The Blitz Business

by D. A. Spruzen

  The first night he’d slept all right. Must have been very tired. He didn’t sleep well any more though. The room was much too big, even for all three of them, not that Jamie wanted any more boys to share. He’d got used to Philip and George, though, glad of the company. If only the room had a bit of cheer, some color. It hadn’t got any colors in it. The walls weren’t even a proper white. The blankets were a funny mix of brown and green, so they didn’t help. No pictures. Why not? They allowed him one book on the stand next to his bed, but everything else had to be put away. Rosie had given him a little wooden dog that looked like Laddie, and they even made him keep that in a drawer. He would take it out now and then and kiss its snout. He’d rather kiss Laddie’s warm soft yellow one. Thank goodness he’d left Biffy with Rosie.

  He heard the new man, Graham, come in and lift George out of bed to put him in the chair so he could take him to the toilet. Graham told Philip to get a move on and Jamie heard his feet scuff along the floor. Philip never picked up his feet properly like he ought to.

  “Jamie, why aren’t you out of bed?” Graham was going to be cross. He was often cross.

  “I’m ill today. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “I’ll see to the others and come back.” He sounded quite annoyed.

  There was something funny about Graham. He talked quite posh, but it wasn’t right. Sometimes he said the words different like he forgot how he said them before. He had really yellow hair, like one of Gran’s lady friends. And his mustache grew ever so big, like the haystacks at Rosie’s. You couldn’t see most of his face.

  Yesterday Bernhardt told Graham he needed a touch-up, didn’t he know he had a black parting? Graham got really angry and told Bernhardt to shut up. His face turned red and he left the room. Bernhardt laughed, another funny thing. He’d never seen Bernhardt even smile before. Jamie asked Bernhardt what were touch-ups and partings, but he’d just looked at him with squeezed up eyes and told him to mind his own business. Bernhardt had bluish eyes, but not pretty like the sky. Like puddle ice.

  Jamie felt breath on his face and opened his eyes just a very little.

  “Roy, it’s you!” he said as he shot up. Graham looked shocked and his mouth hung open like a goldfish. He’d forgot he had a goldfish once. Ages ago.

  But no, it wasn’t quite Roy. He peered into Graham’s face. He looked a bit like Roy, though. Even his voice, though he tried to talk posh.

  “If you didn’t have a mustache and if you had greased-up black hair you’d be like Roy.”

  “Well, I’m not. And don’t you go spreading stories. Tell me about this Roy.” Graham looked very stern.

  Jamie told him about his cousin and Gran, and the whole story of the day their house got bombed. Even the blood on the blanket.

  “I’m sort of sorry not to have Roy anymore, even though he was never nice to me.”

  “Come on, Jamie, get up, you’re going to miss breakfast. And I wouldn’t talk about that. People will think you’re making up stories. Who’ve you told about all this?”

  “But it’s true! And I didn’t tell anybody. Who is there to tell?”

  “Oh, I believe you. But people are funny, you know. Can’t trust them.”

  Roy got up to go, stubbing his toe on the foot of the bed. “Fucking hell!” So much for posh.

  “You are Roy. You are, you are! You’re in pretend dress up! I’m so happy. I didn’t want to have nobody. Why’re you pretending like that?” Funny how excited he was, considering Roy left him and Gran to die. Most likely a mistake. Must be. Can’t have meant to do that.

  “Ssh, shut up, idiot. Look, Jamie, I got people after me. The rozzers know I knocked over this house in Kensington, they got my prints. The people that helped me didn’t get all the stuff they thought they should. The Reddy brothers, they’re all after my bones. You wouldn’t want something bad to happen to poor old Roy, would you? I’m like your brother. You do love me a bit, don’t you, like I love you? So help me by keeping your mouth shut.”

  “All right, Roy. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’ll keep it a secret. I’m quite good at secrets. But you have to be nice to me now.”

  “You see that you do keep mum. Yeah, I’ll be nice.”

