The Blitz Business

by D. A. Spruzen

  “No doubt. Reggie can make anyone do anything!”

  “True enough,” Audrey said. “I’m sending Rosie to visit him tomorrow. She’s going to start volunteering at the hospital, you know.”

  “Do her good. She needs some purpose in her life. Too much moping around after that young blighter pulled the wool over her eyes.” Geoffrey’s ears began to acquire the pink tinge that could only grow fiercer whenever the subject of Rosie’s former beau came up.

  “Yes, but not for long. And at least she broke if off with him before things went too far. She has a good head on her shoulders.”

  “She does.” He took off his glasses and drew some deep and, she hoped, calming breaths as he massaged his temples. “Audrey, I’m afraid I’ve got to go out again tonight. Don’t wait up.”

  “Oh, Geoffrey, you’ll wear yourself out.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m all right. I must confess I’ll be glad when it’s all over—assuming we come out on top, of course. And I’ll be glad when I can spend more time with you.”

  “Me too, darling. Drive carefully.”

  He got up and she followed him out to the hall. His usually ramrod-straight back sometimes sagged lately. He didn’t look himself, not like the dear Geoffrey she wanted back—always impeccable and straight-laced, and always so comfortable to be around. She still fancied him, and he still seemed to find her desirable, too. Down to earth for their set, too, and brainy according to his old school friends. Running the estate left no room for intellectual pursuits, though. Maybe she’d misread him. Maybe his war activities provided more than a wearying duty and he enjoyed the challenge.

  He shrugged on his overcoat and turned as if he wanted to tell her something. Instead, he pressed his lips together and went out through the door she held open. He forgot to kiss her goodbye.

  * * *

  Rosie took a deep breath as she stood at the door to the men’s ward. She glanced over the rows of beds and was relieved to see there didn’t seem to be anything grisly on view. She hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to these people, and especially to the retarded boy. Her mother had assured her that he was easy to talk to, but then she always made light of things. She looked around some more. Everything white, different shades of white. Clean, sanitary, bright white. A touch of color would have added a little cheer for the patients, but matrons and nurses probably didn’t think in those terms. Hygiene and order, that’s what they liked. Depressing.

  She jumped when Aunt Reggie’s voice boomed, “Get on with it, Rosamund, it’ll be doctor’s rounds soon. Start at the end with Jamie, on the right there. Nurse Dawley will be back soon.”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.”

  Rosie squared her shoulders and strode down the ward as if she were quite in command of herself. She looked at the boy, and he looked back at her.

  “Who are you?” he asked, leaning back hard into his pillow as if she might hit him. She must have looked grim. She smiled as wide as she could and sat down by the bed.

  “I’m Rosamund. My mother came to see you yesterday. Lady Audrey. You must be Jamie. May I sit with you?”

  “Yes. Your mother is a very nice lady.” Still wary.

  “Oh, before I forget, she sent something for you,” said Rosie as she put a paper bag in front of him.

  “Oh, will it be chocolate, will it? And will it be a comic?” He reached out for it, all caution forgotten.

  “Why don’t you open it and see.” He’s not so bad.

  The gaunt face glowed with sudden animation. His cheeks grew pink and his eyes glittered as he opened the bag carefully and got out his presents.

  “Two comics. And a big chocolate. Thanks ever so!”

  “Don’t mention it, Jamie. I’m glad you like it.”

  He clasped his hands like a maiden aunt in church. “Oh, but I must mention it. Gran says we must always say thank you,” he said with comical prissiness.

  “I know,” Rosie said. “That’s just something we say when we mean that we are pleased you like something. Do you want me to break off a bit of chocolate for you?”

  “Yes, please. Nurse Dawley better not see. She’s always cross.”

  “She’s not back yet. I’ll break off a bit and hide the rest in your drawer.”

  Rosie watched, fascinated, as Jamie sucked on the chocolate square, eyes closed as if he were in paradise. His eyes opened when he made his final swallow.

  “I’ve still got a cough, but I think chocolate is good for it.”

