by Milly Adams
Andy seethed, ‘He fired the old barn, the little devil.’ He pushed Jake into the hallway, and came in after him. The smell of smoke was heavy. Miss F had joined them in the hall. Percy closed the door behind him, and they all trooped through to the kitchen.
Jake was shaking, his face pale, but smudged with soot. Phyllie felt quite faint, suddenly, and sank onto a kitchen chair. ‘I can’t believe this. Oh, Jake, what’s going on?’ she murmured.
He lashed out with his fists at Andy. ‘Nothing’s going on; it’s all just a mess.’
He was kicking and shouting. One kick landed on Phyllie’s leg. Andy grabbed him, and pulled him away from Phyllie. ‘Don’t you dare kick Phyllie. Don’t you dare, after all she’s done for you. You’re not the only one who’s lost a parent. Look around the village, the country, you daft selfish lad, see how many there are. And has Phyllie or Miss F given up on you for one minute, though you’ve been testing them for months? Doesn’t that prove anything? What do you want, the fact that they love you bawled from the heights, night and morning? You just don’t know how lucky you are.’
He lifted Jake off the ground, backing away from the table, and let him flail around until he grew weaker and weaker, while Francois growled and leapt at Andy.
‘Enough, Francois,’ Miss F shouted. Francois backed away, confused. At last Jake stopped, and Andy let him down, keeping hold of his arm, looking anxiously across at Phyllie. ‘Are you all right?’
It hurt, but nothing like as much as seeing the despair in this boy’s face. Why on earth did Andy and Joe have to involve the police? ‘Yes, I’m fine. How much do I owe you for the damage, Andy?’ She could hear the coldness in her voice.
He waved his stump. ‘Nothing. The damage wasn’t great, but that’s not the point; imagine if it had been the horses.’
Percy had brought out his notepad, and was licking his pencil. Jake yelled, ‘But it wasn’t the horses, that’s the point. They wanted to, cos they couldn’t find the sugar. They were angry. He’d been drinking cider. It was frightening. I was scared. I didn’t know that’s what they were looking for, I just thought they were poking about, and then they said they were going to burn down the stables. I snatched the matches and ran. They caught me in the old barn, got ’em back. They chucked matches at a straw bale, then ran away, I tried to put it out—’ He stopped. Everyone focused.
Miss F was holding Francois’ collar, and shrieked, ‘It’s those boys, isn’t it?’
Phyllie said, ‘You could have been killed. Oh, Jake, what would we have done then?’
‘Those boys?’ Percy boomed. ‘Which boys? Oh, hang on … Cider, you say? Sugar?’
‘It was no one,’ Jake muttered. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. No one …’ He tried to shrug from Andy’s grip.
Andy said, ‘I caught him in the old barn. There was no one else by then, but the straw was well alight. Thinking about it, he’d used his mackintosh to try to beat it out. It’s ruined now.’
‘Like we did in the wheatfield, when the plane came over,’ Jake whispered. ‘But I couldn’t stop it, so I was trying to be brave enough to run in and tell you. I’m sorry, Mr Andy.’
Andy was staring at Phyllie, but clearly not seeing her. He lifted his head to Percy now. ‘Just a minute, how did you know to come to the farm?’
Phyllie felt an inexplicable relief. So Andy hadn’t involved the police and she didn’t have to raise the energy to dislike him all over again.
Percy shrugged. ‘It was an anonymous call.’ He came to stand in front of Jake. ‘Fine friends you have, boy. Now’s I know the story, I know damn well who called, and who “those boys” are. I should’ve clocked it was Eddie Anderton’s voice sooner, but it was you saying he had a taste for cider that made me put two and two together. He must have been talking through his snotty handkerchief. Panting he was, run all the way to the telephone box, I dare say, just to drop you in it. My word, and you’re happy to take the rap? Well, Miss Phyllie, what d’you reckon his father would think of him?’
The policeman never took his eyes off the boy. Jake sagged against Andy now, all the fight gone from him. He put his hand out to Francois. Miss F let the dog go, and Phyllie said softly, ‘His dad would be proud of his son, for preventing the horses being burned. Proud, just as I am, for remembering who he is.’
‘We,’ said Miss F. ‘Just as we are.’