  Roy’s eyes looked mean, even if his mouth said nice. His shoulders went up a bit and his eyebrows met together in the middle, like Gran’s when she worried about money. He’d have to be very, very careful. Now he knew Graham was Roy, he might use the wrong name. He’d made a mistake, sitting up like that and doing all that telling. Oh, bother, he couldn’t pretend to be ill anymore, he’d have to go down to breakfast.

  Neville came to breakfast. He was the other man in charge, except he acted scared of the boys, especially Alan. He never looked right at them. Maybe he was too short to be in charge. He couldn’t make Alan behave. He was shorter than Alan and didn’t look strong.

  Meals were scary. Some of the boys threw food, and some of them spat it out. Some of them had to be fed with a spoon, like babies. Jamie usually kept his eyes on his plate and ate as quickly as he could. But there was a chair next to George today, and no one was feeding him.

  “Can I help George?” he asked Neville.

  “I suppose so. Don’t take too long. Eat your own breakfast first.”

  So hard to get the food into George’s mouth. And then hard for George to swallow. He kept on going. George had a big cloth tied around his neck, so spilling food didn’t matter very much. Jamie was sorry he’d started it, then ashamed for being sorry. He should do this every day. He thought he did it quite well, clumsy of course, but gentle.

  “Watch how much you waste. Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

  Jamie turned to see Bernhardt scowling at him.

  “I only meant to help. I know there’s a war on. My house got bl-itzed.”

  “Where do you come from, Bernhardt?” asked Neville. He wanted Bernhardt to forget about being cross with Jamie. Nice of him.

  “Holland. I got out on one of the last boats after the Germans invaded.”

  “Big boats?”

  “No, mine was a small one, no shelter and very bad weather. We landed at night and I fell into the water. Freezing.” The man shivered as if he were cold again.

  “Frightening for you.”

  “I am never frightened.”

  Bernhardt turned his back on Neville and cuffed Alan for hitting the boy next to him. Neville blushed and chewed his lip.

  “I’ll finish with George,” he told Jamie.

  Relieved, Jamie watched Neville spoon food into George’s mouth, which kept moving around, hard not to miss. He got more in than Jamie had, but not very gently, not very kindly.

  * * *

  Same like always in the sunroom. George sat next to Jamie’s chair in the corner. No one else ever sat there. The boys knew it was their special place, even if most of them didn’t seem to understand much of anything. Alan sat across the room and stared at his feet, only looking up sometimes to scowl at Jamie. Some boys painted at a table. All they had to paint on was old newspaper. Why didn’t they have proper white paper? Perhaps more of the boys should have something nice to do. It might take them out of their sad selves.

  If they painted pictures, why couldn’t they use them to make the walls pretty? The room was very big, but so sad. The green of the walls was too hard to describe. He didn’t have the words, except rotten old cabbage and that didn’t sound quite right. And there were lots of patches that pictures could cover up. It was a shame that the beautiful big window had hard black bars all across it. It spoiled the view. The view was lovely, the sort of looking out you needed when you were sad. You could see people coming and going, doing the things he supposed regular people did all day.

  Jamie opened his book. Kind of Rosie to let him bring it, but not kind of her to stay away so long. Did she forget me already? Think about something else. He’d read aloud to George and show him the pictures.

  “Peter and Jane have a dog. His name is S
pot. Do you see, George? That’s Peter, that’s Jane, and that’s Spot. Do you know your alphabet?”

  George’s head moved all over, but mostly up and down. That was nodding.

  “Can you make words?”

  George sort of shook his head.

  “Next time Rosie comes to see me, you can sit with us. She’ll teach us both.”

  It seemed to Jamie that some other boys were listening, so he talked louder and read on until the end of the book. He felt proud.

  “Do you want to see the pictures?” he asked some of the nearest boys.

  “Nah!” Alan yelled before they could answer. He rushed to the painting table, picked up a dirty water jar, ran across to Jamie and tipped it over his book.

  “You and your book, you poncy little bugger. Fuck you!”

  Bernhardt wrapped his arm around Alan’s neck so he choked and threw him on the floor. Alan screamed so loudly it jarred Jamie’s ears, and he couldn’t make out most of the words, except some bad ones he’d heard Roy use. It was plain Alan’s arm hurt a lot. His face got white and twisted, rather like George’s. Could George have hurts no one knew about?

