This wasn’t news to Naomi. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know, you both come in the bar on Saturday.’
‘Yeah, but on Sunday we went down to London. Back to Kemble Street.’
Naomi looked at her in surprise. ‘Did you? And how did it look?’
‘Well, there ain’t nothing been done to our house. Looks just like it did before, ’cept that there’s weeds growing in the walls. Thing is, Derek says we ought to be repairing it before it gets worse. The bombing’s stopped now, so we could try and get it mended.’
‘Mended?’
‘Well, some repairs anyway. If we could get the roof fixed and board up the windows – you know, make the place water-tight – well, Derek says we could probably move back there.’
‘Move back?’ Naomi couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘Not now, not straight away, but after the war.’
‘That sounds a long way off,’ Naomi said.
‘I know, but when it does end everyone’s going to be looking for places to live, ain’t they? Means we’d have a head start. People are going to live in damaged houses to begin with, ain’t they?’
Naomi shrugged. She hadn’t ever thought that far ahead. She was happy enough as they were now. She had her job, working for Jenny, and Dan was working at the nearby RAF base.
When Dan had come to live there permanently, Jenny had given them two upstairs rooms as their home and they were comfortably settled. Would they, she wondered now, ever go back to Kemble Street? It had always been Dan’s home, but they didn’t own it and since the fire had made it uninhabitable, they had ceased to pay rent. All their possessions had been destroyed with it. Naomi was in no hurry to go back to face the wreck of what had once been her home. They’d started a new life, here in Suffolk. Nicholas, now two and a half, had made up for his early appearance in the world and was growing fast. He wasn’t threatened with death from the skies, he was fed, warm and cared for. Why should they change that?
‘So, who’s going to pay for all these repairs?’ she wondered.
‘Landlord’ll have to,’ said Shirley. ‘But listen, Naomi, this isn’t what I came to tell you.’
‘So, what is?’
‘While we was looking at the house, I saw someone going into yours.’
‘What?’ Naomi stared at her. ‘Who?’
‘Dunno who,’ replied Shirley, ‘just a bloke. He went inside but we didn’t see him come out.’
‘But what was he doing?’ demanded Naomi. ‘I mean, the whole place is burnt out, least, that’s what Dan says.’
‘Dunno what he was doing,’ returned Shirley, ‘just poking about, I expect. He may have come out again when we wasn’t looking. Before we left, Derek went over and looked in. He didn’t go inside, but he couldn’t see no one and no one answered when he called. Anyway,’ she went on, ‘Derek said I should come and tell you, case Dan wants to go and have a look-see.’
‘Thanks,’ Naomi said. ‘I’ll tell Dan when he gets in, but I don’t suppose we can do much. People must be poking about bomb sites all the time.’
When Dan got home that evening Naomi told him what Shirley had said. ‘Who d’you think it was?’ she wondered. ‘And what was he doing in our house?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dan said with a shrug, ‘but I bet there are people like him all over London.’
‘There isn’t anything of ours he could steal, is there?’ she asked. ‘I mean, you brought all that wasn’t burnt with you.’
‘I brought all I could carry,’ Dan said. ‘There was stuff left in the cellar, of course, but that weren’t worth nothing. You know, just that old mattress and them chairs. Not stuff I could bring with me, but not worth stealing, neither.’
‘Did you lock the cellar door?’
‘Couldn’t lock it, it was off its hinges.’
‘So anyone could get in there.’
‘Well, suppose they could. I mean, well, I pushed the door back into place and wedged it. You could open it, but not easily. And why would you even go into the house, let alone try to go into the cellar?’
They had a quick supper and then Naomi went down to do her stint in the bar. Sometimes Dan went down too, to sit in the snug by the fire, but tonight he stayed upstairs. He thought over what Naomi had told him. It did seem odd that someone would go into the burnt-out house and stay there. Of course Derek and Shirley might have missed whoever it was coming out again, but even so, Dan didn’t like the idea of someone poking about his home, even if it was a ruin.
He was in bed by the time Naomi had finished closing up downstairs. He heard her go over and look at Nicholas asleep in his cot before she slipped in beside him.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said as she snuggled close, ‘I think I’ll go down on Sunday.’
