The Blitz Business

by D. A. Spruzen

  Her father’s grim demeanor unsettled her. He turned his back and lifted the receiver. She’d forgotten about the boxes in the boathouse.

  Rosie found Jamie in the old greenhouse. She loved the old glass-and-iron structure, built in the traditional conservatory style—the sort of place where Cinderella’s coach might have been conjured out of a pumpkin.

  Jamie was busy transplanting seedlings. “Annuals, Rosie. They only go on for a year, then they die and you have to keep the seeds and start all over again next spring.”

  His voice had changed a little since she first met him, even though that hadn’t been long ago. He didn’t have the breathy tone of a child any more. It could be that new confidence had infused his personality, or perhaps he was just beginning to grow up. He’d turned fifteen, after all. She watched him for a while and smiled at his puckered face, mouth drawn back in an agony of concentration, with just the very tip of his tongue showing between his teeth. Fifteen years old sometimes, five at others.

  She was surprised to see her father dip his head to enter. He almost never visited the place.

  “Evans, I’d like a word, please.”

  “Yassir.”

  She watched the two of them, annoyingly out of earshot, as they discussed something; something serious, judging by the way her father’s brow furrowed and Evans’s lower jaw jutted out as he shook his head in the swaying manner of an old bull. Evans shuffled back, his thoughts far away. He sat on an old stool with a sigh.

  “Well, I’m to have some help with the garden. Sir Geoffrey reckons he owes me a spot of help at my time of life.”

  “Oh, Evans, do you mind terribly?”

  “Oh no, miss. It’ll be a rare treat having a young’un to do the heavy work. You’re about done with that, Jamie, time to get some elevenses. Why don’t you two run off now, I got something to see to.”

  Rosie took Jamie by the arm and strolled towards the house. She felt unaccountably upset. Does Daddy think Evans was past it? He had all kinds of young men from the village doing the rough work already—those that weren’t away in the army—and the grounds looked spectacular. She wouldn’t ever want Evans hurt, not for anything. She wished everything would stop changing.

  “Rosie, why would Evans mind having help?”

  “Oh, I think he likes to do things his own way, Jamie, that’s all. Nothing for us to worry about. Let’s go and read your book.”

  She switched on the reading lamp in the library as the sun had moved around to the other side of the house by then. The dark panels sucked in whatever light still filtered through the windows.

  “Jamie, I want you to look at this word very, very carefully. It says ‘could.’ Look at the shape it makes. Squeeze your eyes just a little, like this. Had a good look?”

  Jamie nodded. “Could.” He looked again. “Like could I have some chocolate?”

  “Yes, and no you can’t! Now, look on this page. Can you find that word again?”

  Jamie squinted his eyes again and peered at the page. He poked a word. “There! Did I find it? Did I?”

  “That’s wonderful, Jamie, yes you did. Now then. You know how to spell out some words, and you know some words by their shape. Perhaps we can read all the way to the end. There might be some more words for you to learn that way, by how they look.”

  She watched Jamie squirm with pleasure at his success, relieved that her method was working. She’d written to a school friend who taught at a London kindergarten and asked about the best way to teach Jamie to read. Her friend had described the new way they were teaching reading—a mixture of recognition and sounding out, and sent some books. It made sense. Sounding out letters didn’t work for many words, and she didn’t want Jamie to get discouraged. So far, so good. He enjoyed these books, with text on every even page and a descriptive picture on the odd. She liked the way he looked at the picture to give him a clue when he was stuck. They’d finished the first reader before he went to Blexton, and now they had nearly finished the second. Not bad.

  They continued to read and made it to the end by lunch, with only a few cues from Rosie.

  “Rosie.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve got to learn to write. Because I’ve got to write a book.”

  “A book! That’s quite a big job, Jamie. I don’t think I could write a book.”

  “Well, I’ve got to write down all the things Gran told me. All the big things about good and bad.”

  “I think she’d like that, Jamie. When you’ve finished the next reader, we can start working on making your letters.”

  “Good. You see, lots of people haven’t had Grans to tell them what’s right and what’s wrong. They’ve got to be told. And I’m going to do it. I know Roy had Gran, but he wouldn’t listen. People believe what’s in books.”

