War Orphans

by Lizzie Lane

  ‘They don’t grow overnight, you know.’

  ‘Pierre’s aunt was in the same queue. She was expecting a chicken, but somebody broke in and stole the lot.’

  ‘I had heard. Don Stone down at the allotment told me.’

  She smiled. Her father was beginning to mix with people again.

  So much had happened since the outbreak of war and she’d been looking forward to Christmas Day. She had hoped that Pierre would be dining with them, but he’d promised to eat with his aunt. She’d been invited too but had declined.

  ‘I can’t leave Dad by himself.’

  ‘He can come too,’ Pierre had offered.

  ‘No. I think he might in time, but not yet. He’s only just coming out of himself since Mum died and I don’t want to upset him. Forcing him to do something out of the normal routine might do that.’

  Pierre said that he understood, but deep down she knew he wanted to be with her; she certainly wanted to be with him.

  Instead he agreed to call round for her mid-afternoon.

  ‘We will go for a walk. I need to talk to you.’

  Her heart had flipped, but she thought she knew what he was going to talk to her about. Would it be too early to be a spring bride? She loved the blossoms that appeared on the trees after a long winter, and though she could make a bouquet out of them, perhaps wear some in her hair.

  Blushing at her thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on getting dinner ready, including the pudding she’d made weeks ago adding a little sherry from their meagre supply.

  After her father had returned from the allotment for his Christmas lunch and they’d listened to the King’s speech on the wireless, he told her he would deal with the washing up.

  Sally clamped her lips tightly together so she wouldn’t say out loud what was on her mind. Goodness! That’s the second time this year!

  Pierre arrived about an hour after they’d finished lunch and he’d brought presents: a bottle of French brandy for her father and French perfume for her. He also brought his aunt’s best wishes. ‘She sent you these.’ He handed over half a dozen eggs.

  ‘Eggs and perfume! What a lucky girl I am.’ She kissed him on the cheek. Her father set his tea towel to one side and shook his hand. ‘And I have something for you.’ She handed him a copy of The Three Musketeers by Alexander Dumas. ‘It was a bit presumptuous of me, but for some reason I didn’t think you had a copy – not in English anyway.’

  He laughed. ‘Sally, I confess I do not own a copy in English or French!’

  She blushed when he kissed her cheek. His accent, his looks and his chivalrous manner all contributed to make her blush like a girl.

  ‘It seems so poor compared to this,’ she said, holding up the bottle of perfume. ‘I’m a really lucky girl.’

  A secretive look clouded his eyes. ‘It was touch and go whether it got here. I’ve just discovered a hole in my pocket. It was quite small but it’s getting bigger.’

  ‘Give it to me. I’ll mend it for you.

  ‘That’s very kind.’

  ‘You’re very kind too.’ She frowned as a thought occurred to her. ‘You didn’t even know me before coming over from France, so how come . . .?’

  He stood close to her. ‘I’ve already told you. I just knew I was going to meet someone like you. It’s Chanel. The very best.’

  Sally took a deep breath. Never in her whole life had she owned such an expensive perfume. She planted a second kiss on his cheek. She would have kissed him more deeply but her father was in the room.

  ‘This is so wonderful. Give me a minute and I’ll put it upstairs. I don’t intend wasting a drop.’

  Eyes sparkling, she brushed his arm with her hand.

  ‘She’ll be ages,’ Seb grumbled. ‘Might as well take a seat and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

  Pierre grinned. ‘It is cold outside. Tea is very English, but as a Frenchman I would prefer brandy.’

  Seb flashed an amiable expression and fetched the glasses. ‘You fill them while I get my things ready to go back down to the allotment.’

  Seb hadn’t wanted Sally to go out with Pierre, not at first. Not because he was French but purely because the young man would undoubtedly come between them. At that point in his life he hadn’t wanted anyone to intrude upon his relationship with his daughter. She was all he had left. Now, since coming across the four-legged friend living in his shed, he regretted behaving in such a selfish manner.

