The Woman in Black

by Martyn Waites

She heard sobbing just behind her and, turning, saw a mother with her daughter. It was difficult to make out who was crying the most. The mother clung on to her daughter, and the daughter did the same until well-meaning relatives separated them both, taking the girl away. ‘It’s for her own good,’ Eve heard. ‘She’ll be safer with us.’ Eve thought of the boy in the Underground station the previous night. She hoped somebody was looking after him, making sure he was safe. The thought made her tearful.

  ‘Mothers – send them out of London’ said a poster on the wall above the sobbing mother. It showed a boy and girl in dressing gowns and pyjamas, against a brick wall. Huddled together, frightened and apprehensive, their eyes haunted and shell-shocked. Next to it another brother and sister, but these were bucolic, blonde, chubby cherubs. The boy, hair neatly parted and slicked down, held a protective arm round his kiss-curled little sister. They both looked contented and cheerful. Underneath was stated the reason for their happiness: ‘CHILDREN are safer in the country … leave them there’.

  Eve hoped so. Yes. She could only hope so.

  It didn’t take her long to find the woman she was meant to meet. A decade older than Eve, steel-eyed and ramrod-backed, standing as if to attention, Jean Hogg was Eve’s headmistress.

  Surrounding Jean was a group of children, all resembling the frightened children in the first poster. Jean had found something wrong with one of the boy’s coats and was bending down to straighten it, admonishing him for not buttoning it properly, as Eve walked over to her.

  ‘Good morning, Headmistress,’ said Eve, smile in place. Then she looked at everyone else, giving them a bigger smile. ‘Good morning, children.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Parkins.’ They all spoke as one, the words said by rote in their usual sing-song voice. Some of them managed to return her smile. Eve felt a warmth inside her when they did that.

  Jean straightened up, scrutinised her. For a second, Eve wondered whether the headmistress was going to find fault with her own coat.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Jean.

  ‘My … road was hit last night.’

  Jean’s expression suggested that a bomb was no excuse for unpunctuality, as Eve looked down at the children. There were seven of them, three girls and four boys, the youngest seven, the oldest eleven. They all had their own suitcase and each carried a small cardboard box with ‘Gas Mask’ written on the side. They were poor children, from the centre of the city, and none of them had their parents with them.

  ‘Shall we find the train?’ Eve asked.

  ‘We’re waiting for Edward.’ From Jean’s tone, Eve could tell Edward had placed himself in an even worse category of tardiness than herself.

  Eve frowned. ‘I thought his mother was bringing him here.’

  Jean’s steely gaze – just for a second – gave way. ‘Their house was hit two nights ago. He’s an orphan now.’ She looked away from Eve, eyes roving down the concourse. ‘Here he is.’

  Eve stared after her, still trying to take in what she had just heard. Edward – an orphan.

  All the children had turned to watch Edward arrive, clamouring in their own way to be the first to see him. Eve knew what children were like. Anything out of the ordinary, different, was a source of spectacle, especially when it involved calamity and loss. Edward, whether he wanted to or not, would now be a celebrity.

  Edward walked slowly towards the group, an older man holding his hand and leading him. But unlike the others he had no suitcase and was carrying all his belongings in a patched-up bag. The cuts on his face from the explosion had begun to heal and his glasses had been repaired, but Eve could tell from his expression how much he was hating being the centre of attention.

  ‘Come on, Edward, there’s a good chap,’ said Jean, expecting her authority to carry automatically. ‘We have a train to catch.’

  She held out her hand to him, but Edward made no attempt to take it, or even move towards her. He clung on to the man at his side.

  Eve moved quickly towards him, bending down so she was on his level. ‘Edward,’ she said, trying to get him to look at her, ‘I’m so sorry …’

  Edward didn’t reply.

  Eve tried a smile. ‘You’re … you’re going to come away with us now,’ she said. ‘Away from all this.’

  Edward still made no reply, and Eve eventually stood up.

