Rachel's Secret

by Susan Sallis

  This was different. This was what they called a civilian attack. We learned afterwards that two fighters had come over in the small hours of Monday morning and dropped their loads on the middle of the city itself. The sirens woke us at two o’clock and we all tumbled out of our beds and crouched under the stairs, where Dad had managed to fit a steel table known as a Morrison shelter. We were well wrapped in eiderdowns and blankets, supposedly to cushion the blast and protect us from flying shrapnel. Nothing happened for half an hour, and we almost went back upstairs, but Dad said we were like foxes in a den and it would be cold in our empty beds; so we cuddled down together; and I was almost asleep when the crunches came up from the foundations, gripping the floorboards just as Dad gripped us. For a moment it was hard to breathe. Then it was all right. Then it happened again, and twice more after that. Dad said quietly, ‘Dorniers. I think.’ We waited, still holding each other so tightly. Dad said, ‘Two planes. Two bombs apiece. All-clear at any moment.’

  And it came. The long single note that told us it was over . . . for us, at any rate. We went into the front room and switched on the wireless and Dad manned it while Mum and I made cocoa. Nothing came through about the bombs. Dad stayed up, but Mum and I went back to bed. Mum had to go to work in the morning and I was suddenly terribly tired.

  But everything was just the same the next day. The weather was changing and it was overcast, and the occasional breeze was suddenly non-zephyr. By the time I got downstairs, Dad had left and Mum was almost ready to go.

  ‘Dad is going to telephone Mrs Smith,’ she said to me, draping a cardigan around my shoulders. ‘He’ll find out about the bombs. It could be that you should not go into school today, results or no results. Anyway, Hermione will come and let you know what he says.’ I shrugged off the cardigan and Mum replaced it. ‘It’s quite chilly outside, you’ll need it.’ She kissed me lovingly and wished me good luck. ‘If you do go, try to ring me. There’s that kiosk just outside the school and you’ve got my number. Here’s some change. You will, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, of course. You’ll be late.’

  ‘You could ring me anyway from Hermione’s. Let me know what you’re going to do.’ I nodded and she said, ‘Will you be all right, Rachel? You look so pale—’

  ‘So do you!’ I grinned. ‘Please go. I’m really fine.’

  She hugged me again and went. She tried to make me laugh by mounting her bike the man’s way. She nearly fell off. Shouted back, ‘Serves me right!’ and wobbled away. If I didn’t get that bit of paper, I was going to be more upset for Mum than for myself.

  Anyway, I got cracking: washed-up, and made my bed, and peeled some potatoes for that night, and tried not to think about what would happen in-between now and eating the potatoes. Hermione did not appear, so I got on my bike and cycled up to her house. I knocked on the door unenthusiastically. Obviously Mrs Smith wouldn’t leave Hermione after last night’s raid, so she would answer the door, tell me that Hermione had to rest and that would be that. But that didn’t happen. Hermione answered the door herself, and it was obvious she was near to tears.

  ‘Your father telephoned.’ She opened the door just wide enough for me to get into the house. ‘He wanted me to walk down and give you a message but I was too scared.’ She gave a dry sob. ‘Mother left the house at eight o’clock this morning and I haven’t seen her since! The taxi turned up at ten and she wasn’t here . . . and . . . I don’t know what is happening!’

  I looked at her stupidly. ‘The dentist doesn’t open till nine,’ I said.

  ‘I know. She said the surgery might have been razed to the ground. But it can’t have been, otherwise she would have been home again by now.’ She closed the door, and put the bolt across, and repeated, ‘I don’t know what’s happening.’

  It was rather a turn-up for the books, Mrs Smith leaving Hermione alone after the first proper air raid we’d had.

  ‘What did my father say?’ I asked, going straight to the phone in the dark hall, as if it had all the answers.

  ‘Four bombs were dropped near the park. What are we going to do, Rachel? What can have happened to Mother?’

  ‘Well, the dentists’ surgeries are all over that way, so perhaps there was some damage . . . I don’t know.’ I looked at the silent black receiver hanging on the Chinese wallpaper. ‘What else did Dad say?’

