realised I’d become far too casual with my thoughts, it had come from spending all my nights talking to Henri. Mum stiffened, raising a hand to her face to cover her mouth.
“Kit?” she whispered. “Was that you?”
I was surprised by the total lack of shock in her voice, or in her body for that matter.
Yes, I said unsurely, I suppose I should explain?
Mum took off at a pace to an abandoned block of telephones nearby. As she reached one she put it to her ear and I heard the tone that meant the phones were out of service. My mother deftly slipped a pair of sewing scissors from her handbag and snipped the phone line so the noise died out. She held the two ends of the cut cord in her hand where no-one could see the break. I watched in fascination. Mum had always been a confident, no-nonsense sort of woman, but I had never witnessed such a cool and collected display from anyone I knew, least of all her.
“You don’t need to explain to me sweetheart,” she spoke as though she was using the phone, “I know what you can do.”
My first reaction was not relief, but betrayal. Why didn’t you tell me you knew? I demanded. All these years that I’ve been wondering who I am, what I can do? And you’ve just been keeping it a secret!
“I had to darling, or they would have enlisted you!” Mum toyed with a long curl the same auburn colour as mine, I could feel her agitation.
Who would have enlisted me? I pressed. Enlisted me for what?
“People like us are exploited in times like these,” she replied.
People like us, I repeated, stunned. Then… you can do it too?
“I suppose it’s time to tell you love,” my mother began sadly; “I don’t work in a factory. I have never worked in a factory. I do what I can for the War Office.”
Did Dad know what we are? I asked fearfully. Is that why he left us?
Mum’s whole body changed, every muscle growing tense. “That’s not a conversation we can have in public, Kit. You never know who’s listening.” I tried to speak again but she cut over me fiercely. “Look Kit we’re not supposed to talk like this. People with our abilities shouldn’t link up, it causes problems.”
I know, I answered, It always gives me headaches, finding you.
“And when I find you it makes you very ill,” Mum said, a bitter taste of guilt catching in her throat, “I’m so sorry about that by the way, I stopped peeking into your life as soon as I realised what it was doing to you.”
The fevers! I exclaimed as explanation dawned. I was excited by the deduction for a moment, until I realised that meant that Mum had been a witness to me threatening Doctor Bickerstaff that time. I didn’t even have time to feel ashamed before she was talking again.
“I’ve been using Leigh to keep an eye on you both since then; he’s not getting ill is he?”
No, he’s the same as usual, I answered.
“Good,” she said with a nod, “Look you really must go darling before it hurts you too much. Your granddad used to spy on me years ago and it set me off with migraines for days sometimes. I’m fine here; they’ll keep us all night if they need to, until the city’s safe again. Just keep yourself and everyone else there safe and well.” She paused a moment, a grin slowly forming on her lips. “And give my regards to Henri.”
***
When I returned I was weak and aching like someone had hit me in the back of the skull with a brick. Idrys and Henri took me to my room and heaved me onto my bed, shutting the curtains to let me recover in the dark. After some of the ache had subsided I told them what I’d seen and most importantly heard. Idrys reclined in thought in the chair, rubbing his beard, but Henri came to sit beside me on my bed and held my hand. He grinned with a flushed face, shaking his head.
“I’ll bet she watched us dancing,” he mused awkwardly.
“How embarrassing,” I said, throwing my free hand up over my face with a sigh.
We descended into bashful giggles until Idrys cleared his throat.
“What was your mum’s maiden name Kit?” he asked.
“Arkwright,” Henri answered for me. I gave his hand a squeeze, impressed that he’d remembered.
“I wish I’d known that before,” the Welshman mused. We both gave him a curious look. “That fella from the Great War that I told you about…”
“The psychic spy,” I filled in, turning my head on my pillow to see his face properly, “What about him?”
“His name was Reggie Arkwright.”
“My grandfather,” I replied. It wasn’t even worth being shocked anymore; I just had to accept the fact that my whole family had been keeping secrets around me all my life. It wouldn’t do to be bitter about it, I was just grateful that it was all finally coming out for me to put the pieces together. “I guess that means this psychic thing is an inherited gift.”
“If you have children, they might have it too,” Henri said excitedly. I couldn’t help but return his grin.
“Fate’s a funny thing, init?” Idrys asked, “Makes you think there’s a plan for us all.”
I didn’t care what the plan was, so long as it involved us all surviving this war so I could finally interrogate my mother about everything I needed to know. And the first thing on that list would be what had really happened to Dad.