  “I think chocolate is good for everything, don’t you?”

  “Yes. What’s your name? I forgot.”

  “Call me Rosie. Everyone else does.”

  “Rosie. That’s easier than what you said before.”

  She opened his drawer and felt around for a space. It was full of something furry.

  “What’s this in your drawer?” She held up a green soft toy that had seen better days.

  “That’s Biffy. Nurse won’t let me have him in bed. I like to cuddle him, but she said he’s not genic, whatever that is. He’s my best friend. He’s been in a fire, that’s why he’s all messy.”

  “He’s very handsome. He has a kind face.”

  “You’ve got a kind face. You’re pretty. Do you wear pink roses?”

  “Thank you, Jamie. What do you mean, pink roses?”

  “There was this lady before, and she had a frock with pink roses. It was pretty. Like you. And your name. I think all pretty ladies should wear pink roses.” He spoke in a confidential whisper as if imparting state secrets.

  He started to cough, it seemed his long speech had been too much for him. His chest rose and fell like the bellows in the study at home. What should she do, call that horrid nurse? Pat him on the back? Would he mind being touched? She felt awkward, helpless.

  “Are you all right?” He’s just a boy.

  Jamie laid his head back on his pillow and panted.

  “Is Nurse Dawley back?”

  “No, why, do you want me to get her?”

  “No. I need more chocolate. For my cough.”

  Rosie grinned as she rummaged in the drawer and broke off another piece. She popped it into Jamie’s mouth and he sighed as he sucked. Just a boy. How silly she’d been. He was quite normal, really, nothing weird about him, only a little slow. She heard footsteps behind her. “Jamie,” she whispered. She put her finger to her lips to warn him. He stopped sucking and closed his eyes again, concentrating on the richness melting in his mouth.

  “Now then, Miss Rosamund, Jamie still tires easily. Time to visit some of our other patients, I think.”

  Rosie, in an effort to distract vinegar-lips from noticing Jamie’s chewing, asked her how he was coming along as she got up to leave.

  “As well as can be expected,” she replied with a snort that expressed a broad sentiment of disgust.

  Rosie turned and waved at Jamie, who waved back, eyes open now his chocolate was safely swallowed. He looked giddy and happy. She didn’t think he was used to being happy, and hoped it wouldn’t wear off too soon.

  Rosie returned the next day with some toffees she’d managed to find, not easy with rationing so stringent these days. She knew where the sweets were hidden in the pantry and had crept in there at night after Cook had cleaned the kitchen and gone to her room. Jamie insisted that she have one too, and they chewed like camels as they tried to pretend they were talking.

  “Jamie, did you know that you’re going to stay with us for a bit when you leave here?”

  “Am I? You and your mum are ever so kind. What was she called?”

  “Lady Audrey.”

  “Yes.”

  “We live on an estate.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a big house with a lot of land. Some of it is a farm.” “Oh no, not a farm, I can’t do farms, I can’t,” cried Jamie, his voice rising in panic as he clutched at the sheets with frantic jerky hands.

  “Ssh, Jamie, we know what happened to you on that farm. You don
’t have to work, or even go to that part. We have some horses, but we grow wheat, mostly. No cows or pigs. We’ve got a nice dog; you’ll like him. Don’t be afraid. I’ll take care of you.”

  Jamie, his sheet pulled to his chin, was coughing quietly and breathing hard.

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. We just want you to have a rest and enjoy yourself. My parents are kind people. Not like those others.”

  “How will I enjoy myself?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to learn to read. I learned the ABC’s in kindergarten, and Gran said them with me sometimes, but she never had time to teach me how to make them into words. Said reading wasn’t for the likes of me, anyhow. Perhaps she didn’t know how. Do you?”

  “Of course. I think I still have some of my old books. I’ll look for them. I don’t know if I’m much good as a teacher, I haven’t tried. We’ll do our best.”

  Jamie laid back, his face flushed and excited.

  “I’m going to read a book. Like proper boys do.”

