Just Henry

by Michelle Magorian

  ‘And you don’t mind that I’m illegitimate?’ he asked.

  His grandmother gasped and let go of his arm.

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. How could you?’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you, Gran, but I know you always like me to tell you the truth.’ He could see that she was trembling. ‘Mum and Dad weren’t married.’

  ‘Wash yer mouth out! I was at the marriage ceremony.’

  ‘Which was where, Gran?’

  ‘In this smart building, of course.’

  ‘The man who married Mum and Dad was a fake. The marriage certificate was a forgery.’

  ‘How can you say such dreadful things? You better not let your dad hear you. I don’t know what’s got into you.’

  ‘It’s what I was told.’

  ‘Who by?’

  Henry paused.

  ‘The police. They told Mum to bring in her marriage certificate. Turns out she isn’t a bigamist at all. Turns out her marriage certificate was forged by a mate of Dad’s. His brother and Dad were standing together in the photograph. That’s what made the police suspect.’

  ‘What photograph?’

  Henry could have kicked himself. He knew he was treading on very dangerous ground. He heard the door open behind him. Neither he nor his grandmother turned round. Instead, they stared at each other in silence.

  ‘Ready, then?’ said his father to Gran.

  Neither of them moved.

  ‘Come on,’ snapped his father. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  ‘Henry’s been saying some terrible things,’ his grandmother said huskily.

  ‘Oh, yeah? We can sort him out later. Let’s get a move on!’

  Still Gran didn’t move.

  ‘What’s the matter with you two?’

  Gran turned slowly to face his father.

  ‘He says he’s . . . he says . . . ’

  Henry could see that she couldn’t even bring herself to say the word.

  ‘Illegitimate,’ finished Henry for her.

  ‘Do we have to talk about that now?’ his father snapped.

  ‘Yes, Alfie, we do. He says your marriage certificate’s a forgery, done by a mate of yours.’

  ‘Says who?’ yelled his father and he rushed at Henry, grabbed him by the collar and flung him against the wall. Henry stared back directly into his eyes, all hatred of the man now out in the open.

  ‘Says the police,’ said his gran.

  Henry felt his father’s grip on him relax.

  ‘The police?’ he said, alarmed.

  Henry listened as his grandmother spilled out everything he had told her. His dad let go of him and leaned on the table facing her.

  ‘I couldn’t tell you, Mum,’ his dad said pleadingly. ‘I found out after Henry was born. I couldn’t tell Maureen. It would have killed her.’

  ‘The police think you were married to someone else,’ Henry yelled angrily. ‘Is that why you couldn’t marry her? Is that why you lied to her?’

  His father grabbed him again.

  ‘Did I ask you to speak?’

  ‘So it’s true,’ said Gran quietly. ‘I’ve been living with a . . . I’ve eaten at the same table. I’ve . . . ’ She began waving her hands frantically in front of her face as though trying to fight off an invasion of flies.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere near him,’ she shrieked. ‘I don’t want him anywhere near me!’

  ‘But I’m the same person, Gran.’

  ‘Oh, no, you’re not. I don’t know you. I don’t want to be in the same room as you.’

  His father glared at Henry.

  ‘What else do the police know?’ And then Henry could see the penny dropping in his father’s eyes. ‘The photograph! They must have seen the others. They must know about the petrol coupons.’

  Henry nodded.

  ‘No skin off my nose,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Too late, ain’t it? So your little plan failed.’

  ‘What little plan?’

  ‘Showing them to the police.’

  ‘I didn’t. It was Mr Finch, my teacher. He did it behind my back.’

  ‘The beloved Mr Finch, eh?’ snapped his father sarcastically. ‘The one who wanted you to finish school?’

  ‘It was me who wanted to finish.’

  ‘Well, you won’t now, will you?’

  ‘You heard Gran. She doesn’t want me around.’

  ‘Never a truer word spoken,’ she muttered.