  He looked down and realized his present from Rosie was all spoiled. He felt his anger shake loose, setting itself free so he couldn’t catch it anymore, getting sharper as it rose, joining with fear and sorrow until it went off like a firework.

  “I hate you, hate you, hate you! You’re bad. I’m glad you’re hurt. I wish you were dead, I do. You should be dead! I never want to see you again. I don’t want to be here. I hate it, hate it, hate it! I hate everybody here!” Jamie cried as he screamed at Alan until he felt too empty for any more tears, too sad for tears, his voice worn down. All of him worn down. Silence hung over him now, so heavy he could hardly hear or see. With a great effort, he wiped his face on his sleeve.

  Neville took a cloth from the paint table and wiped off the book for him.

  “See, Jamie, it really isn’t so bad. You can still read the words, and the pictures still look quite nice.” True, not so very bad. He thanked Neville, who looked sad himself.

  “Take some deep breaths now, Jamie, close your eyes for a bit.”

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Clancy asked. Jamie jumped. He hadn’t seen her come in. She must have heard the noise.

  “Alan went after Jamie again. He fell down. He does not learn, that one,” Bernhardt said.

  “My arm hurts, he broke it on purpose.”

  “I’ll take him to sick bay,” said Mrs. Clancy.

  Jamie didn’t feel sorry. Alan hurt people, so Bernhardt had hurt him and made him cry. Serves him right. After Mrs. Clancy left, Bernhardt came over to Jamie and stared at him for a few minutes. Now Jamie understood how Laddie felt when he watched him do his business. He felt embarrassed, too, and kept turning his head from side to side, trying to find a good place to look. The room stayed quiet and still, such a big hush. Bernhardt bent down until his face almost touched Jamie’s.

  “People might come and ask questions. Alan fell over when I pulled him away from you. Didn’t he?”

  Bernhardt was afraid of getting into trouble. He didn’t know grownups would be afraid of getting into trouble. He’d think it through later after lights out.

  “Yes, that is what happened, and it wasn’t your fault. Alan is bad. You were helping me. He’s hurt me before.”

  “That’s right. You just keep saying that. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Another week. Mrs. Clancy was good about letting him know how long he’d been here. Every Monday he asked and she told. Nothing ever happened. Alan had been in hospital for three days because he had a broken arm. He had a hard white thing on it now, a cast they called it. He always sat as far away from Bernhardt as he could and only asked Graham or Neville for permission to go to the toilet. Today was Bernhardt’s day off and that scared Jamie. Alan stared at him all morning. He didn’t know if the make-believe Graham would help him; Cousin Roy certainly wouldn’t. Neville couldn’t. Philip stood with his face to the wall close to George and Jamie. That was a new thing, staying close. He was used to them now after sleeping in the same room. He probably felt safer staying close.

  “Jamie, there’s a parcel for you,” called Maureen, the bouncy lady who worked for Mrs. Clancy.

  “For me? What is it?” Jamie had never had a parcel, but he knew they could be full of wonderful things.

  “We won’t know till you open it, will we?”

  “Is it from Rosie?”

  “It doesn’t say on the outside. Perhaps there’s a card inside.”

  Jamie tore it open. A box of chocolates. A good day. He didn’t see any card or paper. Maureen looked, too. It must be from Rosie. He grinned and hugged the box to his chest. A very good day. He closed his eyes and rocked a bit, very gently so people wouldn’t notice. Something about the silence made him sit up and pay attention.

  Alan, on the move like a sneaky cat, walked slowly to the painting table. Roy used to creep the same way to get behind Jamie and smack the back of his head when Gran wasn’t looking. Everybody had stopped what they were doing and gazed at their own colorful squiggles as if held tight by their patterns. He went to the nearest wall, and made his way round to Jamie’s corner. Jamie couldn’t quite catch his breath. Alan stood behind Philip now. He lashed out with his cast and knocked Philip to the ground, making the boy cry out, the first sound Jamie had ever heard him make. Alan cried out too and clutched his bad arm. Then Philip’s eyes fell closed and he looked asleep. Graham rushed over and pushed Alan aside. Alan darted back and snatched Jamie’s chocolates before running away and right out of the room.