  7

  Jamie had been a little scared of Laddie at first, but now they were best friends. After Rosie and Biffy, of course. He didn’t even mind when Laddie chased him around on the grass. Laddie liked Jamie to chase him, too. He loved watching the dog’s big ears flopping around as he went, all untidy and yellow. And he’d got another friend, Mr. Evans, the gardener. He was quite old, but very kind, and he explained things. This morning they’d plant seeds together inside the glass house. The seeds would be vegetables when they grew up. Then this afternoon he’d practice reading with Rosie again.

  Jamie had done well this week and had nearly finished the first book. The story wasn’t very interesting. It had pictures on one side and the words on the other side. But being able to sound them out was exciting. Some you just had to remember the shape because they were too hard to spell out. But he could read. Yes, he could say that.

  He’d never been with so many people. Every day. He kept learning things. People were nice to him. He felt cheery, and more clever.

  “Mornin’ young lad,” said Mr. Evans, his big old hands supporting the small of his back.

  “Good morning, Mr. Evans.”

  “Now then, come and see here.”

  Jamie followed, almost trotting to keep up with his long steps. Mr. Evans had some earth in two long pots. He had something like a letter with a picture in the other hand.

  “See, now, we make a little ditch like this. I’ll do this one, you do t’other.”

  Jamie was very careful, so careful he forgot to breathe, until such a huge gasp happened out it quite surprised him. Mr. Evans opened the picture letter.

  “Put some o’ these seeds in your hand like this. Take a tiny pinch, not too many now, and sprinkle them along. Tha’s the way! Only a few, don’ want to crowd them.”

  Jamie had a little trouble with this. He had clumsy hands, but if he tried very hard, he’d get it. He pinched his fingers together till it hurt, and just opened them a tiny bit to let the seeds go. Along to the end he went. His tongue hurt a bit where he pushed it against his teeth to stop him dropping the seeds too early. But that was fine; he was getting it right.

  “There you go, good fellow! Now, gently does it, spread the earth back over top. They’re just babies, don’ hurt ’em! That’s good, Jamie. Now a little water to make them grow, don’t drown ’em, though.”

  “What’re they going to be?”

  “Tomatoes, Jamie, gorgeous red, tasty tomatoes. Better than any you buy in shops.”

  “Will I taste some?”

  “Oh yes, even if you’re not here when they’re ripe, I’ll see to it you get some.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Evans. I wish I could stay here. I don’t want to go away. I like it here.” They said he’d just stay with them for a few weeks until he felt well again. But he secretly hoped it would be forever. Nothing is ever forever.

  “I know, yer a good boy. But the authorities have their own ideas, you know.”

  “My idea is best. Stay here forever.”

  Mr. Evans smiled at him. “I reckon you’ll be coming round a good deal.”

  * * *

  Jamie and Rosamund were almost finished with their book when Sir Geoffrey came into the room. He seemed to have a frog in his throat and was oddly noisy, clearing it several times and frowning too hard.

  “Afternoon, Jamie.”

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Jamie, the authorities have been on the phone. They have a place for you at the Blexton Institute.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s like a home for people who have, er … special problems.”

  “They’re slow?”

  “Well, some of them I suppose. And they don’t have families who can take care of them.”

  “Can’t I stay here? I like it here.”

  “No, Jamie, I’m afraid not. You see, we don’t have much say in it. We’re not your official guardians. They say you have to go. Tomorrow. We’ve enjoyed having you here. I’ll send a car for you once a week for a visit. We mustn’t lose touch.”

  Sir Geoffrey took a deep breath, frowned even harder, and managed to both clamp his teeth and push out his lips. “Took us by surprise, I must say.” He spun around and left.

  So this was it, the end of the dream, the wishing. Jamie looked up at the painting of Sir Geoffrey’s father. He looked like someone who was used to telling people what to do. He wore a uniform and his wide shoulders stuck straight out sideways and his chin jutted up and out as if to say, “Listen to me, this is how we’re going to do it.” He looked more stern than Sir Geoffrey; he might have fixed things. But maybe not as kind, maybe wouldn’t have had Jamie here in the first place. Wouldn’t have put up with that busy spider spinning a silky string between Sir Martin’s biggest medal and the light just above.

