by Sandy Taylor
* * *
And so autumn came, in all its glorious colour. I had grown to love this season, more beautiful somehow than the promise of spring or the brightness of summer, a gentle pause before winter set in.
One morning I decided to join Yann and Olive on their daily walk with Henri. It felt strange to go beyond the garden and my place of safety. The leaves above me as we walked down the lane were a vivid mixture of browns and reds and golds, like a multi-coloured umbrella touching the blue sky, then drifting like gentle rain from the trees, forming a bright carpet under my feet as I walked. There was a chill in the air and the acrid smell of smoke from a bonfire, mixed with the dry, sharp, prickly smell of damp and dying things.
I let them walk ahead of me; my steps were slower these days and I was less confident, somehow. Yann said this feeling wouldn’t last and I wanted to believe him.
I watched as Olive kicked up the leaves and I listened to her laughter as she let them drift down over her head. I noticed that she was getting taller, her legs strong and straight as she raced after Henri. It was hard to believe that she was only seven. She had been so brave on this journey we had shared, never complaining, always managing to find something to laugh about and to make me laugh in the darkest of times.
I watched Yann throwing a stick for Henri, then throwing it again as the dog retrieved it and came running back to him. It was hard to tell Yann’s age – his hair was white but there were no lines on his face. His eyes were a grey-blue and kind, always kind. I knew if I told him what I had done he would understand, I knew he wouldn’t judge me. I had a feeling that he also had a story to tell and maybe one day I would get to hear it.
I learned that he had been a teacher in Poland and, on hearing that Olive hadn’t had any schooling for almost a year, he began to teach her. Every morning they would sit together at the kitchen table. Yann made it fun and Olive soon caught up with the lessons she’d missed. I would sit by the fire watching them, one white head and one auburn one bent over the books. Most mornings the house would be filled with the sound of their laughter.
It had been weeks since Yann and Olive had posted my letter to Mum, but I still hadn’t heard from her.
‘The war has disrupted everything, Nell, including our wonderful postal system,’ Yann explained. ‘The reality is that she may not even have received your letter. Be patient, dear, and try not to worry. I’m sure you’ll hear from her very soon.’
* * *
And so as autumn gave way to winter, I waited. I grew stronger and I smiled more, but I never heard from Mum and I kept trying to push away the thought that something was wrong. We’d got letters from her at the vicarage and at the farm, so why not here? It didn’t make any sense.
‘Why don’t you write to her again?’ said Yann.
And so I did, but the months passed with no reply.
It was nearly Christmas and snow had been falling for weeks. Yann and Olive still walked Henri every day and returned with red cheeks and noses. Henri would bound into the house, wagging his tail and shaking snow from his fur, which flew all over the room, then he would flop down in front of the fire, filling the house with the smell of wet dog.
One morning Olive decided to build a snowman.
‘Wanna help me, Nell?’ she asked.
I shook my head.
‘Still feeling under the weather?’
I nodded. ‘I’m much better though,’ I said, smiling at her.
‘These things take time,’ she said very seriously.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Yann did, and he should know, he’s a teacher.’
‘I’ll watch you from the window,’ I said.
‘Okay,’ she replied happily, and ran out into the garden with Henri bounding behind her.
I watched her for a bit, rolling the snow into a big snowball, then lifting her face up to the sky and letting the flakes fall onto her tongue. Henri was racing round her like a mad thing and rolling over and over.
‘He still thinks he’s a puppy,’ said Yann, coming into the room carrying an armful of logs.
I turned around and faced him. ‘I think something’s happened to my mum,’ I said.
Yann bent down and put the logs in a basket beside the fireplace.
‘Maybe we should ask the authorities – they might know something,’ he said.
‘NO!’ I screamed. ‘You can’t do that, promise you won’t do that, you have to promise, Yann. You have to promise.’
Yann walked across to me. ‘Hush now,’ he said. ‘I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, Nell, you have my word.’
My heart was beating so loud I felt sick. I put my head in my hands and sobbed, great heaving sobs. I hadn’t been able to feel anything for months but now it poured from me, filling my chest so that I could hardly breathe.
Yann knelt down at my feet until the crying eased, leaving me gulping for air.
‘Better?’ he asked softly.
I nodded.
‘Sometimes it helps to talk, you know. I think that you are holding onto an awful lot of pain in that little body of yours. This is a place of safety, Nell. These walls won’t talk and neither will I.’
I looked into his eyes and whispered, ‘I killed someone, Yann.’ The relief once I’d said it was overwhelming.
‘Do you want to tell me why?’
And so as Olive built her snowman and the fire crackled away in the grate I told my story. When I had finished, Yann took hold of my hands and said, ‘I also killed a man, Nell, and like you, it was to protect someone I loved.’ He gently wiped away my tears. ‘I couldn’t save my wife but with the help of strangers I came here, I found this place. It was a wreck when I moved in so I got it cheap and then I made it into a home. The physical work helped me to cope with my grief and my guilt. We are not bad people, you and I, but we have both encountered evil and we both did what we had to do. I understand, dear girl, and I will hold your secret in my heart as I know you will hold mine.’