  Many of the boys started hooting and crying, and one clenched his fists and screamed nonstop. The littlest one wet himself before lying down in the corner and curling up with his face to the wall.

  Jamie still couldn’t find proper breaths, so he closed his eyes and rocked. It helped this time, helped him breathe properly. He heard Mrs. Clancy’s footsteps. Her shoes made tapping steps, not like the men’s. He opened his eyes.

  “Leave him on the floor, just straighten him out and try to keep his head still. Neville, did you call 999?” Mrs. Clancy looked worried. She turned to Jamie. “Where did Alan go?”

  “Don’t know. Stole my chocolates and ran away.”

  “Graham, stay here with Philip. Neville, you come with me. We’ve got to find Alan. He’ll have to be sedated again. Time for another course of shock treatments, I shouldn’t wonder. But we’ll ring the doctor from my office telephone first.”

  Neville hunched his shoulders and his mouth turned down. Scared of Alan. Roy—Graham—looked seriously angry at what Alan did.

  Lunch was quiet. Everyone seemed happier without Alan. Boys behaved better. Alan’s badness seemed to touch them all in some way. One bad boy at the table meant lots of bad boys at the table. Like catching a cold. They should keep Alan in a place all on his own.

  * * *

  Jamie rocked on his heels as he looked out of the window. Green leaves had started to open on the trees now, and he could hear birds singing if he listened hard. Pity about those bars. He loved being able to move around without worrying about Alan. Neville looked more cheerful, too.

  “Jamie! It’s me, Rosie.”

  He spun around, couldn’t believe it. It was her. He ran across the room.

  “Rosie, I thought you forgot me! I’m so happy.” He jumped up and down he was so happy. He knew the whole room was staring; he liked that they saw he had a pretty girl visitor.

  “Jamie, Mrs. Clancy said we could use a small room next to her office. We can practice reading and have a nice chat. She’s had a word with this gentleman, so he knows it’s all right.” She took his hand and they left the room.

  After they settled down on a small couch, Jamie took a deep breath.

  “I missed you so much, Rosie. How’s Laddie? Does he miss me? Why didn’t you come? You promised.”

  “I missed you too.
Laddie’s fine and of course he misses you. Mummy didn’t send the car because it broke down and the garage didn’t get the part until yesterday. Daddy doesn’t want me coming here. He’s afraid I won’t be safe. Anyhow, he’s been away in London and took his car with him. I’m quite safe here, aren’t I?”

  “There’s one boy, Alan, he’s very rough. He hurt one of my friends this morning. I don’t know if they found Alan, he ran off. I expect my friend’s in hospital. I think it’s good in here. In this room.”

  “I’m sure Mrs. Clancy will let us use it again. Are you happy here?”

  “No, I hate it. They have all sorts here. Some of them can’t talk. And Alan hurts me. And it’s boring. And he threw dirty water on my book to spoil it. I was reading it to everyone. He’s jealous. I had the chocolates you sent and he stole them away.”

  “Oh, poor Jamie. But I didn’t send you any chocolates. You must have another girl! Here, I’ve got another book for you.”

  They practiced reading with the new book and Jamie was happier than he’d been for ages. When it was time to say goodbye he’d try to be strong. He was nearly a man, after all.

  “Excuse me, Jamie, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “To the lavatory. And you’re not supposed to ask.”

  “Sorry.” Another thing different about this Manor. They said lavatory instead of toilet.

  Jamie heard a voice coming from Mrs. Clancy’s office. It sounded like Bernhardt, only he was talking funny, using words Jamie didn’t know. No words he ever knew. How could he hear anything with the door and windows closed? He looked up and saw a couple of little open windows high in the wall between the rooms. Then some words he knew. Bernhardt said “in Old Ring Copse.” He knew that place. Hinges squeaked and a door clicked shut. Could Bernhardt be Mr. Lake’s friend? Better be careful. He jumped when Rosie came back.