Covenant with Death

by John Harris

The road was a shambles of broken glass and scattered paper. I saw two or three odd shoes and a bashed-in bowler, and a broken umbrella, then a string of sausages someone had snatched and dropped, looking ridiculous as sausages always do, like something out of a clown’s equipment at a circus. Even as I watched, a dog slunk up to them, belly-down to the pavement, grabbed them in its jaws, and darted off with them flying behind it, like a picture out of a comic paper.

  ‘What the devil were you doing in town at this time of night, anyway?’ I demanded, as I took Helen’s arm and began to pull her away.

  She shook me off but she was smiling again now. ‘I’ve been working,’ she said. ‘That’s what I’ve been doing. Didn’t Locky tell you? I’m a shorthand typist now.’

  ‘Well, you ought to have more sense than hang about here when there’s trouble brewing, like this.’

  ‘Yes, Mark.’

  She suddenly seemed meek and pliant, and let me lead her away. I tried to steer her into a shop doorway, away from the crowd who were still booing the police and arguing among themselves, but she seemed loath to turn her back on the uproar.

  ‘You might have been killed,’ I pointed out.

  She looked at me defiantly. ‘I might,’ she said. ‘But I wasn’t.’

  I was helping her to put my jacket on properly when the inspector arrived. The top of his cap was stove in, I noticed. He fished out a little notebook and pencil and stopped in front of us.

  ‘Thanks, son,’ he said. ‘It got a bit out of hand for a time there. It’s been happening all over the city. We just haven’t had enough men to handle it and the specials always dodge anything rough like this. It’s worse in the East End. You were pretty prompt. It might have been nasty.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said, wishing he’d go away. There always seemed to be someone in the way whenever I tried to get Helen on her own. It had always been Mason before. Now it was the inspector.

  ‘You a City Battalion chap?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Better give me your name. I’d like to mention it to your CO.’

  ‘Oh, forget it,’ I said. ‘It was nothing.’

  ‘I’ll mention it to him by letter,’ the inspector pointed out. ‘It’ll go in your personal file. It’ll help.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I didn’t join up for this. Forget it.’

  ‘Well, it’s your affair.’ He looked a bit offended, as though he’d been trying to do me a favour, and he tucked his notebook away and turned on his heel to where his men were dispersing the crowd.

  ‘Come on! Come on! Let’s have you! Move on there! Nothing here for you!’

  ‘Bloody Boche!’ the man with the boater was shouting still. ‘I hate the Boches!’

  ‘If you don’t shut your rattle,’ the inspector told him severely, ‘I’ll charge you with using violent language to an officer of the law.’

  ‘Bloody Boches!’ the man with the boater shouted again, and I saw a sergeant grab him by the arm and swing him round. His face fell and the cane he was brandishing dropped to his side, and I wondered if his hatred of the Germans was sufficient to withstand the blandishments of the police. Apparently it wasn’t and I saw him move off hurriedly.

  ‘Why didn’t you give the inspector your name?’ Helen asked, eyeing me curiously. ‘They might have made you a sergeant or something.’

  ‘Not me,’ I said. ‘They know me too well. Besides, I’m out of camp without a pass. If Bold finds out he’ll be on to me like a ton of bricks.’

  The traffic was moving now and a tram rumbled slowly past, its passengers all eyes and hanging out of the windows, then the cabs and the carts and the motor cars. One of the motorists stopped in front of us and stuck his head out from under the canvas hood.

  ‘I saw what happened, son,’ he said to me. ‘Jolly good effort, I thought. Fair play, I always say. Even with the Boche. If the young lady wants taking home, I’ll give you a lift.’

  Just then, I saw a figure in khaki appear alongside me, holding my cap. It was Frank Mason, and the cap looked as though a cart had been driven over it. My heart sank as I thought what Bold would have to say when he saw it.

  ‘Here’s your cap, Fen,’ Mason said. ‘It’s a bit of a mess, old fruit. It’s been trodden on, or run over, or something. You’ll very likely be charged with malicious damage to government property and have to pay for the one you’ve spoiled and the one they’ll give you to replace it.’

