“Yes, yes. I understand. I am silent. I tell no one,” said Ania breathlessly. “But I hope. I so hope.”
She took Joan’s hands in hers and held them tightly – something she had never done before. “Thank you, thank you! You are true friend. You and your mother and all your family. I trust. I am so…” She could not find the words.
“It’ll be OK, Ania,” was all Joan could manage to say. And she hoped with all her heart that she was right.
The next couple of days passed without a sign of the man who claimed to be Lukasz Topolski. The Military Police were well in evidence locally, keeping a strict eye on the train and bus stations, the public park and the shelters on the promenade, and asking people to report anything that looked suspicious.
Mum made no attempt to contact them or give them any information. Luckily, no police had actually turned up on the doorstep.
Mum and Joan were sitting alone together late one afternoon, with the curtains already drawn to keep out the sound of the heavy rain falling outside, when they heard a faint whistle and a tap-tapping at the windowpane. Joan froze. It was like a rerun of the spooky moment some months ago when she had first seen that face – Lukasz’s face – looking in at her.
Mum got up and went to the back door, put on the safety chain and opened it a crack. Joan hovered behind, peering over her shoulder. There he was. He was unmistakably the same man that she had encountered on her way home from the school dance. He looked terrible: unkempt, exhausted and soaked to the skin. But he removed his cap politely, ignoring the rivulets of rain that were running down his cheeks.
“Madam, I am sorry to frighten you like this. I think you know why I cannot come to your door in the proper way. Your daughter has told you already. I am Lukasz Topolski – Ania’s uncle. And I must speak to you.”
“It’s not safe for you to come here,” Mum said. Her voice was remarkably steady, but she was signalling by a gesture of her hand for Joan to keep out of sight. “I haven’t yet told the military authorities about you contacting my daughter. But I warn you that I’ll do so immediately, if that becomes necessary.”
“Please – please. I beg you not to do that. They will take me soon, anyway. You see, I have come to this country as refugee with no papers. They put me in the British Army Pioneer Corps. As labourer. We do rough work. We dig graves, we mend roads. In Poland, I am skilled man. I have my own business. But I suffer this because I have heard my dear niece Ania is here, alive, somewhere in this area, and I must try to find her. Then we hear our unit will soon be drafted, faraway from this place. So I run away.”
“So you are a deserter, then?”
“Yes. I know the Military Police are looking for me and it is only a matter of time before they take me. I have nowhere to hide. But my friends – the two ladies who work at the Royal Hotel – they are kind, brave. They know what it is like to be refugee here, how careful you must be not to get in trouble. They help me. They hide me there, on top floor, and give me food. But someone find out. The police come and now I have nowhere to go.”
“But surely it would have been better if you had gone to the proper authorities and asked them to help you to trace Ania?” said Mum.
“No, no. I do not trust. I fear they put me in military prison. That will happen now, anyway – soon, perhaps. But I must see Ania just one time before they take me. Show her that I am alive. Tell her that one day I will come for her, and we will be together. And maybe, when the war is ended, we try to find her father again.”
Tears were coursing down his face now, mixing with the rain. “Please. You are kind. Your daughter is friend to Ania. You invite her to your home. You are only people here I trust. Please help me to meet with her just one time. Then you will know that all I tell you is truth.”
Mum hesitated. Then she said, “All right. I’ll see what I can do. Come back here tomorrow – to the back door − around five o’clock.”
Of course, it was no use trying to keep all this from Brian and Audrey, although they managed to avoid letting Judy in on it. The following afternoon, Mum arranged for her to spend the night with their friends, the Hemmings.
“I’ll bet you this chap’s genuine,” said Brian. “Why would he get himself into all this trouble if he wasn’t?”
“I hope we’ll be able to get this whole thing over before the air-raid siren starts,” Audrey commented. “It’ll mess up everything if there’s an early raid.”
Joan knew they were taking a big risk. She felt nervous walking home from school with Ania.
By four-thirty they were all having tea in the back room. Ania was surprisingly calm. After eating, she sat on an upright chair with folded hands, saying very little. Her face was pale, and every bit of her seemed to be alert and listening. Audrey paced up and down restlessly, then turned the radio on. But Brian objected, saying he was trying to get a bit of homework done. Joan hovered about, determined not to show how anxious she was.
At last it came, a faint whistling at the window. Mum got up and went to unlock the back door. They heard low voices, and then she re-entered the room with Lukasz following close behind her.
Ania stood up. There was a moment’s silence as she and Lukasz looked at each other. Then she ran forward and put her arms around him. There was no mistaking Lukasz’s identity now as they clung silently together, beyond words.
Mum motioned for the family to leave the room and they all stumbled awkwardly to their feet and exited, one by one, into the front room. Ania and Lukasz hardly seemed to notice their departure. They were already talking together in a flood of Polish, crying, laughing and embracing each other by turns.
“What happens now?” Brian asked hoarsely.
“I think we must give them as much time together as we can,” said Mum. “But it can’t be long. And, to be honest, I don’t really know what happens now, Brian. It depends on what kind of plans Lukasz has, if any. But at least we know he’s genuine – he really is Ania’s uncle, and that’s all that matters at the moment.”