Just at that moment Olive ran into the kitchen. ‘I need a carrot for his nose and coal for his buttons and a hat and a scarf, and I’m starving! What’s the matter with you two?’
‘Nothing at all,’ said Yann, smiling. ‘There is nothing wrong with us at all.’
* * *
When I woke on Christmas morning something felt different – not just the bright light that flooded the room but also the strange silence. I got out of bed and went across to the window. The hills were covered in a blanket of new white snow. I suddenly wanted to be part of it, the newness of it, the freshness of it. I looked across at Olive, who was still fast asleep.
I dressed quickly and went downstairs. Henri was lying in front of the fire. He raised his head and wagged his tail as I entered the kitchen. Yann was peeling potatoes at the table.
‘Happy Christmas, Nell,’ said Yann, smiling.
‘Happy Christmas,’ I said.
‘No Olive?’
‘She’s still asleep.’
‘Would you like some porridge?’
I shook my head. ‘Is it okay if I go for a walk?’
‘Take Henri with you,’ he said.
I took my coat down from the peg, jammed a woollen hat over my ears and opened the kitchen door. ‘Come on, Henri,’ I called.
I walked down the lane. Henri raced ahead of me, delighted at this unexpected walk. He ran through the trees and snuffled in the hedgerows. Every so often he ran back to me bearing gifts of snowy twigs and bits of undergrowth, as if he was making sure that I was all right. His nose was white and blobs of snow clung to his fur like soft balls of cotton wool, making him look like some alien creature.
Each step I took made a new footprint, as if I was the only person in the world, as if no one but me had ever walked this way before.
I was glad to be alone on this Christmas morning, glad to be here in this lovely place, the silence broken only by the distant sound of a church bell and the soft flurry of snow as it drifted like white powd
er from the branches of the trees.
I leaned on the fence and looked out over the snowy hills, sparkling like a million diamonds in the early morning sun, and I felt something change, as if the ice that had formed around my heart was beginning to thaw, like the warmth of a summer’s day. There was a stillness inside me and a feeling of calm that I hadn’t felt for so long. It was as if I was waking from a long sleep and I felt thankful to be here on this perfect day, in this beautiful place. And something else: I wasn’t afraid anymore. It was time to go back home to Bermondsey, it was time to be with my family. I called Henri and together we walked back to the house, not slowly this time, but with a determined stride. My legs ached from so little use but I knew that they would grow stronger. They would carry me through the lanes and over the hills; they would carry me home.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I kept these feelings to myself until the New Year, when I told Yann that it was time for us to go.
A few days later I broke the news to Olive. Henri was asleep under the kitchen table and she was absentmindedly stroking his fur with her foot.
‘But we are at home,’ she said, looking confused.
‘This isn’t our home, Olive,’ I said gently. ‘This is Yann’s home. Our home is Rannly Court, with Mum and Tony and Freddie.’
‘Have we got to go on the run again?’ she asked, looking worried. ‘I don’t think I want to do that, Nell.’
‘It will be different this time,’ I said.
‘How will it be different?’ said Olive.
‘Because this time you will be going on a train,’ said Yann, smiling at her.
Olive’s eyes filled with tears. ‘We won’t have to sleep in no more barns?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Yann. ‘No more barns.’
Olive grinned and jumped down from the table.
‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘To tell Auntie Missus,’ she said, grinning. ‘She needs to know these things.’
‘Of course she does,’ I said. ‘And do you think she’ll be pleased?’
‘I think she’ll be pleased when I tell her we don’t have to sleep in any more bloody barns!’
‘Oh, Olive,’ I said. ‘You do make me laugh.’
‘Have you got a spare pillowcase, Mr Yann?’
‘Why on earth do you need a pillowcase, Olive?’
Olive raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘To pack our stuff in, of course.’
‘I think we can do better than that,’ said Yann. ‘I’m pretty sure I have a proper case somewhere.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Olive, ‘cos I don’t think all our stuff will fit in a pillowcase anymore.’
Olive was right. A few months after we’d got here Yann had gone into Cardiff and bought us new clothes, including a red coat for Olive and a navy blue one for me. He also bought us underwear and jumpers, skirts and good strong boots. I can remember him coming home with them. I was sitting by the fire, still weak and unwell, when he came into the room carrying loads of bags.
‘I had to guess your sizes,’ he said. ‘I hope they’re okay.’
I, of course, immediately started to cry. Olive, on the other hand, proceeded to give us a fashion show, where she pranced around the kitchen in all her finery. This man had been so kind to us and I would miss him terribly, but now it was time to go home.
After Olive had gone upstairs with Henri at her heels I looked around the room. We had been so happy here. I smiled at Yann. ‘I don’t know how we can thank you enough,’ I said. ‘For all you’ve done for us.’