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said. ‘It’s only one more thing for Bold to gloat about.’

  Mason was staring past me now. He’d recognised Helen and was grinning all over his face. ‘Why, Helen!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  His hand went up to the dinky little officer’s moustache and he’d got his Bunny-Hug and Turkey-Trot and Waltz-round-the-back-of-the-files-with-me look on his face. I’d seen it often before round the office whenever a girl came into the room.

  ‘I’m seeing Helen home,’ I said quickly. I wasn’t going to let him muscle in – not now. I pushed Helen in front of me towards the car, but Mason got in the way and I found myself treading on his heels.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t get to help you,’ he said smoothly to Helen, beaming all over his face. ‘Only I got shoved against the wall by the crowd and couldn’t get out. They looked nasty and I decided it was wiser to hold my tongue. Let me open the door for you.’

  He pushed Helen inside the car, then turned to me.

  ‘That’s all right, Fenner,’ he said, smiling. ‘Two’s company. Three’s none. I’ll look after her.’

  ‘You damn’ well won’t,’ I said, losing my temper. I gave him a sharp shove in the chest and climbed into the car. I’d got the door firmly shut behind me before he recovered his balance.

  ‘You’ll be late back to camp,’ I grinned. ‘Better hop it. No sense in two of us being put on the hooks.’

  As we moved off, I saw a look of blank astonishment on his face, and Helen glanced at me obliquely.

  ‘That was neat,’ she said admiringly. ‘I think you’re learning a lot in the Army, Fen dear.’

  There was no one in when we got to the Haddo house and Helen held open the door for me. ‘Father’s out,’ she said. ‘Better come in and spruce up. You’ve got blood on you.’

  She lit the gas-mantles and deposited me in the kitchen to wash while she went upstairs.

  ‘I’ll keep this,’ she said, holding up the bent umbrella. ‘It’ll do as a souvenir.’

  When she returned she’d changed into a green skirt and a plain shirt blouse and done her hair. She had a bruise on her cheek but otherwise she seemed all right, and I got my first real look at her. She appeared to have grown up a little in the six months I’d been in the Army. Her face looked narrower but it still had the same fierce humorous strength and honesty in it.

  ‘Let’s wash that cut on your mouth,’ she said. ‘Or you’ll be in trouble for fighting.’

  ‘I’ll be in trouble anyway,’ I said. ‘I ought to have been back in camp by this time.’

  ‘Ought you to go?’ She looked up quickly, her eyes wide and concerned.

  ‘Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb,’ I said.

  She pushed me into a creaking wicker chair and fetched a bowl of warm water and sponged the blood from my mouth and my cut knuckles. Her face seemed gentle just then, with none of its normal cheerful pugnacity. For a moment she was silent, her eyes on mine as she dabbed at the cut. Then she smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Fen dear,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for coming to my rescue.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘Any time you feel like it. Just fetch Fenner.’

  She laughed, sitting back, holding the bowl and the piece of damp flannel, and I loved her then, for her beauty, her honesty, her wry humour and her kindness.

  She’d often teased me and jeered at me, and argued with me, but I’d still always felt I’d rather be with her for an hour and have her disagreeing with me, even quarrelling with me, than any
other girl for a year. For the simple reason that she was like Locky, uncomplicated and straightforward, and easy to understand.

  ‘Good old Fen,’ she said. ‘Always the same old Fen. Let me get you a drink.’

  She put away the bowl and the flannel and found a bottle of her father’s beer, and two glasses, and we sat at the kitchen table, our elbows on the red plush cloth, drinking it and eating some bread and cheese she found.

  ‘I haven’t seen you for ages,’ she said.

  I gave her a guilty sidelong look. I knew I’d been neglecting her. Dazzled by the adulation the Army had brought on us, we’d all been a little guilty of neglecting old girlfriends for new ones. Since she’d spent most of her time before the war playing Frank Mason against me, however, I’d felt a certain amount of justification in the thought that she wouldn’t be lonely; but now, looking at her, and caught up again by all the old worship of her, I began to realise I’d been a bit of a fool and tried hard to put it right.