  ‘We’ll be off, then,’ his dad said. ‘And leaving you behind,’ and he tore up Henry’s ticket, threw it on to the table and gave a slow smile. ‘Locked up in ’ere.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Henry, bewildered.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Why not?’ He turned to Gran, ‘Come on, we’ve a boat waiting for us.’

  ‘I feel sick,’ she murmured. ‘All these years and I never knew he was like that.’

  Henry had nothing to lose now.

  ‘And the son of a deserter, Gran. Don’t forget that.’

  She swung round, the spittle gathering in the corner of her mouth.

  ‘You liar!’

  ‘Ask Dad. Ask him about the doctors he never saw and the unit he never reported back to. Ask him about the letter Private Jeffries wrote saying Dad had saved his life.’

  ‘He thought he had saved his life. He can’t have known it was Walter Briggs what done it. He just got the two of them mixed up. That’s not your dad’s fault.’

  ‘How could Private Jeffries have written the letter if he was dead, Gran?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ warned his father.

  Henry dived behind the table, his father moving rapidly after him.

  ‘Dead?’ repeated his grandmother. ‘Of course he’s not dead. He’s a deserter!’

  ‘He was dug up, Gran. And the police got these dentists to look at his teeth. And guess what? It turns out that the Army hung on to his medical records because they thought he were still alive. And why? Because you were always telling the police you’d seen him. If you’d kept your mouth shut, they would have been destroyed and the police would never have found out. Gran, the body under Dad’s gravestone is Private Jeffries!’

  ‘You’re lyin’! He’s a deserter!’

  ‘He’s dead, Gran. Dead! Dead! Dead! He’s been dead for ten years.’

  His father gave him an almighty push, which sent Henry flying against the wall, winding him. By the time he had struggled to his feet his father had grabbed him and pushed him towards the cellar door. Henry fought wildly but his father elbowed him in the stomach. The next thing he knew he was in the dark and the door was closed behind him.

  On the way in, Henry’s back had banged against something hard sticking out of the wall. He moved his fingers along the plaster. As soon as he touched the smooth rounded object he knew immediately what it was. A light switch. He felt a fool for not looking for one while he was locked in with Molly. He switched it on. To his surprise, what he had believed was a coal cellar was a basement. He moved swiftly down the stairs. There was a window with two short planks nailed over a blacked-out window. He tugged at the wood, trying to prise them away but it was hopeless. Someone had made a good job of boarding it up.

  Looking around there was nothing he could use to remove them. The place was empty, its walls black with filth. He ran back up the stairs and tried to open the door.

  Eventually he slid down and sat on the top step. There was no way of getting out. Even if the roll of film was discovered, the photographs wouldn’t tell them where to find him. He leaned back against the door.

  ‘Dungheap,’ he whispered.

  He had no idea how long he had dozed off for, or whether it was day or night. All he knew was that something had woken him. He jumped to his feet and hammered on the door. Within seconds the key was turning in the lock and the door was opened. But his relief was short-lived. Standing in front of him, legs astride, were Ted and Percy and they did not look happy.

  ‘No need to have knocked, my son,’ sai
d Ted. ‘We was given our orders as to where we might find you. You’ve been a bit of a naughty boy, haven’t you?’

  ‘Bit of a squealer, ain’t you?’ added Percy. ‘Been a bit too pally with our flat-footed friends, ‘aven’t you?’

  Henry had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and a suspicion that he was about to receive the treatment Molly had missed out on.

  They dragged him out of the cellar into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Can you swim?’ whispered Percy, leaning towards him.

  ‘A bit,’ stammered Henry.

  ‘What he means is,’ said Ted, ‘can you swim with these tied to your ankles?’ And they produced bricks from their pockets.

  Diamond, diamond, diamond, Henry kept pleading inside his head as he backed, sweating, against the door. And then he felt the key digging into him. He put his hands behind his back and managed to get his fingers around it.

  ‘That’s murder!’ he yelled, hiding the sound of pulling it out of the lock. He gripped it tightly.

  ‘You don’t say,’ said Percy.

  ‘I won’t go to the police.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Ted.

  ‘Why would I want to?’

