by Tim Binding
“Heads of state, what are you talking about?” she said, irritated. “Hitler!” Mrs H. screams. “Hitler, you silly girl. You and your father are dining with the Lord High Executioner Himself, here in Guernsey on his birthday. Don’t tell me you didn’t know,” and Isobel started to stammer and said, no, that she didn’t know, that she must be mistaken, that the Major would have told her. “The Major!” Mrs H. spat the word. “Yes, the Major. Gerhard tells me everything. After the war we are going to be married.”
“Married! You and Gerhard!” I thought she’d given herself an electric shock the way she screamed it and I heard her stand up, with a clatter of plates on the floor, and Isobel gave a little cry too, as if she’d been grabbed, by the hair or by the wrist I couldn’t tell. “See that,” Mrs H. said, yelling at the top of her voice, “see that picture there. That was me, Isobel, me! That was how I looked when I was your age. You wouldn’t have thought it to look at me now, would you, but it’s true. Russell just changed the face slightly so as not to cause my father too much embarrassment. It never crossed your mind that I could have once looked like that. Well, let me tell you I had a better figure than you, I was better company than you, and most likely better in bed than you. Yet look at me now. I have his brains, his wit, and yet he barely notices me because of the one thing I have lost. And you hope to marry him! If he cannot look on me now and see me for what I am worth, imagine what he will think of you in years to come, when you will have nothing! Nothing! Not even a picture like this to remind him!” and with that she got up left the room and finding me in the corridor shooed me into the kitchen. “Best not push it any further,” I said. “Let her think you’re just jealous.” Isobel popped her head round the door and saw me, so I gave her a little wave. The next thing we knew she was running down the pathway and out of the gates. Can’t blame her of course, the way Mrs H. had carried on. But that’s the last we saw of her.”
“And yet she ran back and wrote me the note.”
“Note, what note?”
“She wrote me a note, Uncle. She was frightened. She must have found out.”
He thought back to that time, when he sat in that little room of hers, with Mrs Hallivand eating her biscuits, her wicker basket at her dainty feet.
“Wait a minute. Did Mrs H. go to the house that day?”
“After she met up with Isobel, yes. That afternoon.”
“And what did she have in her bag?”
“The usual stuff.”
“Sugar and weedkiller.”
“That’s right. Hidden under a cloth. It were the last lot.”
“That’s how she found out!” He got up and looked down on the drive. Wedel was leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette. He looked up and held his cigarette out in invitation. Ned raised his hands and backed away.
“When Isobel got back home her father told me that she had ridiculed her aunt for having this embroidery she’d done, which she’d found tucked in her bag, of the Major standing by the bay or something. At the bottom of the bag, he said. Only it wasn’t at the bottom. It was on top of all that other stuff, the sugar, the weedkiller. She sees the Major on this piece of cloth, lifts it up to take a better look and lo and behold, lying underneath, there they are. The next thing she knows there are voices in the kitchen and she comes out to find you and Mrs H. muttering together like a couple of amateur Guy Fawkes. She knows all about weedkiller and sugar and what you bloody do with them. I told her. Suddenly she realizes what you two are planning. She runs out of the house, forgetting her bike, and dashes home. She daren’t tell the Major. She does the only thing she can, she writes to me, hoping that I can somehow save the island from your lunacy. Only someone gets to her first. Big hands, I’ve been told. And a uniform. How did you come by that, Uncle? Borrow one of the Major’s?”
“What?”
“You were seen tipping her down a shaft!”
“I never tipped no one down a shaft. And I ain’t no murderer.”
“Not much you aren’t, trying to get us all killed.” He touched Albert on the arm. “What would Kitty have thought of all this, Uncle? She’d have hated it.”
At the mention of her name, Albert grew contrite.
“I was seized by the wrongness of it, all the wickedness here on this one bit of rock.”
“You didn’t kill her?”
“On my Rose’s grave, I didn’t. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have if I had to. But I didn’t. So.” He drew himself up, ready to be marched downstairs. “What am I to do now?”