  ‘He said that everything was under control. The police had closed the area. He said that as the school was nowhere near the park, we must do what we wanted to do. There would be no danger if we wanted to go and get our results. But if we did not want to go anywhere near the city then we should stay at home.’

  I could almost hear Dad’s voice, very gentle, calming Hermione down. I remembered the three of us curled up under the stairs in our eiderdowns. Like foxes in a den. Dear Dad.

  ‘I’ll ring Meriel.’ I didn’t ask permission, just picked up the earpiece and reached up to dial the number. Hermione was doing a little jig right by me, and suddenly said, ‘I must go to the lavatory. Thank you for coming up, Rachel.’ She disappeared. I was amazed. I was as jittery as she was, and she was thanking me.

  Mrs Nightingale’s voice was quavery, too. ‘Is that you, Dennis?’ she said longingly.

  ‘It’s me, Mrs Nightingale. Rachel. I wondered what Meriel was doing.’

  ‘She’s gone into the city.’ Mrs Nightingale sounded on the verge of tears. ‘My husband went at first light to check on the shop and he asked Meriel to go with him, and said he would take her on to school afterwards. But she said she would rather cycle a million miles than . . .’ Mrs Nightingale stopped speaking and some funny sounds came across the wires. Then she went on in a stronger voice, ‘She left here about an hour ago on her bike. I expect she’s still at school, so you’ll see her there.’

  ‘Yes. All right. I’m leaving now. Thank you, Mrs Nightingale.’

  I hadn’t seen Meriel since the Holidays at Home. She obviously hadn’t got over it.

  Hermione reappeared. She was breathing deeply, gathering herself for something or other. Then she said in a brave voice, ‘Listen, Rachel. I’ve got to stay here in case Mother phones or turns up. But if you don’t want to stay with me, you don’t have to. I mean that.’ She smiled shakily. ‘We’ve got some eggs so I could make us a proper lunch . . . if you did stay.’

  I stared at her. So she wanted me to stay with her. I was almost flattered.

  ‘I’ll come back as quickly as I can. Honestly. We’ll have some lunch then, if your mother isn’t home.’ If she was, lunch was out; no way would Mrs Smith allow me to eat one of her precious eggs. I actually took Hermione’s hand. ‘I have to go because Meriel has already left, and if she hasn’t matriculated she’s going to be pretty upset.’

  ‘Bring her back here, if you like.’ Hermione was hanging on to my hand. It was almost sweet. Especially as she didn’t like Meriel.

  I gave her an extra squeeze and made for the front door; it might be sweet but it was also creepy. And another creepy thing was that Hermione’s school uniform was on a hanger suspended from the banisters. It was all ready for her to go back to school, and school did not start for another two weeks.

  I pedalled into town as fast as I could, even standing on the pedals going up the Pitch. There was more traffic about than usual. A police car was parked at the Cross, blocking both Eastgate and Southgate. Men in Home Guard uniform were trolleying sandbags around. Nightingale’s was open for business as usual; no sign of Meriel or her father. I turned down Westgate and into the cathedral precinct. Several bikes were parked outside school; but not Meriel’s. The front door was open and the chattering sounded like a hen house. I manoeuvred my bike into one of the stands and joined the gaggle of girls in the hall. The noticeboard was empty. At the end of the hall the stairs rose to a half-landing and then turned; girls were sitting on every step. Twenty-six of us had taken the examination and there were at least twenty in attendance, some with mothers, some with brothers. Rosemary, Jennifer, Janet, Daphne
. . . they came at me with statements about the bombing. ‘Our bedroom ceiling came down and my little sister is in hospital . . .’ ‘I’ve been here for over an hour, no sign of any results . . .’ ‘Several casualties . . .’ ‘My uncle is a warden and he says . . .’

  I said loudly, ‘Any sign of Meriel?’

  Rosemary said, ‘I’ve been here for yonks and she hasn’t turned up in that time.’