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ I explained. ‘We get involved in things a bit.’

  ‘Locky has nights off. Don’t you?’

  ‘When I’m not on defaulters.’

  ‘You’re not on defaulters always.’

  ‘I seem to get caught for it more than most people.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I can’t keep my mouth shut.’

  ‘You never could.’ She looked sideways at me. ‘Suppose some time when you could manage not to be on defaulters you come and see a girl.’

  I grinned. ‘It’s not a bad idea,’ I said.

  She toyed with the glass in her hand, moving it slowly and thoughtfully in little circles on the red plush cloth, then she looked up at me under her eyebrows in the same quizzical way that Locky had, so that I wasn’t sure whether she was laughing at me or not.

  ‘Or have you got a girl already somewhere?’ she asked.

  ‘You know I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, it’s time you had.’

  I was just going to tell her that that was something which could well depend on her, when she went on, ‘What’s it like at Blackmires, Fen?’

  ‘It’s not so bad.’

  ‘Locky says it’s awful.’

  I was surprised. He’d never shown any sign of disliking it. He’d seemed to take it all in his stride, neither approving nor disapproving.

  ‘It’s no worse than digs,’ I said. ‘Especially now that the winter’s over.’

  ‘How long do you expect it’ll be before you’re sent abroad?’

  ‘It shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Will it be France?’

  ‘I expect so. Another few months and then we’re for the chopper.’

  She sat up abruptly, and put the glass down on the table with a thump. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Don’t say what?’

  ‘What you said just then. It makes it sound as though you’re dead already.’

  I shrugged. We’d all said things like that to each other on many occasions. We were all a little more fatalistic than normal because of the sure knowledge that some of us might not be alive in a year’s time. But we’d none of us brooded much over it. We were normal healthy young men and far more concerned with enjoying the present than thinking about the future.

  ‘Well, we might be,’ I said. ‘If you think about it.’

  The warmth seemed to go out of her at once and her head came up.

  ‘This world’s barmy,’ she said sharply. ‘I think sometimes you men enjoy war, the way you dwell on your rosy dreams of glory, all well fortified with patriotism and honour and aggressiveness.’

  She swung round and turned her back on me and started to stare at the fire, and for a long time we sat like that, in the glow of the green-shaded light over the kitchen table, listening to the big clock ticking on the wall. I waited for her to face me again but she made no effort to do so.

  ‘What’s the matter, Helen?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Nothing,’ she snapped.

  ‘I can’t say this is the best view of you.’

  ‘Well, you’ll have to lump it.’

  I began to get angry. ‘For heaven’s sake, Helen,’ I said. ‘I brought you home——’

  ‘Jolly nice of you.’

  ‘Yes, it was, considering that when I get back they’ll probably charge me with being out without a pass. With my record they’ll probably hang, draw and quarter me.’

  She turned round slowly at last, her face anxious and pale.

  I grinned. ‘Bold would love to see me in the guardroom,’ I said. ‘It would make his day.’

  She smiled faintly, but without much mirth, and I could see her eyes were moist and troubled. ‘Why do we always get so cross with each other, Fen?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘It isn’t always my fault, is it?’

  ‘No. It’s mine as often as not.’

  ‘Do you fight with Locky like this?’

  ‘No. Locky and I seem to live at peace with each other.’

  ‘It must be my fault then,’ she said. ‘But, looking at you, all of you pretending to be soldiers when you’re not, all of you busting to go out and die, makes me want to cry all the time. That’s all. There are so many of you and you know so little about it. I get so angry and so afraid.’

  She got up and put the gramophone on, almost as though she weren’t thinking, and it started to play some ragtime piece; and we were still sitting there, not really listening to it, not speaking, perplexed by something we couldn’t understand, when the door opened and Locky appeared. He was smiling and looked as though he might have drunk too much. But his speech wasn’t slurred and he seemed to be in control of himself and extraordinarily happy.

  ‘Caught you!’ he said.