The blitz of bombs in London raged on all through the month of September. Mum sent me and Leighton a huge letter telling us that she was all right and how good the air raid wardens and the shelters were in the city, but made no mention at all of any of the questions I wanted her to answer. Henri suggested that she must be doing it to protect me, but I waved that off angrily every time he said it. I was sick of everyone trying to protect me, I wanted answers about my gift, my family, my father, and the war was getting in the way of it all. Worse than that, time was running out even faster than before for me and Henri.
I cried buckets when he came home with his train ticket to get to Essex for basic training. He’d leave at lunchtime on September 30th to get there for the start of the next day and Bickerstaff had booked the same journey.
Mam was the one to find me sobbing over Henri’s imminent departure, which made me feel all the more awful since she was still doing plenty of sobbing of her own when she thought no-one could hear her. She put her arms around me until I quietened down, whispering that everything was bound to be all right. I wasn’t sure which one of us believed her words less.
In our remaining days together Henri and I did the usual things that teenagers did, which was a whole new experience for me since I’d been confined to my chair, shying away at home for so long. We walked in the hills, the flatter ones at least, looking at the orange blanket of autumn that had settled over the village. We went to the cinema and sat holding hands as some dashing romantic heroes pranced about on the screen. We even did the shopping for Blod a few times, just to be out and about together. Nobody seemed to want to intercept us anymore and we were alone together often, but I was growing impatient now that Henri hadn’t kissed me. Or wouldn’t kiss me, to be more accurate.
We were about a week from his departure when I decided I’d tackle the subject. He watched me walk to a spot beneath our usual tree and I managed to get down into the crunchy leaves all by myself. Instead of leaning on the trunk I lay flat amongst the foliage and grass, looking up into the colours of the branches overhead. Henri lay down next to me and took hold of my hand, stroking along my knuckles with one of his fingers.
“Are you trying to stop me from getting too attached?” I asked suddenly.
“What do you mean?” he replied.
I gulped, steeling myself for the important question. “Do you think that if you kiss me, it’ll be too much for me to cope with when you go?”
He let go of my hand. My heart sank for a moment when I thought he was moving away from me, but he shuffled his long body onto its side and slipped his arm over my stomach. He held my side and pulled gently until I grabbed his shoulder to turn and face him. His black hair and lightly tanned face shone against the leaves as he let his fingertips stroke my cheek.
“If I kiss you,” he began slowly, “It’s me that won’t be able to cope.” He let his hand fall back to my waist and pulled our bodies close together until I couldn’t see his face. I nuzzled my nose into his collarbone and kissed him there lightly through his shirt. “The promise of your kiss is what I’ll live for out there. It’s what will help me come back home to you.”
It made me feel special, but I was happy and sad in the same moment. He sounded like he used to when I was in his head, the Henri surviving hard times who had relied on me to be there for him. But that was also the Henri who’d been beaten and harassed by Nazis, the Henri who had streaked past armed guards and almost been tossed out of a boat to his watery grave in the choppy North Sea.
“Don’t you need to know what kind of kiss it is you’ll be coming back to?” I pressed, playing with the button on the pocket over his heart. I tingled all over when he held me even tighter.
“The curiosity is killing me, I promise you,” he chuckled. He let out a deep sigh against the top of my head. “Do you think I’m going to die out there?” He asked the question quietly, but he didn’t sound worried.
“No, of course not!” I exclaimed, pulling back so I could see his face.
“Then there’s no urgency, is there?” Henri said with a soft, level tone. He started to stroke my face again, calming my frayed nerves. “I’ll go and I’ll do my part for the war. And when I come back, you and I will always be together.”
There were so many things I wanted to argue against, so many worries I had that he just couldn’t soothe. But the moment between us in the autumn air was quiet and precious. I didn’t want to remember any part of my time with him ending in a fight.
“Okay,” I said weakly, trying to smile, “In that case, shall we steal Blod’s radio and try to have a dance?”
***
No-one could have made better use of their time than we did during that last month; I had bucket-loads of laughing, smiling memories of Henri to see me through the times when he wouldn’t be there beside me. But it was still a shock when there came a knock at the door on the morning of September 30th. I was in the little sitting room alone when I heard Idrys answer the door and caught wind of Doctor Bickerstaff replying to him. The two men went upstairs and Blod came to find me from the kitchen, taking off her apron as she entered the room.
“Was that Steven?” she urged.
I nodded. “Henri said he was bringing him his uniform so he could get changed here, instead of on the train.”