“Well, I hope they don’t take too long over all this tearful stuff,” said Brian. “I didn’t get time to eat my tea properly, and I’m starving.”
“I’ll see if—” But Mum was cut off mid-sentence by a loud ring of the front doorbell.
The whole family froze.
“Quick – go and answer it, will you, Audrey?” Mum whispered. “And try to get rid of them, whoever it is. Tell them we’re busy. Don’t let anyone in, for heaven’s sake!”
Audrey scurried to open the door, and to their horror they heard the all-too-familiar voice of Ronnie Harper Jones. After ignoring Audrey’s efforts to keep him at bay, he walked straight past her and into the hall.
“Don’t want to alarm you again,” he was saying, “but the Military Police think they’ve tracked down this deserter chap at last. It looks as though he may be somewhere in this area, so I came straight over to see that you’re all right.”
Mum stepped out of the front room and planted herself firmly in his path, blocking the way to the back of the house.
That’s brave of her, thought Joan.
“Ronnie! How good of you to come.” Her voice sounded high-pitched and louder than usual. “As a matter of fact, we’re just having something of a family get-together – not often that we’re all home at the same time and there are so many things we need to discuss. I would ask you in, but, as you can see, it isn’t the most convenient time…”
“That’s all right, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you. I’m very pressed for time myself.
I just wanted to make sure that—”
Without bothering to remove his greatcoat, he strode past her towards the back of the house. Then he flung open the back sitting-room door.
Ania and Lukasz were standing there, frozen with fear. At the sight of the captain’s uniformed figure, Lukasz seemed to crumple. Instinctively, he and Ania both backed away towards the window. Ronnie’s ample presence dominated the room. He recognized Lukasz at once
, and his moustache positively bristled with triumph.
“Lukasz Topolski?” he said. “Don’t bother to deny it. I know who you are. I am a British officer and I am arresting you on a charge of desertion from the army. You will be held in a military prison and face a court martial in due course. The police are in this area and will be here directly, so it is quite useless for you to try to escape. You would be recaptured immediately, believe me.”
Lukasz did not reply. He swayed, then steadied himself by holding onto the back of a chair, while facing his captor as bravely as he could. But all his remaining energy seemed to have drained out of him. He half turned to Ania, who stood transfixed, her eyes wide with fright. He put out his hand towards her in an attempt at reassurance, then let it drop hopelessly to his side.
Ania was in deep shock. Mum, pushing past Ronnie, tried to put an arm around her, but she just stood there, mute, her eyes fixed despairingly on Lukasz. She resisted all attempts to be taken into the front room when the Military Police arrived. It was only when they had put handcuffs on Lukasz and led him away, followed by the triumphant Ronnie, that she broke down and flung her arms over her face in a flood of tears. It was the first time any of them had seen her cry.
CHAPTER 19
Ross, Derek, Joan and Doreen met in a shelter on the prom a day or two later to discuss the whole awful business of Lukasz Topolski’s arrest. Doreen knew the most about it because she had overheard some urgent phone calls her father had been making on Lukasz’s behalf.
“He’s been taken into custody and is awaiting trial, somewhere on the other side of Liverpool,” she told them. “He’s facing a court martial – that’s a sort of military trial – for desertion. And if he’s convicted, which is pretty certain, he’ll have to serve time in a military prison.”
Joan could hardly bear to think about this, knowing what it would do to Ania.
Joan and Doreen had tried calling at Miss Mellor’s house in the hope of seeing her, but they were met with a stony response. Miss Mellor had opened the front door a crack, but had resolutely refused to let them have any conversation with Ania. Once they had glimpsed Ania lurking in the hall, but they were not invited in. When she came back to school, Ania was white-faced, turned in on herself, and totally uncommunicative. Even Ross and Derek, who did not usually take much interest in Ania, were despondent.
“Wouldn’t much like to be her,” said Derek, lighting up and puffing out three perfect smoke rings. “Don’t give much for her chances if her uncle’s in that sort of trouble.”
Joan felt uncomfortable. She knew that her own situation was rather different, because Ronnie Harper Jones had intervened on Mum’s behalf and somehow got her involvement in this whole affair kept quiet. Otherwise, Mum might have had to face charges too, for not reporting Lukasz as a deserter to the Military Police and for arranging that fatal meeting at their house.
So, now we’re really beholden to Ronnie, Joan thought gloomily. He’ll be popping by to see Mum all the time, and we’ll have to keep on being nice to him.
The nightly Blitz continued relentlessly, and the weather turned bitterly cold. To Joan, life seemed to have become one dreary round of school, homework, ration queues and long, blacked-out evenings.
There was a brief spell of happiness for Audrey, at last, when Dai turned up on an unexpected week’s leave. Security was very tight, and it was an unwritten law that nobody ever enquired where the next voyage would take him when his ship had been refitted. “Careless Talk Costs Lives!” the posters warned.