  The babble went on and on. I tried to imagine what it must have been like in London and Coventry, and all the other places where the Luftwaffe had systematically blanket-bombed. Multiply this by . . . I couldn’t imagine. Nobody actually knew anything, not really. And there had been only four bombs.

  Janet said, ‘There were so many bombs I lost count.’ She grabbed my hand. ‘I was so scared I couldn’t speak.’ She was making up for it now.

  At last, when I was thinking I’d have to go, Miss Hardwicke’s door opened, and she and her secretary appeared, and started to struggle through to the noticeboard. Everyone fell back respectfully. The secretary, Mrs Rolfe, was lugging the library steps with her, and she opened them up and climbed them, then Miss Hardwicke passed up a scroll of paper and, one by one, six drawing pins.

  We drew back further still to get a good view, and the silence was as deafening as the babble had been. Miss Hardwicke was more important to us than the King himself. Somebody’s brother asked where the lavatories were, and was violently shushed. Miss Hardwicke turned to us while Mrs Rolfe closed the steps.

  ‘I am delighted with the results, girls,’ she said. ‘When you have made a note of them, please leave the school quietly and go straight home. Last night’s raid has caused some disruption in the south of the city, and we would not want to obstruct any of the clearing work.’ She smiled at us. ‘We all want to help, and the opportunity might come our way later, but sometimes we have to be content with simply causing no trouble.’ Her smile widened. ‘Keeping out of the way.’ She was not wearing her gown, and she stood straight and pulled down the jacket of her linen suit. ‘If anyone would like to talk about their results, I will be in my office until midday. Please make an orderly queue, girls, then leave as quietly as possible.’

  She was gone. I had already seen my name just above Winifred Whittingford’s. I had passed. Three names above mine was Hermione’s. She had passed. Six names above hers was Meriel’s. She had not passed.

  I stumbled outside, quite certain that Meriel would be there, waiting. The precinct was empty except for two vergers flapping towards the west door like crows, clutching books to themselves. I picked up my bike and did a slow perambulation of the cathedral. Under the archways, past the cloisters, around the bit where the grilles of the crypt offered darkness. No sign of Meriel.

  I went back into Westgate and cycled towards the river, and then slowed, put my foot on the pavement and tried to think as Meriel would think. And then I turned my bike the way I had come and cycled back. I knew, quite suddenly, where she would be.

  Four

  THE SAFETY BARRIERS started just by the war memorial and swept around the park railings cutting off any entry to Southgate. There was no sign anywhere of Meriel. The houses in Spa Road next to the pump rooms were . . . a mess. In the middle of the mess was a space round a crater. On either side of the space, windows and fireplaces hung in mid-air. Half a floor on the second storey still had a dressing table standing with a crocheted cover and an enamelled toilet set on it. Behind that there was a tall building surrounded by three fire engines and a crane. I knew why the fire engines were there, of course, the smell of wet ash and singed furniture was everywhere; but Dad had explained to me ages ago when I was doing things in Physics that once the centre of gravity was changed in a building, it had to be either propped up or torn down. It looked as if the crane represented the demolition squad. I remember Dad making a pile of my old wooden blocks, then just shifting one on the bottom layer. ‘Tricky business, knocking it down,’ he had said as I scattered the lot on to the carpet. ‘Supposing there had been people around those blocks? They’d have been injured, maybe even killed by the way you knocked it down.’ He built it up again and showed me how to trace the shift, and then work out where to start demolishing it so that it fell straight down or even inwards. I never remembered things like that, but I enjoyed his explanations. I’ve always respected mathematicians. Maybe too much.

  I was staring, wondering how they would tackle that building, when a lot of shouting came from the house at the side. The next minute a man in a navy-blue siren suit, and wearing a tin hat, came out of an enormous gap in the wall, and started pulling at something. Meriel emerged, protesting loudly, grabbing on to the side of the hole with one hand, threatening to bring down the upper storey on her head. I heard the warden shout at her not to be such a little fool, but her voice was louder than his.