  Tears pricked behind her eyes. “That’s wonderful, Jamie. Your Gran would be very proud of you.”

  “I think she’s in heaven because she was good. Do you think she can see from up there to down here? Will she see my book?”

  “Yes, Jamie, I think she’ll see your book.”

  “Hello, you two,” Sir Geoffrey said. They hadn’t heard him come in. Rosie saw a softness around his mouth and guessed he’d overheard.

  “Hello, Daddy. Did you get through to Sir Ronald?”

  “Yes, my dear, I did. I want to tell you both about what happened at Blexton.”

  “You mean the chocolates, Daddy?”

  “Yes. There was something wrong with them. And when that boy—Alan, wasn’t it?—stole them and ate them, they made him very ill.”

  Rosie looked at Jamie, who was frowning at her father. “Wrong with them?” she asked.

  “That’s a long story, Rosie, and I don’t have all the answers. Anyway, I’m afraid Alan died. I thought you ought to know, Jamie.”

  Jamie found nothing to say. He looked at his hands, clenched on his lap, and shook his head. Sir Geoffrey stood for a moment, clicked his tongue, and left. He wasn’t good at emotional moments. Grief had worn him down long ago.

  “Jamie, are you very sad about Alan? I know you complained about him, but didn’t you like him just a little?” Rosie asked. She hoped Jamie didn’t think Daddy was cross. Any threat of a scene made him sound abrupt sometimes.

  “No, not even a little. I’m glad he’s dead. He was bad. And I hope he’s not up in heaven bothering Gran.”

  “Jamie! That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  “Well, it’s true. He was a very bad boy and made a lot of us unhappy. He hurt people a lot. And he stole my chocolates.”

  “Jamie, he was just a boy. Do you know that sometimes people behave badly because someone has been very bad to them? Alan didn’t have a Gran like yours, I’m sure. Sometimes people have mothers and fathers who are very unkind to them. It can turn a boy bad. Didn’t your Gran ever talk about forgiving people?”

  “Don’t know.” He was sullen now.

  “Do you know what forgive means?”

  “No.”

  “It’s when you say, ‘That’s all right, I understand. I’m not cross anymore.’”

  “Gran said Roy’s mum was no good. She said once that she would never forgive her and Roy’s dad for what they did. That’s the only time I heard her say that word. I think.”

  “It’s important to forgive people. When we hold onto our bad feelings, it hurts us inside. It makes us less good. You’ve got to let it out. Think about the good things. Do you understand?” What a hypocrite, she certainly hadn’t forgiven Robin. Just parroting the Vicar. It was the sort of thing you were supposed to say to those in your charge, wasn’t it?

  “Think I understand. I can’t say it’s all right to Alan, though, can I? Dead means he won’t come back.”

  “No. Say it to yourself. Tonight, in bed, before you go to sleep. You’ll feel better.”

  “All right. Suppose so.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  Rosie gazed out of a side window so old its glass made the landscape look li
ke some sort of water world. She felt a little shocked. Sweet Jamie had shown some very sour sentiments. And Gran hadn’t been all sweetness and light, either. But who was?

  “Let’s walk over to the greenhouse.”

  She took his arm and felt him loosen up as he digested the idea of forgiveness and made it his own.

  “Jamie, is there anyone who would want to hurt you?”

  “Hurt me? Only Alan hurt me. And Roy used to hit me a lot.”

  “Roy?”

  “My cousin Roy.”

  “Did he get bombed?”

  “No, he went out.” She could barely hear his mumble. He usually looked right at her, his guileless eyes fixed on hers; instead, he picked a dandelion clock and blew on it with strange intensity. His face was red. Even his ears were red. He’s lying. Why? So unlike him.

  “Jamie, I think you are keeping a secret. I’m not going to ask you what it is. But think about it. If you want to tell me, then just tell me.”

  14

  George felt very happy to see Jamie, which Jamie could see by his smile. Most other people wouldn’t know it for a smile, but Jamie always watched George’s face and knew the changes. He probably loved the big windows in the breakfast room where the sun poked its fingers through the mist that usually came after a morning drizzle. He must remember to explain to George why the family always ate tea in the breakfast room. There wasn’t a tea room. It was so nice to have George at the Manor. Nice of them to ask him. Nice of Stanton to take Jamie to fetch him.