Mum put her foot down about letting them go dancing in Liverpool in case the bombing started early. But they were too blissfully happy in one another’s company to mind much. The local cinemas remained open, and Mum tactfully made the front room available to them, even going to the lengths of lighting a fire in there in the evenings, as well as in the back room – an unheard-of luxury.
But, as always, Dai’s leave was over all too soon. After yet another heartbreaking goodbye, Dai returned to his ship and the perils of the cruel, U-boat-infested North Atlantic.
Joan’s family struggled to return to normal. The freezing fog that rolled in up the estuary in the early mornings was slow to clear, and the house was almost as cold indoors as it was outside. Mum looked into the coal cellar, where supplies were running very low.
“I just don’t know when we’re going to get hold of another delivery,” she said. “I keep ringing Mr Williams the coal merchant, but he just says he can’t keep up with the demand in the run-up to Christmas.”
They all wore their overcoats indoors as well as out and crouched shivering over a tiny fire in the back room in the evenings.
“Some of the boys at school told me that there’s a lot of driftwood lying about on the sand hills near the old windmill,” said Brian. “I could go there on Saturday and bring some back on my bicycle, and we could dry it out for firewood. It’s not much, but it’ll save a bit of coal.”
“I’ll come,” said Joan, glad to get out of having to collect salvage.
Early the following Saturday morning, they set off into the mist, with baskets on both the back and front of their bicycles.
“I feel like Good King Wenceslas,” said Brian.
It was quite a long ride, but at least they were glowing with warmth by the time they reached the straggly line of pine trees that fringed the estuary shore. The Old Mill had been a local landmark but was now deserted. It stood in a small clearing above the tideline, enclosed by barbed wire, its rapidly decaying sails standing out starkly against the sky. The storage sheds were equally dilapidated. In happier times, Mum said, people might have made an effort to preserve it, but there was no chance of that now. It would be considered a waste of valuable resources and manpower. There was a stern notice on the fence, which read: PRIVATE PROPERTY. KEEP OUT! TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF DEFENCE.
But Brian had been right about the driftwood. There was plenty of it lying about above the tideline on the sand hills, easily enough to fill their bicycle baskets. By mid-morning, they were tired but triumphant.
“This should keep us warm for a while, anyway,” Brian said. “But I’m starving! I wish we’d brought some sandwiches.”
“Let’s go back,” said Joan.
They secured their bundles firmly and set off, pedalling briskly along the bumpy track. The mist was clearing a little, giving way to a soaking drizzle.
They were not far from the road when a van suddenly appeared out of nowhere, heading towards them very fast. It made no effort to slow down as it approached, and Joan and Brian were forced to swerve sharply, to avoid being run over, and ended up in the hedge. Brian shouted some very rude words, some of which were new to Joan, but the van was already out of earshot.
“Did you get his number plate?” said Brian.
“No chance.”
“What do you think he’s doing, going at that speed right out here? This track doesn’t lead anywhere – only the mill. It’s just sand hills after that. I’d like to give him a punch on the nose.”
“How did you know it was a ‘he’?” said Joan. “It might have been a ‘she’. The sort of lady driver that Ronnie Harper Jones is always complaining about.”
“Well, he can’t talk, can he? He gets driven everywhere in an army car with unlimited petrol and a sweet little ATS driver.”
“The bundles stayed on, anyway,” said Joan, feeling shaken. “Let’s get on home before they get too wet.”
It was nearly dinnertime when they arrived back. They found Ronnie talking to Mum by the chilly fireplace. He was in full dress uniform with an impeccably polished Sam Browne belt because, as he explained, he had just come off parade.
“The Catering Corps may not be a combative unit,” he told them for the umpteenth time, “but I like to think we can turn out as smartly as any guards regiment when it comes to it. I hear you two have been out collecting firewood for your mother? Well done!”
“At least we’ll be abl
e to keep the back room warm this evening,” said Mum.
“I only wish I could get you a delivery of coal,” Ronnie said. “But, as you know, I never pull strings.
It wouldn’t be fair on the rest of the civilian population. So I’m delighted to see that you two are doing your bit.”
He spoke cheerfully, as though he had forgotten all about the last occasion he had visited their house and his involvement in Lukasz Topolski’s arrest. He had clearly decided not to mention it or anything about the forthcoming court martial for the moment.
Thank heavens Mum isn’t going to get into trouble, thought Joan. But she still found Ronnie irritating.
Brian simply ignored him. “Will dinner be ready soon, Mum?” was all he said.
CHAPTER 20
Joan saw very little of David these days, except sometimes on his way to school, when he always waved.
“He’s working ever so hard for this scholarship,” said Doreen gloomily. “It’s making him really edgy. And he isn’t sleeping well. I woke up in the middle of the night, long after the all clear had gone, and heard him roaming about downstairs. When I crept down to see what he was doing, I found him taking all the tinned stuff out of the kitchen cupboards.”
“Perhaps he was looking for a snack?”
“That was the weird thing. He was just taking them out and looking at the labels, then putting them back again. And when I asked him what he was doing, he snapped my head off.”
“Well, we’ve all got food on the brain at the moment,” said Joan. “I know I have. I dream about cream buns and chocolate cake.”
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