  ‘He hasn’t said a word since the accident,’ said the man. ‘I take it you’re his teacher?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m just a neighbour. Been looking after him since … you know.’ He gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. ‘Come on, Edward. Go with the nice lady. There’s a good boy …’

  The man let go of Edward. ‘Don’t forget your sweets,’ he said, pushing a paper bag into Edward’s pocket. Still Edward said nothing.

  Eve took Edward’s hand and looked into his eyes once more. They were dulled, silent. There was nothing there. Nothing she could read.

  Nothing she could reach.

  She walked him over to the other children. It was time they were on the train and leaving London. Time for them to be safe once again.

  Out of London

  Even in the short space of time they had been on the train, Eve noticed the children’s mood change. As the rubble of the bombed-out city gave way to smaller towns and finally countryside, the enormity of what was happening started to dawn on the children. They began to fidget in their seats, nervous with excitement. They were outside London, leaving their normal lives behind, off on an adventure into a new world.

  Eve noticed that the children had divided themselves into two groups in the crowded carriage, boys and girls. Eve sat with the boys. Tom was the oldest and, if Eve was honest, the one she liked least. She knew it wasn’t healthy for a teacher to think that way, not about children, but she couldn’t help it. He had a pronounced mean streak that she had tried to cure him of, but to no avail. If there was any bullying to be done, Tom, she knew from experience, would be the one to do it.

  Next to Tom was Alfie. Overweight and passionate about the RAF, he claimed he could identify a plane just by hearing its engines. But after the constant bombing raids on London, that wasn’t a skill he was alone in possessing. Alfie and Tom were looking out of the window, fascinated by what they were seeing.

  Opposite Tom and Alfie were James and Edward. James was Edward’s best friend, but he clearly didn’t know how to cope with the way Edward was now. He kept stealing glances at the mute, grief-stricken boy, his desire to help conflicting with his inability to do so written clearly on his features. Edward just stared at the bag of sweets in his lap.

  Jean, her face hidden behind the Daily Express, was sitting with the three girls. The bossy Joyce; Ruby, her inseparable sidekick; and Flora. Flora’s younger brother, Fraser, sniffing as if he had a permanent cold, was also sitting with them. Flora was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, but she clearly wasn’t doing so at the moment. Instead, she was staring at Edward. Eve knew that Flora had a little crush on Edward, but the way she was gazing at him now extended beyond that. Eve looked at the other children. They were all now staring at Edward, fascinated by his stillness, by the fact that he was simultaneously with them yet absent.

  Jean lowered her newspaper. ‘It’s rude to stare, children.’

  Joyce, Ruby, Flora and Fraser pointedly looked away from Edward and sat instead in awkward, wide-eyed silence.

  ‘You may talk among yourselves,’ said Jean, her voice slightly lower but still formal. ‘Quietly.’

  But they didn’t. Not in front of Jean. Their headmistress was too imposing a figure for them to do that.

  Eve took in the countryside rolling past the window, the colours Technicolor vivid after the drab monotones of London. Her eyes closed.

  ‘You must have started young.’

  She opened them again. The children were all still there, as was Jean, but someone else had joined them and had taken a seat opposite her in the crowded carriage.

  He was young and handsome
. They were the first things Eve noticed about him. He was also very smartly dressed. His RAF uniform showed the rank of captain.

  ‘Excuse me?’ she said.

  He gestured towards the children. Eve couldn’t help but notice the strength in his arm, the athleticism of the movement. ‘To have eight children,’ he said.

  Eve smiled, felt herself redden slightly. ‘They’re not mine.’

  The RAF captain returned her smile, raising an eyebrow. ‘Kidnapped them, have you?’

  ‘I’m their teacher.’ Eve felt the carriage become suddenly warm.

  ‘School trip?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Eve. ‘Their parents can’t leave London, and they’ve got no other relatives …’ She shrugged. ‘So we’re taking them to a house in the country.’

  The captain frowned. ‘All by yourselves?’

  ‘There’s other schools going to be there, too.’ Eve leaned forward, her face mock-serious. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a war on.’