‘It’s me who should be thanking you, Nell. I hadn’t realised how lonely I was until you came. I’ve loved having you both here.’
‘But won’t you be lonely again when we’ve gone? I would hate to think that you were lonely.’
‘Maybe it’s time for me to reach out, Nell. People have tried to befriend me, it’s me that’s pushed them away.’
‘I wish you would,’ I said. ‘I’d feel better knowing that you had friends.’
‘There’s a man I see sometimes when I walk Henri – he has a dog too and Henri likes to play with him. I get the feeling he is also alone. I know where he lives, so maybe I’ll pay him a visit.’
‘That would make me very happy.’
‘There is a passage in the Bible, Nell, that I have always loved. It goes, “There is a time for every purpose under heaven”. Maybe it’s my time to say hello to the world again.’
I stood up and put my arms around him. His face felt rough against my cheek. ‘I love you, Yann,’ I said. ‘You saved my life.’
‘And I think, my dear child, that you have perhaps saved mine,’ he said.
* * *
It was the beginning of spring when we finally set out on our journey home. We had to get a bus to Cardiff; Yann came with us. As we got closer to the city we could see the damage that had been done. We passed bombed-out buildings, piles of rubble, houses with walls and chimneys gone, just like the one me and Angela used to sit in. There was a church with its spire missing and sandbags piled up against the front doors. We passed a beautiful castle perched on the top of a grassy hill.
‘Does the King live there?’ asked Olive.
‘Not the King, no,’ said Yann. ‘It is owned by the fourth Marquess of Bute – he inherited it from his father.’
‘Is he a good man?’ said Olive.
‘I believe that he has done a lot for the people of Cardiff, Olive, so yes, I think he is a good man.’
Out of nowhere, an air-raid siren sounded. I felt sick; I’d forgotten that horrible noise and how terrified it used to make me feel. Olive buried her face in my lap. ‘I’m scared, Nell,’ she said. ‘I think we should go back home.’ It made me realise how Yann had put himself in danger to buy our new clothes. I hadn’t thought about it at the time. I hadn’t thought about much at the time.
The conductor hurried everyone off the bus and we followed him and the driver across the grass towards the castle. More people were hurrying behind us.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘There’s a shelter inside the ramparts that surround the castle, we will be safe there,’ explained Yann.
Just at that moment there was a loud explosion, which shook the ground beneath our feet. Olive screamed and Yann pulled us both down onto the ground; people around us were doing the same. I lay there, my heart pounding in my chest and Olive whimpering beside me. Maybe she was right – maybe we should go back with Yann. We were safe in the country, that’s why Mum had sent us away. Would she be cross with me for endangering Olive’s life like this?
After the explosion everything went quiet and you could have heard a pin drop. We stayed flattened against the grass; the all-clear hadn’t yet sounded so there could be more bombs. Eventually people started to stand up. I looked back at the city. Smoke and flames were rising up above the buildings, filling the air with that horrible acrid smell that caught at the back of your throat and made you want to throw up. That horrible smell which reminded me of home.
The siren continued to whine and people started running again. ‘Give me Auntie Missus, Olive,’ I said. Olive gave me the doll and I tucked her under my coat.
We reached the castle walls and were ushered inside by a warden. We followed him along tunnels, loads of them. We passed a table with a woman serving tea; there was a menu on the wall, telling you what you could have to eat.
‘Hungry?’ asked Yann.
‘A bit,’ I said.
‘Starving,’ said Olive.
There were benches all along the walls that were quickly filling up with people.
‘Grab a seat,’ said Yann, ‘and I’ll get us something to eat.’
We sat down beside a lady holding a little baby. She was feeding it with her titty, milk trickling down its chin. The baby was concentrating very hard, its tiny fists pummelling the woman’s breast. I smiled at the woman and she smiled back.
‘Thank God for the Marquess,’ she said. ‘He
is a saint.’
‘Is he?’ asked Olive, round-eyed.
‘He is,’ said the woman. ‘He takes good care of the common people.’
‘Are we common, Nell?’ whispered Olive.
‘Probably,’ I said, grinning back at her.
Yann brought back three cups of tea and some spam sandwiches.
‘Would you like a cup of tea and a sandwich?’ he asked the woman, in his gentle voice.
‘I’d slit me throat for a cuppa,’ she said, smiling up at him.
‘There’ll be no need for that,’ said Yann, laughing.
As he went to get her tea the all-clear sounded.
‘Don’t worry about the tea,’ shouted the woman, unlatching the baby none too gently from her breast. ‘I’ve got a nice bit of tripe and onions back in my kitchen. That’s if I’ve got a kitchen left!’ For some reason this made her laugh fit to bust, her mouth wide open, revealing more gums than teeth.
Yann picked up the case and we followed a line of people shuffling towards the exit.
As we walked across the grass Olive said, ‘Why was that woman laughing when she thought her kitchen might be bombed?’
‘Maybe if people didn’t laugh, they’d cry,’ I replied.