Blod nodded, her beautiful brow creased in worry. She had hardly mentioned anything about Bickerstaff to me since that one morning under the tree, but any time Henri or I mentioned his name we always got the sense that she was suddenly eavesdropping on us very carefully. She rung her hands together and took a few sharp breaths before she was off out of the room again like a shot. I was left listening for Henri and though I was tempted to step into his head I resisted the urge. Today was not the day for that kind of prying, I would wait for him to come and say a proper goodbye.
Eventually the feet on the steep stone steps caught my ears. I turned my wheels to face the door and smoothed my hair and dress down tidy, admiring the polka dots draped over my knees. It was the dress he had made me, the one we had saved for an opportunity that never came, and though Henri might have been willing to wait until after the war to see it on me, I was not so patient. I heaved up out of my chair and onto my crutches, swishing the dress with a swing of my knees so it fell nicely around me. I found I was surprisingly weak for the time of the morning, like the core of every limb was made of jelly.
The trembling weakness only increased when a slow creak indicated that the door was opening. A pair of long legs in brown boots stepped through it, shortly followed by the rest of Henri’s strong body and his wide, shining smile. I smiled back proudly at the sight of him in uniform, but my face dropped into a frown when I realised he wasn’t wearing the green shade I’d been expecting. His fatigues were a dusty, sandy sort of brown. Henri slipped an arm around my waist to help me stay standing, following my gaze to his khaki lapels as I reached out and touched the thin, coarse fabric.
“You like the colour?” he asked playfully.
“What’s it for?” I answered, looking back up to his deep brown eyes.
“North Africa,” was his reply.
“The desert!” I exclaimed.
I didn’t know as much as I should have about all the places on the globe where this beastly war was being fought, but I knew that the sandy belt of countries flanking the north coast of Africa weren’t the safest place to be even in peace-time. I couldn’t find any more words to say, so I just buried my head in Henri’s shoulder and tried not to cry. He wrapped his arms around me tightly until a second set of footfalls entered the room.
I pulled away from him to see Bickerstaff wearing the same coloured clothes, save for a few big red crosses sewn on that indicated his position as a medical officer. He had a smart little hat sticking out of his pocket which he toyed with as he tried not to process the sight of us wrapped up together in affection. Henri put me back down into my chair, his hands running up the torso of my dress as he let me go. He pointed at the fabric wordlessly, his eyes roaming over his creation, and I smiled.
“Did you tell Kit where we’re going?” Bickerstaff asked, perching himself on the corner of the sofa opposite us. We both nodded. The doctor’s big blue eyes found mine. “We’re going to be with the 7th Armoured Division, that’s tanks and things.”
“Exciting eh?” Henri asked, taking hold of my hand. Dangerous more like. I could tell Bickerstaff was sharing my opinion. Henri turned his head to the doctor eagerly. “Will we be on the ground or might they teach us how to drive the tanks?”
“You’ll go wherever they think you’re best suited,” Bickerstaff replied without a chance of a smile, “I’ll be on the ground, though. I have to be.”
I could hear that same defeated tone hiding in the shadow of his words. When he said on the grou
nd, he didn’t just mean on foot. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him some great lie that would give him the same eager spirit that Henri had, as though spirit might just be enough to get them through the hell they were headed for, but anything I might have said was lost when the door to the room opened again.
“I’ll bring the old truck round to get you lads to the station,” said Idrys, stopping to give me a cheer-up kind of smile, “You just come out when you’re ready, right?”
As the men nodded and the old farmer disappeared from the door, he was replaced by Blod with Ness held against her hip. The little girl looked strangely nervous as Blod brought her in and shut the door. Blod lifted her up a bit and gave her a squeeze.
“Right now,” she said gently, her eyes travelling instantly to Bickerstaff, “You’ve got to say goodbye to the boys, see? They’re going to bash the Germans.”
Ness made a fist with her tiny hand and punched the air in front of her slowly. Blod took her first to Henri and passed her over, but as soon as she was in his arms she became the rowdy, wriggling mess that she always was for him. She punched him in the cheek gently and he said ‘Ow’ in a high pitch squeak that made her laugh.
“Give him a kiss and cuddle and wish him good luck,” Blod pressed.
Ness planted a tiny, shy kiss on Henri’s face and mumbled something against his ear as he squeezed her up tight. He wore a grateful smile as he handed the wriggling infant back to Blod, returning to sit beside me and hold my hand. I wondered if we ought to have excused ourselves before the next part of the farewell, but Blod and Bickerstaff were far too preoccupied with their daughter to notice either of us watching. When the doctor took his little girl into his arms she fell into that familiar calm state, watching his face with interest. Bickerstaff watched her for so long that Ness got a little bored and took hold of his face with her hands, poking him in the nose.