‘Down?’ Naomi was tired and she sighed. ‘Down where?’
‘Down to London. To Kemble Street. Have a look around and see what’s what. It’s months since I was there. I ought to have a shufti.’
‘There won’t be anything to see,’ Naomi said. ‘That bloke’ll be long gone.’
‘P’raps,’ agreed Dan, ‘but I think I’ll go all the same.’
‘Well, I can’t come with you,’ Naomi said.
‘Know you can’t, love, but even so, I think I’ll go. I can have a look and then we can put it out of our minds.’ He smiled in the darkness and added, ‘I can have a look at the Newmans’, too, see if they really can do enough repairs to save it.’
Sunday afternoon saw Dan walking from the Hope Street bus stop into Kemble Street. He walked slowly along the road in which he’d lived all his life, looking at the houses, those with families still living there, those damaged beyond repair and the one or two, like the Newmans’, in between. All so familiar and yet bitterly unfamiliar.
There were people about, but no one paid any attention to him. When he reached number sixty-five he paused for a moment on the pavement, looking through the open doorway then, with sudden determination, he stepped across the threshold into the ruins of his home. A glance into the front room told him no one was there. The remains of the stairs in front of him led nowhere; no one would risk going up those. Softly he walked down the passage to the kitchen at the back. There were definitely footprints in the dirt, but they could have been there for months. The kitchen was just as he’d left it on that dreadful day after the fire... except for the door to the cellar. It was still wedged shut, but from the sweep marks in the dust on the floor it was clear that it had been opened, probably quite recently. He crossed the kitchen and looked hard at the door. He could see now that it had been pushed back into the doorway and a piece of rubble had been forced under it to fix it firmly in place. It’s what he’d done himself, except that he had used a piece of wood for the wedge, not a stone. Dan looked at it, considering, then he reached down and with several sharp kicks, he dislodged the stone with his boot and the door moved. He eased it open and peered down the steps. No one was there. He’d brought a torch with him and so, with great care, he made his way down into the cellar. Flashing the torch around he saw that the cellar had indeed been in use. The mattress was there with blankets piled on to it. The chairs were there and the small table, but on the table there was a Tilley lamp. They hadn’t had a Tilley lamp. That proved it. Someone was using their cellar. Dan looked round to see what else he could see. There was a bottle of water and a row of tinned food on the shelf. Dan was certain he hadn’t left any food there. He couldn’t remember if there had even been any. Biscuits perhaps? Certainly not tins. Where had they all come from? Too many to have been bought legally, he thought. He wished he had something he could put them in, so that he could take them with him. He didn’t know whose they were, nor where they’d come from, but they were in the cellar of his house and as far as he was concerned, that made them his. He picked up a couple of tins of salmon, the like of which he hadn’t seen for years, and slid them into his pocket. A treat for Naomi and the boy; at least he’d have something to show for his trip down to Lo
ndon.
He went back up to the kitchen and manoeuvred the cellar door back into place, kicking the piece of rubble underneath it to hold it firmly in place. With one last look round the kitchen he walked back through the house and out into the street. It was still daylight, though it wouldn’t be long before the dusk turned to twilight and darkness. He was walking back down the road to catch the bus to the station when he saw someone coming towards him. The man was walking slowly along the road, looking from left to right. A familiar figure and one he immediately recognised.
‘Albert?’ Dan called. ‘Is that you?’
Albert stopped and peered at him. ‘Dan Federman?’
‘Yes, it’s me. Just been down to look at the house. What’re you doing?’
‘Citizen patrol,’ Albert said. ‘Keeping an eye... you know.’ He glanced round him anxiously as if someone might be watching. ‘Keeping an eye...’
‘Good for you,’ Dan said. Dan knew Albert of old. Not the sharpest tool in the box, Dan’s dad would have said, but no harm in him, no harm at all. ‘Seen anything, have you?’
‘I see lot of things,’ Albert said, tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Be ’mazed what I see.’
‘I’m sure I would,’ Dan said, about to move on. ‘Keep up the good work.’