  ‘There’re people in there! Let me go – I think – I know—’ she screamed sharply, as he gave an extra tug and the hated green-curtain dress ripped at the waist. Just for a moment she released the side of the hole and tried to shore up her dress. It was enough for the warden. He lunged forward and hoisted her over his shoulder, and the next minute he was marching her over the road to where I was waving frantically. She lifted her head and saw me, and just for a second stopped screaming to say, ‘It’s him, Rache. It’s him.’ She picked up her scream again where she’d left off; it was deafening.

  I gathered her to me and yelled at the warden, ‘It’s my sister. We’re looking for my father. She thinks – she says—’

  ‘I know what she thinks and says, my girl.’ The warden was annoyed. Meriel must have hammered on his gas mask with her sandals and it was a crumpled mass.

  Meriel was hanging on to me for dear life. I realized with a shock that her tears were genuine. ‘Rache, do something.’ She looked up at me, her lovely grey eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s him, I know it is. We drove him there, Rache. We have to do something.’

  I swallowed. ‘Is he still alive? We could call the ambulance.’

  The warden said more kindly, ‘The ambulance took the injured early this morning, my dears. The others have been temporarily sheltered in the Guildhall where the WVS are feeding them.’

  Meriel started to wail again. ‘He’s there! He’s there!’

  I clutched her to me to shut her up, and said, over those short, short curls, ‘There are no . . . bodies, then?’

  ‘No, miss. The bodies have been taken to the mortuary.’

  Like a Greek chorus Meriel wailed again. ‘He’s there! He’s there!’

  I said in my most sensible voice, ‘Warden, please may we look – just glance – inside to check my sister’s—’

  ‘Members of the public are strictly forbidden—’ he held up his hand as I started to protest. ‘The buildings have not been pronounced safe as yet, miss. But I tell you what I’ll do. I will go and look, and come back and report to you!’ He tried to make it sound mildly funny, but it didn’t sound funny even to him, and he turned immediately and marched off to the side of the crater.

  Meriel didn’t let me go, but she slumped a bit and steadied her breathing.

  I spoke into her ‘shell-like’. ‘Did you really see him?’ Her head nodded once against my cardigan. ‘The man? Fritz? Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m not sure. But I think he’s under the stairs. You know, they tell you that’s the safest place in a house.’

  ‘But you’re not sure.’

  ‘I didn’t have time to dig down, you see. Just outside the stairs is this huge pile of rubble and that’s where he is. But then this damned warden arrived and started to drag me away.’

  ‘So there is just a pile of rubble there. No body or anything?’

  ‘No body. But there is . . . something. We’ll have to come back tonight when it’s dark, with a spade. My God, he might be dead by then.’

  ‘Were there sounds, then? For God’s sake, Merry, you don’t just see a pile of rubble and know that someone is buried in it!’


  The warden was returning at a trot. He was holding something in his hand.

  He said, ‘You could be right, miss. I’ve got the rescue squad digging now. But you must realize, you cannot stay here. You must go home to your mother and the police will contact you as soon as identification is needed.’

  Meriel said, ‘Oh no. That’s no good at all. We have to stay. Don’t we, Rache?’

  I said vaguely, ‘The police . . . the shock . . .’ I was trying to see what was in his hand, all caked with grit.

  ‘Look, girls. I tell you what I’ll do. I will come round personally to tell you whatever news there is. Probably this means nothing.’ He held up his hand. ‘But obviously you recognized it as the sort of thing your father would wear and therefore we are investigating. Now if you will give me your address . . .’

  I moved my lips and gave my address without thinking. I could see now what was in his hand. It was a necktie. It was part of our school uniform.

  Meriel had fallen strangely silent. It was she who guided me back to my bike and then on into the park, where she had locked her bike to the park gates. When we mounted and began to ride home she said quietly, ‘I suppose we had to give a genuine address if we wanted to know . . . anything. And perhaps your father will understand when you explain things.’ She looked at my face. ‘I know it’s a bit of a shock at first. But at least we don’t have to start digging at midnight!’