  Seb folded his coat over the back of the chair, his boots to the side. The right-hand pocket of his coat sagged close to the floor.

  Pierre poured the amber fluid into each glass. ‘To a very happy Christmas,’ he said.

  ‘And here’s to a more peaceful New Year,’ returned Seb.

  They clinked glasses in a toast and as their eyes met Seb wondered what it was he sensed about the man. It wasn’t so much that he was a bad lot or anything, just that the Frenchman struck him as a man who kept secrets.

  ‘What is this?’ Pierre said, reaching over to the floor at the side of Seb’s chair.

  He held up a parcel wrapped in newspaper that had fallen out of his coat pocket.

  ‘That’s private,’ said Seb snatching it back.

  Pierre watched as he stuffed it back into his coat pocket.

  ‘Is it a secret?’

  ‘Yes,’ snapped Seb. ‘It is.’

  ‘Is it for Sally?’

  Seb shook his head. ‘No. It is not.’

  ‘I see,’ said Pierre, smiling and nodding as though he understood perfectly well who the present was for.

  Sally had told him about her mother dying and her father drowning in sadness. She’d also told him about how he had changed in the last couple of months. He was happier than he had been. To Pierre’s mind it could mean only one thing.

  ‘Your father has a lady friend,’ he had told her.

  Sally had burst out laughing and shaken her head vehemently. ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘But you say he is changed.’

  ‘There is no sign of him being friendly with a woman. Mrs Evans two doors along invites him in for tea and a piece of cake now and again. But that’s all.’

  Pierre prided himself on reading people. He wasn’t always right, but judging by Seb’s manner and the way he had shoved the package back into his pocket, he was convinced that he did indeed have a lady friend.

  ‘I would prefer if you said nothing of this to my daughter,’ said Seb.

  ‘You have my word,’ Pierre said. In fact, he felt a sneaking regard for the old man. A love affair! At his age! He could almost be French!

  The moment and the suspicion were swiftly placed aside. He had made a decision on which both his future and Sally’s depended. Today was not the ideal time to tell Sally of his intentions, but if he didn’t declare his feelings today his courage might fail him. It had to be today and going for a walk together would be the best time to tell her he was leaving.

  Victoria Park was oddly desolate. A white mist had descended, trailing between the bare branches of trees like a bride’s veil. The air was chill but Sally felt warm. Pierre’s hand held hers and their upper arms brushed against each other as they walked.

  Sally once again thanked him for the perfume. ‘It was so unexpected.’

  Creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. He wound his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. ‘Make the most of it. If Mr Hitler has his way French perfume could be difficult to obtain in future.’

  She sensed wariness clouding his eyes, the smile persisting but lacking in softness.

  ‘You’re worried Germany might march into France.’

  He nodded. ‘It is a possibility.’

  ‘What about the Maginot Line?’

  She’d read about the concrete bastions that stretched from the Belgian border down into northern France.

  ‘I am not sure that will stop him. It only protects a part of the French border and besides he could come marching through Belgium. It wouldn’t be the
first time. The Kaiser did the same in the Great War.’ He gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Let us talk of more pleasant things.’

  ‘Or just walk in silent peace,’ she suggested.

  What with dusk descending and the swirling white mist, she could almost forget it was Christmas Day. She sifted through her thoughts, trying to guess what might be on his mind. He was here helping his aunt out with the menagerie she’d gathered around her, but somehow sensed it was not the only reason.

  He was the right age to be called up to fight, but she wasn’t sure which army he would be expected to join, after all he had both British and French ancestry. The question refused to go away. There was nothing for it but to ask him outright.

  ‘Have you joined the French army?’ Her blood turned chillier as she waited for the answer. She didn’t want him to join any army.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I suppose you have two options. French or British.’

  ‘You are quite correct. I am eligible for both.’

  His pronouncement seemed very non-committal and she couldn’t help getting the impression that there was something he was not saying.

  ‘Will you go back to France?’

