The Fledgeling

by Frances Faviell

  ‘Three shillings.’

  ‘And there are eight. By the time I’ve skinned them there won’t be much for three shillings. For that you could have got me a nice bunch of grapes.’

  ‘Wait until you try the lichees, Mother. They’ll bring you something of the glamour and mystery of the Orient . . . let me peel one for you and then I’ll tell you about China . . . they grow in India too, but I told you about India when I brought the mangoes . . . I see you haven’t eaten that one. Didn’t you like it?’

  ‘Not as much as an apple.’

  ‘Well, mangoes may be an acquired taste—but everyone likes lichees. Do try one. . . .’

  ‘Not now, thank you. We’ll be having the meal soon. I’m not in the mood for geography lessons, Edward. The only geography in which I’m interested at the moment is where Neil is to be got to.’

  ‘Neil,’ said his father. ‘What exactly does this mean? Wearing your sister’s clothes?’

  And when the boy didn’t answer, he said, ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Since early this morning.’

  ‘When did you leave?’

  ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘So you’ve assumed your sister’s identity. You took me in all right. I thought it was Nonie answering the door.’ He eyed Neil critically, then said bitingly. ‘You make a pretty girl, Neil. Quite pretty—although not as appealing as Nonie.’

  ‘Nonie’s too appealing,’ said his mother, thinking of the burned potatoes.

  Neil had reddened. ‘Nonie made me wear these clothes,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘Well, I don’t like it,’ said his father.

  ‘No one asked you what you liked,’ snapped his mother. ‘Nonie thought it would be safer. You never know who comes knocking and wanting to be let in now that I’m tied to this room.’

  ‘Am I to take it that you’re a party to this business?’

  ‘What business? If you mean am I going to help hide Neil until he can get away—Yes. I am.’

  ‘I must say I’m astounded, Mother. Why, you were the one who always preached duty and obligation to us all. What’s come over you?’

  ‘Nothing’s come over me. I’m just seeing straight, that’s all. You could be useful to Neil over this, Edward. Have you any money on you?’

  ‘Money? Money? No. . . . I brought you a bottle of wine.’ He pulled it from the pocket of his raincoat which he now hung up behind the door. Seeing from this that his father intended to stay, Neil felt even more desperate. He looked wretchedly at his grandmother.

  ‘You’d better go and do those extra potatoes as we’ve got a guest.’

  ‘Oh come, Mother. Don’t describe your only son as a guest.’

  ‘Well, and aren’t you? This is my home. You’re here as a guest—and a rare one at that. What’s brought you here?’

  ‘Well now, Mother, that’s quite a story. I came here to tell you about someone who has changed my whole world . . . given me faith and the vision to see that wonderful truths are here before our eyes waiting only for us to discover and make use of them. She is a remarkable woman—a wonderful woman.’

  ‘A woman?’ said his mother. ‘I had a feeling that this time it was religion. Last time you were here I got that impression when you kept saying you’d been shaken over Communism.’

  ‘It is a woman—and in a way you could call it religion. For she is the religion—if you can understand. She has founded this new and wonderful faith. . . .’

  His mother caught Neil’s anguished look. If he’s got a new ‘ism’ in the guise of a woman he can just take her elsewhere . . . I’ve listened to so many new fads and isms of his . . . and they all boil down to one thing—Edwardism! she thought angrily.

  ‘Here’s Nonie coming,’ she said, trying to interrupt the volume of speech emerging from him.

  Neil was staring at his father in anguish. This was just his luck. His father would choose tonight of all nights to come home. Once here there would be no getting him away. Neil and the peril of his situation, the urgency for prompt action, would all be lost in the great spate of words with which his father invariably drowned everyone else. Words . . . words . . . his father, once started, rolled on from a small rippling stream to a great rolling river drunk with its own power. Neil watched, fascinated, his father becoming hypnotised by his own voice, anaesthetised by that wonderful flow of his own oratory. . His eyes would become alight, fanatically alight, his head thrown slightly back in his emotion—while from his mouth there emerged those smooth flowing phrases spoken with a golden tongue.