“Dismantle it. He’s not coming.”
“Not coming?” Albert was indignant.
“He’s got another engagement.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m a policeman. I’ve been told.”
“I suppose I’m under arrest, then. That’ll be one for the record books. A nephew arresting his own uncle.”
“I can’t arrest you for trying to blow up Adolf Hitler, can I?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“There’s another reason. I’m taking your advice, making a run for it.”
“To England!” Albert gripped Ned’s arm. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“You’ll be there by morning!”
“I bloody well hope so.”
“You’ll go see our Kitty.”
“Only if you promise to keep out of mischief.”
“Look after her, Ned. She’s all I’ve got.”
“Ifyou look after Mum.”
“I’ll move in with her, if you like. I’ve had it with this lot.”
Ned walked down the stairs. His uncle followed, rubbing his duster along the balustrade as he went. A few minutes ago he was prepared to blow Guernsey to ashes. Now he was back polishing the woodwork. He’s going to escort me to the front door too, Ned thought, wish me good luck. Offer me some friendly advice.
“One thing, Uncle. I still don’t understand where you got the custard from.”
Albert rolled up his trouser leg. There was a yellowish bruise and the line of a badly healed cut.
“It were me that broke into van Dielen’s yard that night. My foot went through one of their containers. It were ruil of them. So I took a couple, sort of farewell treat. Gave one to your mother.”
“No more than two?”
“What would I want with any more? I weren’t planning to take a bath in the stuff.” He looked up to the ceiling. “Though I know of some as might.”
A picture came to Ned, of George Poidevin standing atop a pile of half-opened containers.
“Did you open any more crates?”
“Why should I do that?”
“To see what else you could find? To make it look like the foreigns had been there.”
“Foreigns wouldn’t bother to open crates. They see enough of what’s inside crates as it is. Anyway…” He stopped. “Ah, what’s the use. Go on, be off with you. And don’t you worry about the bomb.”
“You won’t try to blow up any Germans?”
“I won’t blow up any Germans.” He wiped his hand on his apron. “You row safely, now. The sea is a treacherous beast.”
“I’ll row safely.”
“And be careful of the milk over there. It curdles in the stomach, the muck the English drink.”
They all tried to get some sleep for the rest of that afternoon, the Major and the boy sleeping on his mother’s bed, Ned lying half awake on his own, listening to his mother and Veronica below. Then in the darkness the door opened quietly. Veronica slipped in under the blanket.
“V,” he whispered, “Mum’s downstairs.”
“I don’t care. Neither does she.”
She snuggled in and wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t want to…not after…”
“No.”
“I will in time, though. When you get back. You will be coming back, won’t you, Ned? I couldn’t bear it now, if you didn’t.”
“V!”
“Sometimes I feel bad about it all, Tommy
and the Captain. Gerald too, of course.” She sat up on her arms. “Do you know, until just now I’d forgotten all about Gerald. And I thought he was going to be my passport to a better life. That’s all I ever wanted, a better life.” She pulled his hair gently. “Do you mind about the others?”
“I do a bit.”
“I had my eye on the Major too, you know.” She laughed and rolled over onto the pillow. “God, you must have thought me a fooi.”
“You just got carried away, V, that’s all. Lost your sense of balance.”
“Well, I’m back on my feet now.”
“You’re not on your feet at all.”
He made to lean over. Veronica pushed him back.
“Just you lie be. In my arms.”
When they woke it was dusk. She got up, lit the candle and bent to the mirror, running a quick line of lipstick round her mouth. She caught Ned’s face in the mirror, watching her, his hands behind his head. It was like a marriage almost.
“I did what you asked,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Dreamt of you.”
She threw back the blanket. “Come on, rise and shine. We’ve no time for that now. We best get that fat on you.”
She put her hands on her hips while he stripped, then rubbed the cold grease over his body.
“I could get to like this,” she said.