  His jaw clenched and unclenched and he stared straight ahead as though seeking an answer in the middle of all that mist. She immediately knew the answer.

  ‘You are!’ The knowledge filled her with dismay.

  ‘I think I have to,’ he said.

  They stopped and faced each other not far from the children’s swings at the bottom of the park close to the railway line.

  ‘Your aunt will miss you. I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Sally, my sweet,’ he said, turning to her and cupping one side of her face with his hand. His look was intense and made her legs feel weak. ‘Wait for me.’

  Sally shuddered. It was exactly as she’d guessed. In her mind she could see the black-and-white newsreels she’d seen at the cinema, Hitler’s army marching into Austria and then into Czechoslovakia. She imagined them marching into France. Did he know something she didn’t?

  ‘There’s nothing I can do to dissuade you?’

  He shook his head silently, his mouth in a firm straight line. Dark circles under his eyes that told her he’d had many a sleepless night thinking about this. She sighed, resigned to the fact that he had made up his mind and so had she.

  ‘You will come back. I do believe that, and I will wait for you.’

  Shrouded in mist they kissed long and deeply, eyes closed and lost in their own private world.

  Seb gritted his teeth. The shed door was not locked and when he looked inside it was empty. Surely Joanna’s mother hadn’t locked her up again?

  On checking the dog’s food and water dishes, he knew it couldn’t be so. There was water but only a few indiscernible scraps in Harry’s food dish. Good job I brought along a bit of brisket, he thought to himself.

  Pierre’s aunt had donated the piece of beef.

  ‘She would have given us a chicken but somebody broke in last weekend and stole the lot,’ explained Sally.

  Chicken stealing was definitely on the rise.

  He determined to keep his ears open as to who might have been so lucky as to eat chicken for Christmas, though people were just grateful to eat regardless of the activities of thieves and black marketers.

  Bending his knees, he took a closer look into the dog’s dish. The puppy had made short shrift of whatever might have been in there. Poking around with his finger he came across a small dark piece of meat that was easily identified once it was between his finger and thumb and held against the light.

  A heart. A chicken heart!

  Pursing his lips, Seb got to his feet. He’d said nothing to his daughter about Joanna or the dog. Although she eyed him quizzically she had not yet asked him a direct question as to the reason for his change of mood in the past few weeks. He decided to ask Joanna where she’d got the chicken offal, though for now he would let it go. By the looks of things the kid had a hard-enough life without him intimidating her. But he would ask – in a roundabout way so she didn’t get upset.

  In the meantime he assured himself that she and the puppy had gone for a walk. His heart leapt with joy at the thought of it. The little lad was growing up.

  Standing in the doorway he looked around but couldn’t see her. A terrible sense of loneliness seemed suddenly to jump on his shoulders. So did doubt. Surely she hadn’t left for good?

  No, he assured himself. They’ve gone for a walk. That’s all.

  A sliver of doubt eased its way into the back of his mind. It was possible a nosy neighbour might have betrayed Harry’s presence to the authorities, he thought grimly. If they had they would answer to him. He clenched his jaw at the same time as running his fingers over the small parcel in his pocket.

  In an effort to take his mind off things, he walked around his allotment, checking the growing vegetables as he went. Soon there would be carrots, cabbages, onions, parsnips and swede. Once they were harvested he would plant peas and green beans. In the summer he would plant lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers, once he’d built a makeshift cloche that is.

  The fruit canes were doing well and so was the rhubarb. The only other people he saw dealing with their allotments were strangers and quite a way from where he gardened. One or two waved at him and he waved back.

  Then he spotted a small figure emerging from the mist. He waved and was about to shout when he saw her alter course. She was going behind the sheds rather than in front of them. It was the long way round and he wondered why – then realised she didn’t want anyone else to see her.

  Leaving off scrutinising what was growing well and what was not, he slowly made his way to the shed, scraped his boots off outside then entered.

  Joanna entered just a few minutes later and started while Harry leapt up and down, excited to see him.