Jake stroked Francois and muttered, ‘I knew they were rotten, really, but Ron’s not, you know. He gave me sweets that Bryan’s mum made. She’s got a lot of sugar, you see. He’s just lonely, and cross. His mum never comes, and I thought I … Well, nothing.’
Andy looked across at Phyllie and Miss F, then asked Jake, ‘Are you going to behave yourself, for a moment?’
Jake nodded dumbly, getting down on his knees and hugging the dog, tears falling now, as Francois whined his pleasure.
Andy and Percy were talking urgently. At length, the policeman tucked his notepad and pencil into his top pocket, saying, ‘I’m letting you off with a warning this time, sonny. There had better not be a next time. Get to your feet and promise me that, because this is my Christmas Day you’re ruining, along with everyone else’s. My missis is not best pleased, let me tell you that.’
Jake jumped up, and stood almost to attention. His knees were red with cold, his shorts smutcovered. Why on earth hadn’t he worn his trousers? Phyllie wondered. Ah, they were in the wash, and he had a new pair from Father Christmas still half unwrapped and thrown to one side. His gumboots were mud-covered, as was the kitchen floor. He looked exhausted, but as she stood to go to him, Miss F pushed her down, shaking her head.
Andy said, ‘Jake, see Constable Pringle to the door, then come straight back, and perhaps you have something to say to these two women who care about you so much.’
Jake left the kitchen, Francois at his heel, and before he followed, Percy winked at Phyllie. ‘He’s not a bad ’un, and I’ll be seeing the ones that are. I’ll come down heavy on them. I’ll be careful they know it’s not come from yon lad. I’ll say I’ve only just realised whose voice it was on the telephone. I’ll ask Andy if I can say he saw them running away. I won’t check for sugar at this stage. I’ll leave that for later, or those two Andertons will know I’ve had information. Be a bit like pointing a finger right at this little devil.’ He headed for the front door.
Andy took a third seat at the table, dragging his hand down his face. ‘It’s been brewing a long time with Jake, and something had to break. I reckon this is it. I know I’m interfering, and I know we’ve had our differences, Phyllie,’ he was tracing the pattern of the oilcloth, ‘but he’s not had a burial, a service, nothing, for his dad; neither have you for Sammy.’
Phyllie nodded, they were almost whispering. ‘I know. I felt I couldn’t until Jake did something for his father, but he won’t go to church. Miss F and I have been trying to find a synagogue, but he won’t go – he’s not a Jew any more, he says. Though he might well have changed his mind after this.’
Miss F was thoughtful. ‘I wonder if it would be better to do something here instead, where he knows people. It could perhaps cleanse the past if his friends are with him?’
Phyllie wondered why on earth she hadn’t thought of any of this. ‘Yes, it can’t hurt, can it? We can suggest it, so thank you, Andy.’
Jake was opening the door, and he stood just inside it, as though he didn’t know if he should enter. Tentatively, Phyllie held out her hand to him. He came, with Francois sticking like glue. ‘I’m sorry, Phyllie, Miss F; you too, Andy. I’m so sorry. I just don’t know anything about anything any more.’
Phyllie murmured to him, ‘That makes two of us, Jake.’ He smiled at her, really smiled.
He was too tired for more tears, and Phyllie led him upstairs, into the bath. She waited for him in the bedroom. The smell of smoke was still in his hair, but it wouldn’t do any harm for him to be reminded for a few days. She kissed his forehead, as always. This time, though, his arm came round her neck
, and held her there. ‘I’m sorry, Phyllie. I love you, Miss F and my daddy and mummy. I know I’m a Jew, and that’s all right. Because then I’m like Mummy and Daddy.’
She sat with him until he slept. He was only a child, haunted by the dead and the missing. Poor little boy. Whatever they did, there would be no quick fix. He’d still have to battle through.
Jack Thompson contacted a rabbi he knew the next day, and it transpired that they could create closure at a place of their choosing without a rabbi, and include readings of Old Testament psalms and some Hebrew prayers, which the rabbi had offered to send. ‘So I can do the job,’ said Jack, continuing for some while about the beauty of the psalms, as only he could.