He needed help putting his vest back on. She pulled it down hard and turned him around. She stood on tiptoe and put her arms around his waist.
“Ned Luscombe,” she said.
“That’s my name.”
“If I squeeze you too hard you’ll pop out of your togs.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Actually we would.” She kissed him. “I’d better go. It’s the first performance tonight. We can’t all do vanishing acts.”
She left without any further fuss, a kiss, a long silent embrace, another kiss, quick and wet with tears, and then a hurried clatter down the stairs. Ned watched as she half ran down the garden path, puiling her coat around her shoulders. He hoped she might turn, wave to him, blow him a kiss, but she did not. She shut the little wooden gate and, head down, set her face against the wind. Then the space where she had been was empty. Veronica was gone.
Albert climbed the stairs. He felt tired and stiff. The town was empty. He could hear the faint noise of the music hall band coming from the theatre a few streets away. Mrs H. would be there, half the town too. There was no one to disturb him here. All he had to do was to extract the detonator. The rest he could dismantle in dribs and drabs. He was glad now that he didn’t have to do it. Since knowing Ned would be seeing Kitty, it was as if a boil had been lanced. He’d always hoped that Ned and Kitty would get together. Rose had maintained that Ned wasn’t Kitty’s type, she was too serious for him, too old fashioned. “Wait till he settles down,” Albert used to tell her. “He’ll see reason. She’s one in a million, our Kitty.” Yes. Perhaps in the months to come he’ll get another letter from the mainland. He could just imagine what it might say. Guess what, Dad. Ned and I are getting…
He opened the door and walked over the creaking wooden floor. Beside the unwashed window stood his lovely dangerous bomb cloaked in its paper mask. It would have worked. He laid the drainpipe down carefully and fetched out the clockwork mechanism. The wires were still in place. His hands were trembling. Suddenly, at the far end, the door to the storeroom at the back was pushed open and a man’s broad back emerged, with a snort and a rattle as he turned.
“Tommy?”
The big man gave a start. There was a crash and something metallic started to roll across the floor towards him.
“Mr Luscombe? What in blazes are you doing here?”
The object came to a rest against the toe of his boot. Albert picked it up. It gleamed in the dark.
“Might ask you the same question. Might ask you what you’re doing with this lot.”
“Confiscated goods from the raid,” Tommy replied. “We took so much stuff away we had to store some of it up here. I’m moving it back down for safe keeping.”
Albert weighed the tin in his hand.
“Just ‘cause you’re wearing a uniform, Tommy, don’t mean to say that I can’t tell a lie when I see one. My nephew has been looking all over the island for George Poidevin’s missing custard. I bet he doesn’t know it was up here all the time.”
“How do you know where it came from?”
“Cause I’m the bugger what broke in that night, Tommy. You didn’t know that, did you? I was halfway out that hole when I saw you plodding up the streef, flashing that torch about. Must have been like coming across Bluebeard’s treasure, seeing this lot shining in the dark.”
Tommy laid the rest of his load carefully on the floor.
“It were no great surprise. Ever since Inspector Petty and the others were arrested the Poidevins have had a clear run of it.”
“And the temptation too great for you, was it?”
Tommy put his hands in his pocket and drew out a handful of coins.
“Two pounds nineteen and threepence is what I get a week. Used to be four before the invasion. When the Inspector were in charge, it weren’t so bad. We all had a crack of the whip. But now! How do they expect us to get by on those sorts of wages? One hundred and fifty tins.” He nudged one towards Albert with his foot. “You can share it with me,” he said. “All of it, half and half. Christ Almighty, Albert, there’s more money here than you or I would ever see.”
“Now, now, Tommy. I don’t hold with swearing. Is that all you found? If we’re going into partnership, like.”
“I jemmied up a few more, but that was it. It’s enough. Near four pound a tin, you can get. You’d have to work a good many years to earn that sort of money.”
“You brought them all back here, then?”