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me,’ said Percy, pushing his foul-smelling mouth up against Henry’s face.

  ‘Aren’t you leaving the country too?’

  At that they broke away.

  ‘What do you mean, leaving the country?’ said Percy.

  ‘My dad and gran, they’ve got special papers.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ said Ted.

  ‘This is one of your fancy tricks, like keeping that camera a secret,’ said Percy.

  ‘They tore mine up. They’re on the kitchen table. Look if you don’t believe me.’

  The men glanced at each other.

  ‘You go,’ said Ted, ‘I’ll stay ’ere and keep an eye on him.’

  Henry was so wet with perspiration that he was praying the key wouldn’t slide out of his fingers. Suddenly he heard Percy yell.

  ‘The double-crosser!’

  ‘Wait there,’ said Ted.

  As soon as he ran into the kitchen, Henry opened the cellar door, slipped in, closed it swiftly behind him and locked it. The basement was now his refuge. Within seconds there was a loud hammering on the door and shouting. This was followed by a brief silence and muttering. A loud smash followed, as if furniture was being flung against it. Henry backed down the stairs, his eyes fixed to the jiggling door handle. He heard the word brick. To his alarm, one of the panels at the top of the door splintered, leaving a long gap. He could hear Ted cursing furiously. A large muscular arm forced its way through the hole.

  ‘The key!’ he whispered to himself.

  He raced up the steps and pulled it out of the lock. Ted’s hand scrabbled around the doorknob, groping round the keyhole. There was a roar of anger. The arm disappeared and the brick was hammering at the door again. It whisked past Henry, narrowly missing him. Ted was now hurling insults at Percy. Henry scrambled down the stairs and picked it up. At least he had a weapon now. He ran over to the window and began to hack away at the wood. As he listened to the door being smashed above him, he managed to prise off one beam and pull it away from the window. The blackout was on a frame, which had been slotted in behind the glass. He returned to the foot of the stairs and glanced up. All four panels had been smashed open now. Rushing back to the window, he concentrated on the second beam, knowing that the men wouldn’t dare hurl themselves at the door. If they did, they would topple down the stairs.

  And then his heart sank as he heard the clatter of the lock hitting the ground, and a voice screamed out, ‘Yer little bastard!’

  ‘Correct,’ he muttered to himself, pulling off the beam with all his strength. The blackout frame came out easily, but he could hear footsteps thundering down the stairs, and as he looked outside into the early evening he could see the ground level halfway up the window. He was about to open it when he felt two pairs of arms seize him from behind and his feet leave the ground. As they hauled him away a light from a torch outside flashed into his eyes, blinding him. He could sense the two men jump.

  ‘Get him away from the window!’ ordered Ted.

  ‘Too late!’ yelled Percy.

  There was a loud hammering at the front door. Ted and Percy threw him to the floor and raced up the stairs. Henry stumbled to his feet.

  ‘It’s the men in the photographs,’ he heard a man yell.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t,’ said another voice. ‘You’re going nowhere.’

  Henry was halfway up the stairs when a policeman appeared in the broken doorway.

  ‘Are you Henry?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ and he grinned. ‘Henry Carpenter.’

  8. The final reel

  ‘MOLLY’S ASLEEP,’ SAID HENRY’S MOTHER, STEPPING INTO MRS Beaumont’s sitting room.

  ‘Now will you tell us?’ asked Grace.

  It was later that night. The police had driven Henry at breakneck speed down to Sternsea. Once back at Mrs Beaumont’s house, a bath had been run for him while his mother and Uncle Bill hugged him on the landing outside and his friends waited in the sitting room.

  ‘There’s a nice young girl down there who’s been worried frantic about you,’ his mother told him quietly. ‘She came with her friend.’ And she kissed him on the cheek. ‘My lovely boy.’

  ‘I’ll get back to the station,’ said Uncle Bill. ‘Now I know you’re safe, I’ll be off and tell them the good news.’

  ‘The other drivers,’ explained his mother. ‘They’ve been covering for him.’