  He gently fed George some cake. It was an important job, taking care of George. He was sure George wouldn’t like Sir Geoffrey and Lady Audrey to see him with a mucky face, so he’d better be very careful. He wondered what George thought of the white tablecloth and serviettes. And the pretty flowers in the middle. He turned to Lady Audrey.

  “George really likes the cake, Lady Audrey. I know when he likes things.”

  “I can see you do, Jamie. You are so good at helping him.”

  Jamie grinned. Lady Audrey looked very nice. She wasn’t as old as all that, really. She wore everything green today and had piled all her carroty hair up on top. He’d seen ladies in the mags Gran sometimes brought home that looked like that. She’d put jewels on her fingers too, all nice and sparkly. And pretty white shiny things in her ears. She always stood straight, like when Gran made him walk with books on his head, telling him off when he slouched. He pulled his shoulders back. He never worried about slouching anymore.

  Lady Audrey wasn’t so pretty as Rosie. Jamie looked across at Rosie and smiled, and she sent him a lovely smile back. White teeth, little ones, not nearly as big as Gran’s yellowy ones. And hair that jumped around on her shoulders, always shiny. She must wash it a lot. He loved her freckles. She said once she hated them, but he thought them pretty. Rosie wouldn’t be Rosie without her freckles. A grunt from George made him realize he’d stopped giving him the cake.

  “Sorry, George, I was thinking. Did you know Alan had died, George?”

  George grunted, “Gr’ay, gr’ay, gr’ay …”

  “I don’t know what that means, George. They don’t know who did it.”

  “Gr’ay, gr’ay, gr’ay, mmm …” George tried again, his face all squished up now.

  After tea, Jamie read the new Peter and Jane book to George and got all the way through on his own. He’d been practicing. It would soon be time to take poor George back to Blexton.

  * * *

  Rosie got out of the car and watched as Jamie took George’s chair out of the boot. He finally got it unfolded with a good deal of pulling and pushing. He told Stanton he could manage on his own, thank you very much. Rosie suggested that Jamie could perhaps go in and get someone to help with George. Jamie hung back as he studied the ground and kicked at the gravel. His body closed up a little and she understood he was afraid. Afraid of being abandoned. He didn’t want to enter that place. Rosie went herself and found Graham, who lifted George out of the car and into his chair, none too gently.

  George twisted and grunted. Is he having some sort of fit? He was very agitated.

  “Gr’ay, gr’ay mmm, gr’ay mmm,” she heard again. Trying to say Graham? Why was he so upset?

  “Rosie, this is Graham,” said Jamie.

  “Yes, I saw him sometimes when I came to visit you,” said Rosie. “Good afternoon, Graham.”

  “Afternoon, miss. Jamie. Hope he’s not talking too much for you, miss. He talks his head off, does Jamie.” He looked hard at Jamie, who went red again.

  “Not at all. We like him very much,” said Rosie, annoyed and puzzled by his tone. Jamie didn’t answer, just looked at George.

  “Well, we must be going,” said Rosie.

  “Goodbye, George,” said Jamie. “It was very nice to see you. Would you like to come back soon?” George more or less nodded and rumbled.

  “Goodbye, George, I’m so glad you could come. We’ll see you soon, I hope,” said Rosie. Clearly exhausted now, he didn’t respond. They watched Graham wheel him in through the door. George squealed suddenly. She could have sworn she saw Graham pinch his arm. Perhaps just keeping his arm from knocking against the doorjamb?

  “Jamie, did Graham just hurt George?”

  “Pinched him. He does that sometimes. Used to do it to me when I was a kid.”

  “That’s terrible! Wait, what do you mean, when you were a kid? You weren’t in there that long ago!”

  “No, I mean when I was there. No.” He was red again. Lying again. What in the world was going on? She must have another word with Daddy.

  They drove back in silence. They’d just passed through New Milton when the sirens started howling. Almost right away, they heard an appalling crash, followed by the roar of rushing air. They both turned to see what was going on down the road, craning their necks. Jamie knelt on the car seat. All they could see at first was black smoke before flames curled up above the trees. The car sped up and turned off the main road, hurtling through a network of lanes. Jamie and Rosie sat holding onto each other in the back seat, shaking and crying. Their driver focused on the road ahead, stiff and silent until they got back to the Manor.