  Helen looked up, then she swung round on her chair and put her back to him.

  He leaned on the door and stared at us gravely. ‘I’ve been drinking,’ he said. ‘One of Father’s friends who insisted on wining and dining one of the saviours of the Christian world. Molly Miles’ father, just for the record. Remember her, Mark? In the photo library at the office.’

  ‘I remember her,’ I said. ‘Mason always seemed to be dancing the Bunny-Hug or something with her round the files.’

  Locky nodded slowly. ‘Er – yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘That’s the one.’

  He nodded to the gramophone which had finished its record and was grinding away, click-click-click, in the groove at the end.

  ‘Finished with that, by any chance?’ he asked.

  Neither of us spoke and he crossed the room and switched it off. ‘It occurred to me I was late,’ he said, ‘and I came home to borrow the car to get back to camp. As it so happens, Private Fenner, I can probably give you a lift now. I didn’t know you two had been seeing each other. What have you been up to?’

  Helen stood up and turned quickly away. ‘Shut up, Locky,’ she said.

  Locky looked at her, then at me. ‘Mark Martin Fenner,’ he said. ‘What have you been doing with my sister?’

  Helen swung round quickly before he could probe any further.

  ‘There was a riot outside Schafers’,’ she said. ‘He rescued a damsel in distress.’

  ‘Did he, by God? Was she beautiful?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, she was,’ I said.

  Locky grinned. ‘There appears to be some doubt on the subject,’ he commented. ‘Who was it? Anyone I know?’

  ‘Me,’ Helen said.

  ‘Oh!’ Locky raised his eyebrows. ‘Anybody get hurt?’

  ‘Only the man who tried to get hold of me. He went off complaining his nose was broken. Mark hit him.’

  Locky grinned. ‘I’ll see you’re recommended for a putty medal, Private Fenner,’ he said. ‘For the moment, however, it occurs to me we ought to be getting back. Seen the time?’

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘It makes me feel quite ill.’

  ‘We’ll borrow the car.’

  ‘You wo
n’t,’ Helen pointed out. ‘Father’s got it.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Locky said. ‘I thought he’d be safely home and in bed. It looks as though we’ll have to walk then.’

  In the end we managed to hire a car that Locky’s father used occasionally for his rounds, and it arrived shortly afterwards, an open tourer with flickering yellow lights and a driver in a leather coat with his cap on back-to-front. Helen watched us leave without a word of goodbye.

  Locky sat back and said nothing, but halfway up the hill, with the engine roaring fit to explode, and a hot burnt-oil smell coming back to us from under the bonnet, without a word of warning he turned to me and spoke cheerfully.

  ‘Why don’t you get married, Mark?’ he said.

  He was still in his mellow mood. Something had happened to him that had pleased him, and he seemed unable to stop smiling, but I didn’t feel much like laughter myself just then.

  ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you?’

  ‘Never thought of it,’ I said.

  ‘Time you did then. You’re quite a big boy now.’

  ‘So are you. You’re older than I am. Why don’t you?’

  His smile grew broader. ‘Curiously enough,’ he said, ‘I’ve considered it. I find the idea appeals to me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought wartime was the best time to get involved,’ I said. ‘It’s only extra responsibility and I can’t see much point in leaving some girl in the lurch, probably with children.’

  Locky shrugged. ‘It doesn’t seem to have occurred to your somewhat atrophied intellect, Private Fenner, that this is the most opportune time of all for marriage. With men dying, and the world emptying rather more swiftly than normal, it seems to me perambulators and crèches ought to be kept busier than ever.’

  I didn’t say anything. I was still preoccupied with thoughts of Helen and I stared round the windscreen at the stunted trees and the dry-stone walls and the blank moors beyond, holding my battered cap on in the freezing wind that blew into the rear seat round the edge of the glass.

  I knew Locky was staring at me, but I didn’t turn round, and in the end he gave a short laugh.

  ‘You’re a stand-offish old buster at times, Fenner,’ he said at last.

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘All this bothering about possible death is morbid, selfish and unnecessary. It’s not like you.’