  In despair he escaped into the kitchenette. ‘Nonie,’ he said urgently. ‘What am I to do with Father here?’

  It’s a nuisance,’ she agreed worriedly, still thinking of Charlie.

  ‘Nuisance?’ exclaimed Neil. ‘It’s the end for me. Here we all sit chattering and dallying, wasting time while the Red Caps may be telephoning the police.’ His face was twitching . . . his hands shaking.

  ‘Neil, don’t get so excited. I’ll see to you. I’ll get you away somehow. I’ll hide you until we can.’

  ‘Can’t Charlie get me away tonight? Nonie, he must.’

  ‘It’s a question of the lorry. If you could wait until the night he’ll be going in that direction.’

  ‘Nonie. I can’t. I’ve got to go tonight. I’ll go on my own. I must. I’ve got my civvies—I’ll get through.’

  ‘I don’t see what the hurry is, Neil. You’re safe enough in my clothes for a few hours more. You said yourself that your pal is covering for you.’

  ‘I lied to you. That man hiding over there must be Mike Andersen. I don’t know what’s happened. He was going to wait twenty-four hours before following on. He can’t have waited more than a few hours at most. I’ve got to escape him somehow. I must. I wanted to get away tonight before he caught up with me. It’s him I must get away from.’

  ‘Mike Andersen! I thought he was your friend.’

  ‘He’s not. I’m afraid of him. I’m terrified of him, Nonie. I’ve got to get away before he comes over here.’

  ‘But if he’s already here, why doesn’t he come over? Why is he waiting?’

  ‘How do I know? Mike has his own plans—and they include me.’

  ‘You knew he would be coming?’

  Neil nodded miserably. ‘There’s nothing I could do. I was forced into this. It’s no use asking you to understand. I lied to Gran—I just couldn’t tell her.’

  ‘I can understand only too well,’ said Nona. ‘But why didn’t you tell me at once? We’ve been wasting time. The point is—how to get you away without him seeing you?’

  ‘The backyard. I could climb over the wall if Charlie could wait at the back.’

  ‘I haven’t persuaded Charlie yet. But I will.’ Nona put her arms round her twin protectively. ‘I’ll get you away. Perhaps it isn’t Mike Andersen over there . . . after all there are any amount of other Servicemen on leave now . . . and we’ve only the child’s word. You know what little liars children are—she said he wore a uniform like yours—but did he?’

  Neil was somewhat mollified by this. Nonie was usually right. Mike had said he would come in his civvies. He persuaded himself that he had been imagining things as usual. Why should it be Mike over there? It didn’t make sense. If it was Mike, surely he would come straight over and ask for Neil. What object had he in waiting? Or was he waiting until it was dark?

  ‘I’m going back to tell Charlie supper’s ready. If I’m some time in there you’ll know I’m working on him.’

  She left Neil and went quietly back into their room. Charlie lay asleep on the divan. She stood looking down at him. She loved him . . . loved him. That was the trouble, and she hated herself for giving way to him every time. Humiliating, that’s what it was. Why did she do it? Did he really love her? She would never know, because Charlie was not the sort of person who would ever tell her so. One arm was doubled under his head. He slept so deeply that he scarcely breathed—as if he were dead. She picked up his jacke
t flung on the floor with his collar and tie. As she picked it up something fell from it. It was a small glazed photograph. She turned her back on the sleeper and took the photograph over to the light. A pointed elfin face with a wide laughing mouth and huge dark eyes. On the back was written ‘From Jackie with love,’ and a date. Three months ago. On the bottom of the photograph in the right-hand corner was written in pencil ‘Charlie from Jackie.’

  She stood staring at the elfin face with unseeing eyes. A very young face—scarcely more than a child. Slim, childish body in a bikini. Charlie had another girl. Had had for the last three months at least.

  As she turned towards the divan, he awoke. ‘Hello,’ he said lazily. ‘Time to eat?’

  ‘Yes. Time to eat.’

  He yawned, showing his splendid teeth, then sat up on one elbow.

  ‘I want to talk to you, Charlie.’

  ‘If it’s about that twin of yours I’m not talking.’