  “You are both safe now,” Stanton said. “No need to fret. I’ve been in the army, you know, fought in the last war. That’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen. Both of you go inside now and have a nice cup of tea. I think I’ll visit the kitchen and get one myself.”

  This was a long speech for Stanton. Rosie noticed his hands shook a little as they uncurled from the wheel. She gave Jamie a squeeze. “Come on.”

  The two of them sat side-by-side hugging their knees on the sofa in the morning room. Betty bustled in.

  “Why, Miss Rosie, whatever’s the matter?”

  “A bomb, Betty, just after we left the village.”

  “Oh, dear, I thought we’d be safe here. Oh dear, oh dear.” Her odious enjoyment of the drama enraged Rosie. She was about to send her on her way when, surprisingly, Stanton materialized, poked up the fire and tersely instructed Betty to bring hot sweet cocoa to help with the shock. Betty rubbed the back of Jamie’s neck. “There, there,” she said as she caressed him. Rosie shot her a venomous look. The girl withdrew her hand as if stung and left without another word. Jamie hadn’t moved.

  They remained there, dozing on and off, until Sir Geoffrey came in hours later, sooty and exhausted. He flopped down in the chair nearest the fire and leaned back, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead as if to dispel a headache. He’d lost weight recently. With his height, he looked somewhat emaciated.

  “Were you there, Daddy?” Rosie asked.

  “Yes, my darling, I was. Twenty-four people gone, a cottage—you know the one with the wonderful window boxes—and four shops. In an instant. Bugger! Oh, excuse me, Rosie.”

  “That’s all right, Daddy. It must have been terrible for you.”

  “Well, a good deal worse for them. Quite a few hurt, too. First time we’ve been hit that badly down this way.”

  “I thou
ght we were safe here,” said Jamie in a quavering voice.

  “That’s how it is in a war, Jamie,” said Sir Geoffrey. “You’ve got to put your fear behind you and soldier on. That’s the only way to get through it all. So, off to bed, both of you.”

  Stanton glided in, snifter and brandy bottle on the usual silver tray. “You should be in bed, too, Stanton. But I must say I could do with a brandy.”

  “As you say, sir. Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you, Stanton.”

  “We didn’t see any fire and smoke, just a big noise. Was it a bomb? Really?” asked Jamie. “No mistake?”

  “It was, Jamie. But if you didn’t see it, you have nothing to forget. Put it out of your mind now. Just soldier on, as I said.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You make it sound easy, Daddy, soldiering on,” said Rosie.

  “Life is never easy, war or no war. Just keep on going. Keep on going. All we can do.”

  “Gran soldiered on, you know. She worked ever so hard and wasn’t very happy. Do you think it was over in an instant for her?”

  “Yes, Jamie, I’m quite sure it was.”

  15

  Lady Audrey and Jamie waited for Rosie in the hallway. They planned a trip to the seaside. Audrey felt a little guilty using scarce petrol for such an outing, but Geoffrey had asked her to see how the new restrictions on beach access were working out, so she supposed it was fair enough. She glanced at Jamie, who was so excited he couldn’t stand still. He grinned, shifting from one foot to the other, and curling and uncurling his fingers. Giving Jamie a treat was a treat in itself. He was so unspoiled and hadn’t yet learned to expect anything nice from anyone.

  If only Rosie were so easily pleased. An underlying streak of discontent seemed to have doused any spark the girl used to have. While Rosie’s life wasn’t much fun these days, no one else’s was, either. Young people could be so selfish. Audrey squelched her small flare of annoyance.

  Audrey looked up as she heard Rosie’s tread on the stairs. She’d put on those slacks again. Audrey couldn’t get used to girls wearing slacks. All right for land girls, but people took notice of whatever the McInnises did, and they had certain standards to uphold. The child couldn’t see it, though. She made a habit of rejecting her parents’ ideas. To be honest, Audrey had behaved the same way at her age. In the twenties, for example, when skirts went above the knees her mother had been scandalized. But slacks?