  The captain smiled again, about to respond, but Eve’s attention had been diverted.

  ‘Where did you get those?’ She addressed Tom, the eldest boy, who was stuffing his face with liquorice root from a bag.

  ‘James gave them to me,’ Tom said, his mouth full.

  Eve gave James a stern look. ‘James, you know those are Edward’s.’

  ‘He wasn’t eating them,’ said James, but his voice lacked conviction.

  Eve kept calm. Tom must have taken them and bullied James into taking the blame. She knew James was a decent boy, unlike Tom.

  ‘Give them back and apologise,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Miss,’ said James. He took the bag of sweets from Tom and returned them to Edward. ‘Sorry,’ he said, looking Edward in the eyes.

  But Edward made no sound. He didn’t even move as the bag was placed in his lap.

  ‘Where are you heading?’

  It was the RAF captain again. His voice drew her away from the boys once more. She turned back to him. Put her smile in place.

  ‘Am I being interrogated?’

  He returned her smile. His eyes caught the light. ‘Perhaps.’

  Eve’s smile deepened. ‘Then I’d like to know your name and rank.’

  ‘Captain Burstow,’ he said, and Eve almost expected him to salute. ‘But you can call me Harry.’

  ‘Eve,’ she said. ‘But you can call me Miss Parkins.’

  Harry did salute this time. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Parkins. And may I ask where you’re going?’

  ‘You may,’ she said. ‘We’re heading to Crythin Gifford.’

  He raised his eyebrow once more, in genuine surprise this time. ‘Really? Me too.’

  ‘And what are you going to do there?’

  ‘I’m a bomber pilot,’ he said, trying to underplay the words, knowing it would impress her.

  She gave a little laugh. ‘That’s what they all say.’

  He shrugged. ‘Somebody has to fly the planes.’ His voice had changed, the tone darker, more serious.

  Detecting an undertone of hurt to his words, Eve looked at him more closely. There was strength in his manner, and he had a stillness and calm that, to her, suggested a kind of defiance. But there had been something in his eyes. Just momentarily, when he answered her; there, then gone. His defiance seemed to involve some kind of struggle within, rather than the war without. But she’d caught it, and recognised it.

  He turned away from her, lit a cigarette.

  ‘I’m … sorry,’ said Eve. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

  He looked back at her, smoke obscuring his features. ‘It’s top secret, so don’t let anyone know.’ He leaned forward, and the smoke dissipated. There was a glint in his eye. ‘Otherwise I’ll have to shoot you.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Eve, ‘you can trust me.’

  And she smiled at him once more. The smile that, she hoped, made everything all right.

  Edward

  Edward was frightened. He was on a station platform in the country, but nothing was familiar and he could see no one he knew.

  Panic rose inside him. He was surrounded by adults, rushing, bumping, their rough, wool coats rubbing against him, their heavy suitcases knocking into him. He was turned this way and that. A leaf in a breeze.

  He was lost. Alone.

  He closed his eyes, tried to make the world go away. Hoped he wouldn’t see the same thing he always saw when he closed his eyes.

  His mother’s smile, her face. Her voice calling to him.

  Then: the hem of his mother’s black coat poking out of a pile of rubble.

  He opened his eyes again, shocked and surprised to find himself where he had been. That people were still all around him, ignoring him, abandoning him.

  And then he saw the hand. A woman’s hand. Soft. Friendly. Wanting to help. His heart began to beat faster, his blood to pound. It was his mother. She had found him. She wasn’t dead after all. It was just her coat that he had seen, that was all. His mother had taken it off, she had survived, and she was here now. For him.

  He blinked, and a wave of sadness surged through him as he realised that it wasn’t his mother after all. He mustn’t cry, he told himself, because that wasn’t what boys did. They had to be strong. They had to keep mum.

  Mum.

  Not Mum, no. It was Miss Parkins standing in front of him, smiling. He liked Miss Parkins. She made him feel safe. She hadn’t left him, hadn’t abandoned him. She had come and found him.