  ‘You will talk—and quickly. Father’s turned up. You know what that means. No one else gets a word in. We must talk now. You’ve got to help him, Charlie.’

  ‘Why should I? Helping a rotten little shirker to get away from what would do him a world of good. I had to do my bit. No one helped me escape.’

  ‘You liked it. You’re always talking about Korea.’

  ‘It wasn’t so hot—some of it. And I was no older than your little brother. And I was there in April 1951 . . . call that nothing?’

  ‘Well, Neil’s different. He can’t stand it. You’re tough. You can stick up for yourself. Neil’s not strong enough. I can’t bear to see him so upset and frightened.’

  ‘It’s not your business. Leave him to sort out his own problems. The longer someone does it for him the longer he’ll remain a coward.’

  ‘Neil’s not a coward. Don’t you dare say that.’

  ‘What else is he?’

  She looked at him contemptuously. ‘You don’t understand. You’re not a twin.’

  ‘I’m damned glad I’m not his twin.’

  ‘Charlie,’ she said slowly. ‘Don’t push me too far. I love you—but I love Neil too. It’s something I can’t explain to you. But you’re right when you say that it’s as if he and I were one person. It’s always been like that. He knows when I’m ill—just as I know when he’s unhappy.’

  ‘Rats!’ said Charlie, rudely, taking a cigarette from a packet by the bed. ‘Give me my coat will you—I want a match.’

  She handed the jacket to him, and watched him hunt for his matches. The photograph of Jackie was in the pocket of her skirt. She saw him feel carefully in the pocket from which she presumed it had fallen.

  ‘Are you going to take Neil to Southampton tonight?’ she asked in a hard voice.

  ‘No,’ he said deliberately.

  ‘Well, now we know,’ she said, quietly. ‘Come and have your food—they’re all waiting.’

  As she went with the tray through the hall to her grandmother’s room Nona was shaken with jealousy. She was nineteen to Charlie’s twenty-six. He was attractive to women, she knew that from the looks they cast on him. That he had had affairs with women she knew instinctively. She was too young to value his experienced love-making and still young enough to be jealous of those women in his past. Did he ever see them now? He was away so much on those long-distance runs. What did he do all the time he was away from her? Little demons of doubt and jealousy assailed her in spite of her desire to be fair to him.

  She was passionate in spite of her delicate, rather fragile beauty. Her passion for Charlie was the strongest thing in her life—stronger even than her love for her twin. The old woman had watched it grow with delight and relief. The close tie between the twin brother and sister who were so extraordinarily alike had worried her. Had they been of the same sex all would have been well. But they were not—and she had feared that when the question of marriage for them both arose there would be trouble. And so there had been.

  Nona could think now of nothing but the girl in the photograph. Neil and his predicament were thrust out of her mind by the laughing girl in the bikini. Why hadn’t she got a bikini? If she had she would never have time to sunbathe in it. She had never had time—that was it. There had never been time for her to do the things which other girls did. She had always had to do things in the house, and for her brothers, because her grandmother had gone out to work. She had always consoled herself with the bright thought of Australia and of her future life out there. She would get plenty of swimming and sun, her Aunt Dorothy had written her. And now? With Len dead and Neil in the Army, who was going to look after their grandmother? With each month now, as she watched the old woman grow more and more helpless, that bright vision became more and more a mirage—a mirage which would disappear before she could catch at its fleeting beauty.

  Charlie wouldn’t wait to emigrate. He was impatient to be off—and it might be that he would go on ahead leaving her to follow when she could. The thought of that was frightening—but the idea of leaving her grandmother who had been both mother and father to them never entered her head. Nona had never been able to put herself first; it was only recently that she was beginning to regret not having waited to marry Charlie. But who could have foreseen that Len, who had urged the marriage, would be killed?

  As she entered her grandmother’s room her father had just noticed the large envelope with the Royal crest on the mantelpiece. He got up and picked it up.

  ‘So it’s true,’ he said, looking with unwilling pride at the letter. ‘Quite an interesting experience to go to one of these. My friend now, she’d like to see that. I see there is a form enclosed for two tickets for friends or relatives. What are you doing about it, Mother?’