‘Not the only one.’ Albert laid a hand on Dan’s arm as if to stop him going. ‘Bloke looking after your place, ain’t there?’
Dan turned and looked at him. ‘What bloke’s that?’ he said.
‘You know the one,’ Albert said. ‘The one you said could sleep there. Cellar-rat. That’s what he is. Cellar-rat. Lots of those about. He’s all right, your bloke, cos you told him to look after your house. I don’t have to bother with yours.’
‘What’s his name, this bloke?’
Albert screwed up his face, thinking. ‘Don’t know his name. Young feller, dark hair. You know his name, he knows yours. Said Dan Federman asked him to keep an eye... You do know his name.’ A note of doubt crept into the man’s voice and anxious to reassure him, Dan said, ‘Course I do, slipped my mind just for a moment. Thanks for letting me know, Albert.’
‘My job,’ Albert said importantly. ‘Citizen patrol. Keeping an eye... you know.’
Well, thought Dan as he made his way to the bus stop, someone is definitely using the cellar, but who? A young bloke with dark hair. Someone who knows I lived there, who knows me by name.
He couldn’t think of anyone. Probably a squatter who’d heard whose house it was and simply pretended to know him. Nothing he could do about it now, though, so he got the bus and headed back to Liverpool Street.
Back at the Feneton Arms, Dan told Naomi all he’d discovered. She listened with interest to what he’d found in the cellar and she was delighted with the two tins of salmon.
‘Oh, Dan!’ she exclaimed. ‘Tinned salmon. I haven’t seen that since my mother bought it special, when we was courting and you was coming for tea on a Sunday!’
‘Albert says he saw someone coming out of our house,’ Dan said. ‘Young bloke with dark hair who said he knew me.’
‘What about that bloke who turned up looking for Lisa that day? What was his name? The one what went fire-watching with you.’
‘Oh, I know who you mean,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, he had dark hair. Can’t remember his name though, can you?’
‘He was German, wasn’t he? Refugee like poor Lisa.’
‘That’s right. Said he’d come back next night, but he never did.’
‘He stayed the night,’ Naomi reminded him. ‘Slept in the cellar.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Dan. ‘He did sleep in the cellar... so he’d know it’s there.’
‘Can’t think of his name.’
‘Well, it don’t matter,’ Dan pointed out. ‘We don’t know what happened to him.’
‘Whoever it is,’ Naomi said, ‘is in the black market. Stands to reason, all them tins you saw.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Course he is,’ Naomi said, ‘like every other Tom, Dick and Harry.’
‘Harry! Wasn’t that his name? Harry? Been at school with Lisa?’
‘Yeah, could be. Anyway, if it’s Lisa’s friend I don’t mind so much if he’s sleeping in our cellar, even if he is black market.’
‘Black market, short of two tins of salmon,’ grinned Dan.
‘Yes, well I’ll give one of those to Jen. She’ll enjoy a taste of salmon, too.’
‘Anyway,’ Dan said with a sigh. ‘Short of going there and sitting outside the house until he appears, there’s no way we’re going to catch him at it.’
Dan didn’t know how close he’d been to doing just that. Harry Black had been on his way to Kemble Street that very evening. He had been approaching from the far end of the road when he’d seen someone emerge from one of the houses. Was it number sixty-five? He ducked back behind a wall and watched as the man walked away down the street.
Who was it? Harry wondered, and what had he been doing?
He watched as the man stopped to speak to someone. Harry knew who that was. Citizen Patrol. Barmy, he was, old Citizen Patrol! Harry had seen him several times since their original encounter and had usually managed to avoid him. He wondered if the first man had indeed come out of the Federmans’ house. Could it have been Dan Federman? Were he and his wife hoping to come back to get the house repaired? Just the previous week Harry had seen the woman from opposite with her husband, looking over the house they’d lived in. London hadn’t been bombed for some time. Perhaps people were beginning to think about coming home. Harry hoped the Federmans weren’t. It was useful to have a place to keep his most private stuff. He’d moved to a room near the docks some time ago, registering his new address with the police, so there should be nothing to connect him with Kemble Street if ever anything did go wrong and his stash was discovered.