“About twenty under my cape the first journey. Then on my bike, using one of our postbags. Daren’t go far, not with patrols about. Half and half, Albert, I can’t say fairer than that. I’ll do all the work, you just count the pennies. Three hundred apiece if we’re lucky.”
“I’ve taken two tins already.”
Tommy smiled. “On the house.”
Albert passed his tin from hand to hand then chucked it across. Tommy clapped his hands together.
“You got big hands, Tommy,” Albert said. “A uniform too.”
“So?”
“Ned said that this custard and Isobel’s murder were somehow mixed up but the poor lad didn’t know how. He got a witness who saw whoever it was chuck her down that shaft. A big chap it seems, with big hands, and a uniform too. Ned thought he meant a German uniform, not one of his own.”
“Half and half, like I said. Let’s leave it at that. You could buy a bungalow with your share. A car as well.”
“Is that what I’m going to tell him, that his daft old uncle solved his murder for him? Don’t know as I dare. He’d never live it down.”
“What about your daughter? Kitty, isn’t it? Think of what three hundred pound could do for her. Forget about the dead, Albert. Think of the living.”
“Just tell me. If we’re to be partners, I got a right to know. Then, whatever’s in this room, we can share.”
“You’re asking a lot of a man, Mr Luscombe.”
“Just tell me.”
Tommy sighed. He walked to the window and looked out.
“It was her bad luck really, coming up here that Saturday morning. I’d come back early, to move a couple of dozen back home, where I could start selling ‘em. Up here were only temporary, what with all the rehearsals going on. I was loading them into my bag when Isobel bursts in, looking for some costume of hers. I drops what I have back in the trunk and slams the lid down hard. I don’t think she’s seen anything. I always liked Isobel, she was always friendly if we met outside or on the stairs. She told me she was going to a party that night, fancy dress. “It’s all a big surprise, Tommy,” she said. “I thought I might
wear this,” and she puts her hand in along the rack and pulls out this bit of nothing with tassels and fringes. She held it up against her close like, her hand flat on her belly. “What do you think?” she said, flirting with me a bit. “Very pretty, miss, though a bit cold for the time of year.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ll have to wear something over it while I walk down, or I’ll catch my death. Once in the Casino, though…” and she gave a little twirl, just to show what I’d be missing. I didn’t mind that. I like a woman who knows the value of what she’s got. So she puts the dress in some fancy bag she’s brought along and hops off down the stairs. That unsettled me. There was no telling who else might waltz in. So I leave them be. I don’t like it but there’s nothing else I can do. I do me first shift. Then late afternoon we’re called up to go through the mail. That was the best thing your nephew done, weeding out them bastard letters. The best thing he done. Well, he’s stirring the pile when he goes, “What!” and pulls this letter out. It’s from Isobel, asking to see him Sunday morning. Must see you, it said. Must. But not here, not at the police station, but somewhere else, as if she wants to tell him something without anyone here knowing. Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it. She saw what I’d been doing, saw them tins. She knows the history of this place as well as anybody else, knows how half of us were sent to prison. Your nephew were brought in as a clean broom, make sure it didn’t happen again. And she was going to spill the beans, the two-faced little cunt. It would be the end of me. I know what’s happened to those poor bastards what got caught last time. I worked with them, drank with them, aye and broke into those fucking stores with them. They were my friends. It was her or me, Albert, that’s how I saw it, her or me. I had until Sunday morning. I knew she was going to the Casino and I knew she’d be walking. I’d got the Yellow Peril going by then, and about seven I went up there, parked at the top and waited. Half an hour later and her father hurried out across the road. It was now or never. I didn’t quite know what I was going to do. Maybe I could get her outside without any fuss. So I eased the car down and knocked on the door, all friendly like. She was there in a jifly, all dressed up in that pretty little dress, her legs half bare. Tight, it were. Saw the shape of everything, like it was drawn on a sheet of paper. She were a pretty piece, there’s no denying it, and for a moment I wondered whether I couldn’t work the charm on her.