On 27 December practically the whole village congregated around the ice-covered pond to wait for Phyllie, Miss F, Francois and Jake. They were late, because as they left the house, Jake said, ‘I want—’ He didn’t say what he wanted, he just ran inside, and up the stairs, then down again and out, clutching the tallit Phyllie had last seen the day they arrived at Myrtle Cottage. It seemed much more than only a year and a half ago.
They walked along the street, the four of them, with Jake wearing the tallit, his family’s prayer shawl, around his shoulders. At their approach, the villagers stepped back, opening a channel through which the little group walked until they reached the bank. The channel closed, and Phyllie felt the protection of these good people. Jake gripped her hand, and she knew that he felt it too. They all sang, Eternal Father, strong to save, Whose arm hath bound the restless wave, Who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep, Its own appointed limits keep; Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee, For those in peril on the sea.
Phyllie and Jake then read, together, the twenty-third psalm, with Francois at their side: The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul …
They didn’t throw flowers on the pond, as Jake had explained that it wasn’t part of the Jewish tradition. Prayers were said, first for Sammy and then for Isaac, with Jack struggling manfully with Hebrew; and from that moment it was clear that Jake looked on him as a special person. Jack closed the prayer book. He asked Jake if he’d like to talk about his father.
Jake stepped forward, his breath visible in the air as he said, ‘I love Daddy. That’s all. I just love him.’ Jack looked at Phyllie.
‘I love Sammy. That’s all. I just love him.’ She echoed Jake’s words, and it was enough. They held hands again. The service was over. No one moved, but stood with their thoughts, their breath visible in the cold air.
Andy had brought the horses to stand with him, at the rear. Desmond, Destiny and Doris huffed in the silence and Jack said eventually, ‘Thank you all for coming. I believe there are a few eats at Mr Burley’s hostelry.’
Now people moved, making their way along the main village street to the Dun Cow.
Jake spent a few minutes with the horses. They nuzzled the tallit, and he laughed. Phyllie felt Miss F’s arm around her shoulder. It was the first laugh since the news had arrived. Andy took the horses to their stables but Miss F, Joe, Phyllie and Jake followed the villagers to the pub, with Dan and Miss Deacon. The Andertons had not been invited to the service, but Ron had. He had come, with Fanny McTravers and her auntie, possibly unwillingly, but he was there.
Even Percy Pringle came, with the missis.
Chapter Eighteen
New Year’s Eve, 1941 Lower Mitherton
JAKE SAT NEXT to Phyllie on the sofa, while opposite, he watched Miss F snuffle into her handkerchief. She had a streaming cold, and Phyllie had shaken her finger at her and told her she should be in bed. It had made Jake laugh. It still felt strange to laugh, really laugh. It almost creaked in him. The Aga was rattling a bit. He fed it logs. He and Mr Andy had brought the logs down a few days ago, in the cart drawn by Desmond, and he had been allowed to take the reins.
It was New Year’s Eve tonight and still the Germans hadn’t come marching into Britain. Perhaps they never would, now. It was much easier to believe that with America in, and the Germans chasing the Russians, just as it was easy to believe Phyllie when she said, again, that she’d never leave him. He didn’t know why he had not trusted her before, because she’d never let him down.
The wireless was sort of whistling, and some music was playing. He thought it was that man Glenn Miller, who Sammy had always liked. He could think of Sammy now, but not Dad. Not yet. He could still see him, though. Sometimes just there, at the edge of his eyes, he could see him. Or when the men were coming out of the pub he thought he saw him.
He had told Miss F and Phyllie earlier today, when they had a piece of the Christmas cake they’d made, after saving up their rations. Phyllie and Miss F had put their pieces of cake down on their plates, and let their tea get cold, though it was a proper cup of tea, made with fresh tea leaves. That’s when he knew again how much they loved him, because not everyone would have let tea like that get cold.
‘I’m so pleased you told us that,’ Phyllie said now, shuffling a bit on the settee, ‘because I still see Sammy, all over the place, and sometimes I dream that everything is all right, and then I wake up and it isn’t. That’s horrible too.’
Her words made him feel better. Opposite Miss F was blowing her nose again. It was strange how quite a small nose could make such a loud noise, but then, Miss F made a noise even when she whispered.