  Jamie dropped his eyes to his lap. He must make the best of whatever came. Even at the farm there had been a little piece of chocolate sometimes and a nice smile from Mrs. Lake. Why is Rosie crying? He sat up and put his arm around her shoulder. Then he was crying, too, couldn’t help it.

  “Don’t cry, Jamie, I’ll come and visit you, promise. And we’ll carry on with your reading. You’ll be all right.”

  “Then why’re you crying?”

  “I’ll miss you, Jamie. And it’s so sudden. They didn’t give us a chance to get used to the idea.”

  “Can I leave Biffy here with you? I have to make sure he’ll be safe in that place before I take him there.”

  “Of course, Jamie. I’ll take good care of him.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, Rosie. And it’s not just reading. I want to learn to write.” He’d tell her about the book he had to write some other time.

  “All in good time, Jamie, all in good time.”

  Gran always said that when she meant probably never. And perhaps the people at that place thought reading and writing wasn’t for the likes of him. Even Gran thought something like that. Well, Jamie was a real reader now, and there was nothing they could do to take that away from him. Nothing at all. He’d do it every night in his head if he had to.

  * * *

  Lady Audrey and Rosie waved goodbye as the car drove him away. Both looked very sad, but they couldn’t be as sad as Jamie. Rosie promised to come soon to help with his reading, and Lady Audrey promised to send a car on Saturday. She told him she’d take him to the seaside when the weather got warmer. Something else nice to think about in bed, something to drive the shadows away.

  He pulled his arm away from the woman’s hand. Too tight, made him feel he’d done wrong. He looked out of the window, but could only see her staring at the back of his head. Everything was thin on her face—eyes, lips, nose—and even her hair was thin. Dressed all in black and brown, she looked quite ugly. That was unkind, thinking those things. But it was unkind of her to take him away from the Manor, and without even a little smile.

  The house was the most huge he’d
ever seen, even more big than Rosie’s. The woman acted nasty, holding his arm too hard again so it hurt. She’d left the car going, so she wasn’t going to stay. Good.

  The hall wasn’t so big like at the Manor, and it had lots of doors round it. A lady in white sat at a desk. She got up and said good morning to the other lady.

  “This is Jamie Jenkins. I’ll be going now.” She didn’t even say goodbye.

  “Jamie, I’m Mrs. Clancy. We’ll go to the sunroom in your wing now, and you can meet some of the others.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  They went down halls, upstairs, downstairs, until they came into a big ugly room full of boys. A dark-green room. Not pretty green like grass, but dirty looking, like old cooked cabbage. Lots of windows up high. There was a smeary one farther down where you could look through. That had bars on it. No sun coming in that Jamie could see. Not cheery, this room. A sad room full of sad boys. And now he was one of them.

  “Here we are, Jamie. This is one of the attendants, Bernhardt Visser. There’s always someone in charge here to keep an eye on things.” Bernhardt didn’t say anything, just nodded. He was big and definitely not the smiley sort. “This is where you come during the day, and you’ll share a room with George and Philip at night. This is George. He’s a spastic.”

  George sat in a chair with wheels. His body looked all twisty and his mouth made awful shapes. He seemed to say hello, Jamie wasn’t sure, although he tried hard to say something. He would remember the name George because Gran had a friend called George.

  “This is Philip. He doesn’t talk, I’m afraid.”

  Philip stood in a corner, staring at something, Jamie couldn’t see what. He had a very white face with big lips and spit ran down his chin. He smelled a bit, as if he didn’t wash much. Doesn’t he know any better? A big boy jumped in front of Jamie, backing him up to the wall.

  “I’m Alan. I kill people, so you’d better do whatever I tell you.” He grabbed Jamie by the hair and pulled him into his mad red face. The man in charge grabbed Alan’s shoulders before Jamie could scream and pushed him into a chair