Citizen Albert continued his patrol and the man moved on. Harry scurried after him, following him not only to the bus stop, but on to Liverpool Street station, watching as he boarded the stopping train to Ipswich. Only once did he get close enough to see the man’s face. It was nearly two years since he’d seen Dan Federman, but Harry was pretty certain that’s who it was.
Having seen him on to the train, Harry headed straight back to Kemble Street and as the twilight began to deepen, he slipped into the dark doorway of sixty-five. Anxious not to show a light, he felt his way through to the cellar door. There he struck a match and by its flickering light saw at once that the door had indeed been opened. As the match burned down to his fingers, he dropped it on the floor and struck another. The door was still wedged, but the wedge was in an entirely different place to where he’d jammed it in. Quickly Harry released the door, jerked it open and stepped through. Once inside, he pulled it closed and, standing on the top step, struck a third match to light his way down the stairs. With the Tilley lamp lit, he inspected the cellar carefully. He knew exactly what should be there and saw two tins of salmon were missing. Nothing else told him that someone had invaded his domain. His stash of cash was still in the space he’d hollowed out under the stairs and he took it out and counted it. Perhaps, he thought as he looked at the roll of notes, it would be better to keep it somewhere else. If Dan Federman decided to go to the police with what he’d discovered in the cellar, they might come and search. It’d be bad enough to lose his goods, but he couldn’t risk losing his money as well. He’d have to find another hiding place, but for the moment he stowed it in an inside trouser pocket.
He’d seen Dan on to the train, so he knew that the police were not on their way just yet, but he decided to take a few of the more portable things with him in case they came to search. After all, tins of food could been left here by anyone, even the Federmans themselves. He turned the mattress over and slid his hand inside the ticking to retrieve a small box containing two brooches and a ring, all of which he’d liberated from a second-floor bedroom on a bomb site. He hadn’t shown them to Mikey yet, indeed, he hadn’t decided who to
go to, Mikey or Mr Ing. Neither knew about the other; Harry liked to keep his options open. He looked at the jewellery in the box and reckoned they would certainly fetch a bob or two.
He pocketed the box and turning off the light, made his way back up into the kitchen. Pale moonlight filtered through the window and Harry secured the door again, this time placing the wedge where the intruder had, in case he returned and realised Harry had been back. He waited in the darkness of the doorway, watching the street until he was certain that there was no one to see him leave, then he stepped outside and melted into the night. He wouldn’t come back here for several weeks, he decided, not until he was positive that no one was taking any further interest in the house.
In the meantime, he thought, next weekend I’ll go back to Livingston Road and find Lisa. Maybe take her to the flicks.
As when he’d first met her, back in 1939, he was captivated by her. There was something about her that drew him to her and stayed with him even when she wasn’t there. He’d relegated her to the back of his mind when he thought she was dead – the dead were the dead – but now that he’d found her again, she had crept her way back into his head, slipping into his thoughts when he least expected it.
When he’d found her in the kitchen in Kemble Street and realised who she was, Harry had been shocked at his own reaction. He had watched her face as they had talked in the Hope Street café, seen the tension and the sadness there, but had also seen how she had changed. No longer was she a small, defiant school girl, in gymslip and blouse, with her hair scraped back off her face, fighting against the bullies. She had blossomed into an attractive young woman, her glossy hair framing a heart-shaped face, her mouth full-lipped and generous, her eyes bright and intelligent. When she’d walked beside him he’d been aware of the movement of her body, no longer awkward and a little ungainly, but smooth and agile with an unconscious sway of the hips. The boy, Harry, had been captivated by the girl, Lisa; the young man, Harry, was captivated anew by the young woman, Lisa.
Harry wasn’t new to the charms of women. Since his release from the Isle of Man he’d tasted a few. One old pro had taken him in hand as a favour to Mikey and taught him the pleasures of her trade. He knew women found him attractive and he liked what they did to him, the way they made him feel. But they were simply there for his pleasure; when he finished with them, he never gave them another thought.
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