  Seb bent down to fuss him. ‘Steady on there, young Harry! You got springs instead of legs?’ He turned to Joanna. ‘Been for a walk, have you?’

  She nodded and held up her hand. ‘Harry needed a lead so I could take him for a walk. I found some rope.’

  Harry proceeded to shake his head and scratch at the rope that served as a collar as well as a lead.

  ‘I’ve got a Christmas present for you.’ Seb smiled as he reached into his pocket. He was certain that Joanna’s stepmother wouldn’t have given her anything. It pleased him no end that he had. ‘Merry Christmas, young lady.’

  He held out the parcel Pierre had quizzed him about.

  Joanna’s jaw dropped. Her eyes were round with surprise. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A Christmas present. Haven’t you ever had a Christmas present before?’

  ‘Yes. From my dad.’

  ‘But not this year.’

  His tone and expression were sombre. It was such a shame that a child like Joanna had received nothing at all. She deserved a proper home and a real Christmas.

  Joanna shook her head, her gaze fixed on the parcel. ‘No.’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Are you going to take it or do I have to take it back home with me?’

  Gingerly, too surprised to speak, Joanna took the parcel. ‘Can I undo it now?’

  ‘Well of course you can,’ Seb replied somewhat impatiently. ‘It’s your Christmas present!’

  Harry played with the pieces of wrapping paper that dropped to the floor.

  ‘Oh . . . oh . . .!’ Joanna stared open mouthed at the collar and lead dangling from her hand.

  ‘Do you like it?’ asked Seb.

  It felt as though her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth so she could only nod.

  ‘Well say something then!’ he exclaimed gruffly.

  ‘It’s beautiful. Really beautiful,’ she finally managed to say.

  ‘Better see if it fits him then, hadn’t you?’

  Excited at the sight of the collar and lead, Harry wriggled and jumped around before she finally managed to get the collar around his neck. Even then he tried to shake
it off, his velvet soft ears flapping around his head.

  ‘I don’t think he likes it,’ said Joanna.

  ‘He’ll get used to it. Now you’d better have this as well.’

  He gave her a brown carrier bag containing a few beef bones plus some bits of fat and gristle and a portion of ox heart.

  ‘Couldn’t give you all of what was left because we need some fat to fry and bake cakes with. And there’s a cooked sausage I bought for him that I saved from my breakfast. That lot should last him a few days.’

  Since his change of mood, Sally had given him the job of midweek shopping. Although they had little meat themselves, Seb hadn’t been able to resist buying a sausage and desisting from eating it for breakfast.

  Seb glanced out through the window at the gathering dusk. ‘Looks like time we were both heading home.’

  Joanna unhitched the lead from Harry’s collar and hung it on a free hook beside the gardening implements.

  Harry continued to scratch at the collar and flap his ears, but once he had a beef bone to gnaw on, he settled down. In fact, he hardly noticed them leave.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Seb, as he slid the catch on the shed door. ‘Do you go to Victoria Park school?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought you might. And what’s the name of your teacher?’

  ‘Miss Hadley,’ Joanna replied, as she sucked on a gobstopper he’d given her.

  ‘Is that so. Do you like her?’

  Joanna nodded. ‘Yes. She’s my favourite teacher.’

  Seb felt an instant surge of pride. He realised now how offhand he’d been with his daughter since the death of his wife. Not only had he been distant and uncommunicative, he’d taken little notice of what was happening in her career. All he’d done was insist on not letting her out of his sight – as though that was going to solve anything.

  Now he had to make amends and show her just how much he cared about her. Meeting up with Joanna and her dog would help him do that.

  There was also the question of where the chicken came from. It was highly unlikely that anyone living in The Vale had the money to dine on chicken this Christmas and Joanna’s home circumstances were such that her stepmother couldn’t possibly afford one. Only people in the country who had the room to keep chickens dined so lavishly. So where had the bits come from that Joanna had fed to Harry?