  ‘What d’you mean, what am I doing? I’m going, of course, and Nona and Charlie will use those tickets.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have thought that Charlie would care for this type of thing. Now my friend would appreciate it.’

  ‘What type of thing?’ asked Charlie, coming in and kissing the old woman for whom he had brought back a bottle of whisky.

  ‘Charlie! You good boy. Never forget me do you? Just what I need when I’m depressed. Edward’s talking of the Investiture, when Len’s medal will be given. He doesn’t think it will interest you.’

  Charlie picked up the letter, examined it carefully and then kissed the old woman again. ‘I’m glad, Gran,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes, of course I’d like to go. I’d like to be there as a tribute to Len. I’ll take you there. Leave it to me. I’ll get the boss’s car. He’s decent about this sort of thing.’

  Then, swinging round, he caught sight of Neil in his sister’s clothes. He was about to make a scene, had started roughly, ‘What the hell d’you mean by wearing those. . .?’ when the old woman put her fingers imploringly to her lips and, as he desisted, merely relapsing into a disapproving glare at Neil, she gave him a grateful smile which had such sweetness in it that Charlie was touched. Edward saw the smile and understood its meaning. He resented his mother’s fondness for Charlie.

  CHAPTER XIV

  NONA caught the smile and the glance which passed between them and misunderstood it. That’s it, she thought angrily, as she doled out the liver and bacon carefully. Her father’s unexpected arrival meant easing a little from everyone’s helping. That’s it. Gran likes him. She always did—she likes him because he’s big and masculine and strong . . . what would she think if I told her that he can’t stand a toothache or a poisoned finger? That he behaves like a child? She thinks Neil is soft and weak . . . but he can bear any amount of physical pain—it’s the mental kind he can’t take. As she carried a plate over to her grandmother she felt her heart hardening against Charlie. . . . Jackie . . . Jackie . . . with those huge eyes and the small pointed face.

  ‘Hurry up, Nonie, I’m starving,’ complained Charlie.

  ‘Go and see to him,’ said her grandmother taking the plate from her. ‘A man who works as Charlie does needs his food—and plenty of it.’ She looked meani
ngly at her son as she said this, but the remark was lost on him. He and Neil were regarding the division of the last piece of liver with avid interest. Edward finished filling the glasses. The wine, as he said, was a heavy one.

  ‘Goes well with liver,’ he said approvingly, raising his glass to his mother.

  ‘Last time you came here you drank wine—and it was Len’s death which brought you,’ said his mother ominously. You’d better drink to mine.’ Her son did not reply to this but attacked his liver. There was silence for a moment while everyone gave attention to the food, then Edward began again. ‘Yes, as I was saying . . . this question of who we are. Now you, Neil, who are you? Number . . . ?’

  Neil swallowing his food ravenously looked up, startled. ‘01278650. . . .’ he said automatically.

  His father clapped his hands delightedly. ‘Perfect! Couldn’t have a better illustration. I ask him who he is. What does he reply? Not “your son Neil Edward Collins” . . . No, he answers off pat, “I’m 01278650.” Now, Neil, how long have you been 01278650?’

  ‘Eleven months,’ mumbled Neil disagreeably. Here was his father getting at him now. It was bad enough to have all his fellow men and the blasted N.C.O.’s always at him. Wasn’t that what he’d run away from?

  ‘Exactly. Neil has been 01278650 less than eleven months, yet in that time, that new identity has been so impacted on him, so forcefully imprinted on his mind, that when his own father asks him who he is, what does he answer? Not, “I am Neil Collins, your son”—but “01278650” . . . .’

  ‘Well, what about it?’ demanded Nonie, defiantly. ‘He’s had that number burned into him day and night . . . no wonder he answers to it.’

  ‘I suppose now he’s assumed his sister’s identity he’ll answer to Nona Mary Kent,’ drawled Charlie, his eyes full of malice as he again noticed his wife’s sweater and scarf on Neil. He had with difficulty prevented himself from tearing the things off him when he had first caught sight of his brother-in-law dressed in his sister’s clothes. It was only the pleading looks of the old woman which had kept him from a violent quarrel.