‘I see Miss Harvey still, sometimes,’ Miss F said. She coughed into her handkerchief.
On the airer, above them, were some baby clothes drying that someone – he thought it was Mrs Eaves from the bakery – had brought round to give Phyllie for Charlie, because that’s what they had decided to call the baby. Miss F had said the name Charlie would do for Charles or Charlotte until they knew. Phyllie had asked if he’d like to feel Charlie kicking, but that was disgusting.
He checked the clock. Four twenty. Phyllie looked as though she was about to fall asleep, but she had to go to the vicar for a bit of a chat, and a tiny piece of cake with Mrs Speedie and some other people for New Year’s Eve. He nudged her awake, and she struggled into her coat, kissing him, closing the back door behind her.
‘Don’t slip on the snow,’ Miss F called after her.
Miss F then went to lie down, just for a moment she said, but she’d said that yesterday and it had been hours. Dan was going to call for him at about five o’clock, and then they were going back to Miss Deacon’s house. It’s not that he was frightened of Ron and Bryan, or Eddie, not really, but Constable Pringle, Mr Andy, Phyllie and Miss F had said he had to have Francois with him, or if not Francois, then Dan, or whoever he was out with. Peter, Miss Deacon’s nephew, would bring him home at nine in the evening.
He leaned forward and stroked Francois. Well, if he was honest, he really was a bit frightened. Actually, he was a lot frightened, because Constable Pringle had gone round to Ron, and then Bryan and Eddie’s, to tick them off, and put them in his notebook. Jake knew they’d know he’d talked. Those boys seemed to know everything but he supposed that with a gang like Eddie’s, there were a lot of ears and eyes bringing lots of news.
Jake picked up the pack of cards from the arm of the sofa, and the tray, which stood on its edge on the floor by the arm. He’d play Patience until Dan came, on his bike. Jake had left his own bike at the side of the house so he was ready. They’d ride back to Dan’s house, leaving Francois here.
He looked up at the airer again. It was strange not to be angry. After the day at the pond, when they had said the psalms, the anger had gone so quickly. Not completely, though. It still came back, sometimes, but lighter, and in between it was nice. He was still sad, dreadfully sad, but it was as though he’d been away in his head for a long time, and now he was back.
He could see things he hadn’t seen, like the knitted clothes for Charlie, the patchwork quilt that had been on his bed since his father had died, which Phyllie and Miss F had made him. He sort of remembered them saying it
was there, and it must have been, but now he really saw it. Yesterday Mr Joe and Mr Andy had brought round a cot for Charlie. It was really old, and had been Mr Andy’s but he’d cleaned it, and he could really see the picture painted on the headboard.
It was going to be a nice late night with Dan tonight. The grown-ups would stay up until midnight, though Miss F had said that chance would be a fine thing if she did, because all she needed was a warm bed and a hot toddy with honey.
It would be the first New Year without his dad in it, but at least his dad was with Sammy.
He sighed and remembered Miss F’s nose, so red from blowing. It made her look like Rudolph. He laughed as he laid out the cards. She had a lovely smile, but she was lovely anyway. She liked to make people think she was cross, but she wasn’t, and everyone knew that. She had started kissing him at night now, but that was all right, he just didn’t want it happening in the day. Glenn Miller was still playing on the wireless, which was acting up, and sounding like rushing water. He wondered if he’d want to swim in the summer but he knew he must, because otherwise it would be running away.
Mr Andy had talked to him about that, when he was cleaning the tack yesterday. He had told Jake how he had tried to run away from what had happened to him with the truck, and had got really empty inside, and then cross and horrid to people, but that now he felt he’d moved on. He had shown him a picture of the hook he was getting. It looked strange, but would help, because it was so difficult for him to even do up a bridle with only one hand.
He checked his cards and supposed that Mr Andy couldn’t even shuffle the cards. He tried to do it with one hand. They spilled all over the floor. He bent to pick them up but then the doorbell rang. He rushed to pack them away, checking the clock. It was thirty-five minutes past four. Dan was really early. He grabbed the new mackintosh that Miss F had found in the attic, and hauled it on, then rushed towards the front door, shouting, ‘Hang on, Dan; I’m coming.’