  By the time Henry had sat down in his pyjamas with dried scrambled eggs on toast, and his mother had settled the baby, Grace was almost crawling up the wall with impatience.

  ‘If you don’t tell us soon, Great-Aunt Florence will be reporting me missing as well.’

  Pip and Jeffries, Grace, Jane and Margaret, Mrs Jeffries, his mother and Mrs Beaumont surrounded him.

  ‘I take it you know that Henry managed to have Molly rescued?’ began Mrs Beaumont.

  ‘Yes, yes, we know all that,’ interrupted Grace.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Jane. ‘Me and Margaret don’t know.’

  ‘Well, the police knew Molly and Henry were missing quite early on,’ explained Mrs Beaumont quickly. ‘Mr Finch rang here wanting to know why Henry hadn’t turned up, and just around then Mrs Henson knocked on the door asking if Molly had been taken ill. We thought they might have had some kind of accident so we rang the police and they contacted the hospital but no one matching their description had been brought there with any injuries. When they hadn’t turned up for the birthday party, we phoned the police again and they contacted the police in London.’

  ‘Why London?’ asked Jane, puzzled.

  Mrs Beaumont glanced at Henry as if asking for his permission to go on. Henry nodded.

  ‘They knew that Henry had refused to get involved in criminal activities there.’

  Jane stared at him in awe.

  ‘I’ll tell you more later,’ said Henry.

  ‘So the police suspected that the criminals had decided not to take no for an answer,’ continued Mrs Beaumont. ‘I went up to my house in London and gave them my phone number and address there.’

  ‘And I stayed here so I could be near the phone should the police ring here,’ said Henry’s mother. ‘They popped round on Monday, told me that the London police had received a phone call from Henry telling them where to find Molly, and that they’d picked her up and she was safe.’

  ‘But exhausted,’ added Mrs Beaumont, ‘so after Molly had insisted that the police give her an ice cream, they brought her to me.’

  Henry was aware that Jane was staring at him.

  ‘But how did they find Henry?’ cried Grace, exasperated.

  ‘When Henry called them he pretended that the call was over but didn’t put the receiver down, so the police were able to overhear that Hen
ry and the woman he was with would be watching from a café window opposite.’

  ‘But why didn’t they rescue him then?’ asked Jeffries.

  ‘Because they wanted to follow him and catch the whole gang.’

  ‘They just made it,’ said Henry.

  ‘Though they didn’t manage to find everyone,’ Mrs Beaumont said quietly. ‘But I forgot to tell you about the photographs.’

  ‘What photographs?’ asked Pip.

  ‘Henry?’

  Henry nodded and told them what he knew up till leaving Molly.

  ‘So who found the film?’ Pip asked.

  ‘I did,’ said Mrs Beaumont. ‘When the police brought Molly round to my place that morning, I could see that what she needed was a warm bath and a nap while I washed her clothes. They were filthy. I hoped her nightdress was in the dog because I had nothing else she could wear while they were drying. So I unbuttoned the dog . . . ’

  ‘And that’s when you found the roll of film?’ said Jeffries.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t realise how important it was then, but I knew Henry wanted to develop it for the photographic display and I wanted to carry on as though he was still going to make it to the last day at school. The police told me they were going to pick us up later, so I called Jim MacTavish, Max’s photographer friend. He picked it up and whisked it off to some lab to develop it. Well, as soon as he saw the pictures of Molly asleep on the settee next to those two crooks he recognised her from having seen her at my place. We called the police immediately and they were delighted. They’ve been trying to get evidence which will stick with these two characters for some time. And there’s no denying they had something to do with her kidnap, with Molly lying there beside them.’

  ‘It’s a pity you can’t remember where your father said he and your gran were going,’ said Henry’s mother. ‘Not knowing where they are gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Your father!’ chorused Jane and Margaret.

  ‘The police are on the coast keeping an eye out for them,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘but they’ve probably left the country by now.’

  ‘And you can’t remember anything at all?’ Pip asked Henry.

  ‘Yes, but nothing useful. I know they were off to meet some man.’

  ‘What was his name?’ asked Pip.