  He ran to her, taking her hand, pressing himself against her. She smelled like flowers. She smelled lovely. And safe.

  ‘Edward,’ she was saying, ‘I’ve got you. You wandered off …’

  She reached down, stroked his hair. He thought of closing his eyes, but didn’t.

  She led him back to the rest of the group, who were still on the platform, waiting. The RAF captain was saying that their next train was delayed by a couple of hours, and his headmistress was looking at the pilot like it was his fault.

  Around him, the rest of the children were quarrelling. Flora wanted something, and Miss Parkins, having checked Edward was all right, dropped his hand, went over to see what it was.

  Edward looked at the ground. There was a frozen puddle with a big crack running through it. He could see the darkening sky in it, the clouds rolling in.

  He thought of his mother and felt alone once more.

  Transit

  The children were tired. Their earlier, fidgety energy had dissipated, and in between bouts of napping they looked out of the window of the second train, seeing a night darker than any they had ever experienced in the city. Their thoughts were written on their faces. Eve could tell they were missing their families, and their homes. The journey was unsettling them, making them more wary about their final destination. It had stopped being an adventure.

  Eve wasn’t surprised. The train that they had eventually boarded was considerably more old-fashioned and primitive than the one they had taken out of King’s Cross. It had wooden benches in place of upholstered seats, the windows were stained with smoke and oil, it clanked and creaked, and it was decidedly draughty. And to make matters worse, blackout regulations meant the train had to travel in complete darkness.

  Eve looked round the carriage. In the moonlight, everyone’s faces seemed pale and ghostlike. Edward was next to her, huddled into her body. He hadn’t left her side since he had wandered off on the platform. The RAF captain, Harry Burstow, was in front of them. Eve caught sight of someone on the opposite side of the carriage.

  A nurse.

  Her breath caught as the nurse slowly turned her head and looked at her. The nurse’s eyes and cheeks were shadowed holes, her skin so bleached out it looked like bone. Eve felt panic rise within her, sudden, sharp, and her hand went to her throat, holding on tightly to the cherub pendant she wore.

  Eve’s heart quickened, her breath shortened as she closed her eyes and saw ghosts from her past coming back to life. Unspooling befor
e her eyes like an old monochrome newsreel. And she was back there in black and white. And red. So much red.

  And pain. So many different kinds of pain …

  No … no …

  She closed her eyes tighter. Willed the memory away.

  When she felt she could open them again, the nurse was looking out of the window. Eve took her fingers away from her throat, let the pendant fall back into place.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Harry leaned forward, concern on his face. ‘You seemed to have a … turn.’

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’ She took a deep breath. Another. He was still looking at her.

  ‘Can you stop that, please?’ she said, feeling warm despite the cold in the carriage.

  He frowned. ‘Stop what?’

  Eve swallowed hard. ‘Looking at me.’

  He gave a small laugh, looked around as if appealing to the moonlight. ‘I can hardly see you.’

  ‘Well …’ Eve searched for something to say. ‘Stop trying.’ She found her smile, fixed it in place.

  ‘I’m only wondering …’ He had raised his eyebrow once more.

  ‘Wondering what?’

  ‘What you’re hiding with that smile.’

  Eve flinched, the memory of a few seconds earlier flitting through her mind. ‘This is my face for work,’ she said, trying to make her voice match her smile.

  Harry looked slightly put out. ‘So you’re not really smiling at me?’

  Eve opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t think what to say without insulting him further. The truth was she liked him, liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. The way he smoothed down his wavy blond hair when he thought she wasn’t watching him. But she didn’t like the way he focused on her, or the fact that he had seen such pain and fear on her face. And she knew she must never let him see it again.

  He lit a cigarette and, in her peripheral vision Eve noticed Jean roll her eyes, shake her head.

  Ignoring them both, she looked down at Edward. From her seat on the other side of the aisle, Flora had been smiling at him, and when he didn’t return it she had then waved at him. But Edward didn’t return the smile or the wave. He just stared at her. Expressionless.