by Cathy Forde
Pete was just about to follow, when a girl’s voice spoke so clearly that he whirled round expecting to come face to face with the speaker.
“But, Mummy, I don’t know what clothes to take.”
Pete’s room was empty. Of course it was, apart from Pete. But through the wall he could hear someone moving about. The creak of a bedspring, the graze of wood on wood as a drawer slid open.
“Mummy, can you help me? I’ll wait,” the voice said again. Her voice. The girl who shouldn’t be next door. But she was there. Sighing. Tutting. And now she was playing a recorder; the notes of the ‘Skye Boat Song’ floating so close to Pete he could hear every breath the girl drew. Pete held his own breath, listening to the song his Scottish Granny Smeaton had taught him, the words running in his head, the music carrying him along –
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, thunderclaps rend the air…
– until the playing stopped mid-note. Footsteps were approaching, far too clicky or brisk to be Mum’s, although Pete did swing round, almost expecting to see her when he heard a door creak open. But not his bedroom door.
The woman who said, “Here’s a few things to stop you feeling homesick, Beth,” was speaking on the other side of the wall.
Except she can’t be, Pete was reminding himself when another voice caught his attention.
Dunny was yelling from way down the garden.
“Wee Stookie’s landed on his arm and it’s pure twisted round the wrong way. We need some help.”
Chapter 10
“Up we come, soldier.”
Even though Dad lifted Wee Stookie with as much care as Pete remembered holding Jenny when she was newborn, the little boy groaned. His face was clammy. Green.
Dunny was greener.
“That arm’s totally broken, isn’t it?” he kept saying over and over as he and Pete followed Dad through the garden.
“Let’s leave that to the professionals,” Dad said. “You ready, Carol?” Dad had introduced himself to Dunny’s mum as they knelt over Wee Stookie. Now he was running them into hospital.
“We’ll take care of your big lad till you’re back. Least we can do, the help he’s been,” Dad said, easing Wee Stookie into his car. He patted Dunny on the shoulder. “You look like you’ve had as big a shock, but Mark’s going to be fine. Maybe you could just clip him into his seatbelt?”
Pete heard Dunny whispering, “Sorry, Mark, sorry,” while he bent over his brother. Dad was signalling with his eyebrows that Pete should give the brothers a moment to themselves.
“You like football figures, don’t you?” Pete called to Wee Stookie, but without waiting for his answer he dashed down to the shelter. I’ll shut my eyes and pick the first one, even if it’s Larsson, Pete decided as he burst through the door and dropped down to where Dunny’s pitch was still set up.
And before he even opened his eyes he sensed it: someone’s here.
Pete gulped, peered through the dim afternoon light. There was a girl at the far end, with her back to Pete. She was scribbling on the wall. Fast. Until Pete’s entrance disturbed her.
She had been kneeling, but jumped to her feet. She turned, approaching Pete. Before he could react, she brushed past him, flicking a long thick plait over her shoulder. The weight of its tip caught Pete’s cheek. He rubbed the spot, the sting of her reproach the only proof this girl had actually been in the shelter. It was all over so fast.
Dazed, Pete stooped to collect a player for Wee Stookie – Bobo Baldé, good enough – and as he did so, a pencil fell from the bench and rolled along the floor. Pete grabbed it, and left.
***
“Mum’s going to be in some state. Never away from Sick Kids and Dad’s never here when she needs him.” Dunny shook his head as Pete’s dad drove away with Wee Stookie.
But all Pete could think about was the girl he’d seen, who didn’t appear to have seen him. Who was she? He decided to bite the bullet and mention her to his new friend.
“D’you have a sister, Dunny?”
Still waving after the car, Dunny pulled the kind of disbelieving face Mum made when Pete or Dad farted then denied it. “One wee bambot brother’s bad enough. Why?”
“There was a girl.” Pete was pointing towards the den. “Writing on the wall in there. I thought she might be your…” He shrugged as Dunny shook his head. Pete held out the pencil he’d picked up. “She dropped this, whoever she is.”
Dunny took the pencil and turned it over in his hands.
“No girls round here. Only old folk and babies. And us.” Dunny held the pencil back out to Pete. “See this? There’s a name.” Dunny ran his finger under the gold lettering embossed in the black paint.
“Elizabeth Winters,” Pete read.
Chapter 11
“Does she think we’re flippin’ sprinters or something?” Dunny panted.
Pete could barely grunt back. Trying to keep up with Mum’s pace, let alone hold a conversation, was tough enough. Even if he’d wanted to discuss the crying girl with Dunny (and he hadn’t quite made his mind up if he did or not), not to mention the disappearing old lady, plus the pencil from the past, there was no chance.
Having taken directions from Dunny on how to get to the shops without the car, Mum was haring ahead along the canal path that led more or less straight from Pete’s new house into the centre of Clydebank. The boys trailed behind. Well behind. Mum had gone overboard in the supermarket, buying extra shopping while she’d two extra pairs of hands. Now the boys were lugging any bags she hadn’t managed to hang on the handles of Jenny’s buggy. As they passed a dingy section of the walkway, where the canal was choked with upturned shopping trolleys and twisted bike frames, a huddle of boys who Pete had spotted up ahead as Mum belted past them, now spread themselves across the pathway.
“Oot helping yer mammy, ye saddos?” one of the boys snarled.
“Don’t look and don’t answer back,” Dunny muttered out the corner of his mouth. “Nut jobs from my school.”
Dunny was walking as fast as he could without actually breaking into a sprint. Pete did the same, wincing as another of the boys lunged and yelled “Boo” right in his ear.
“Don’t cack it, Mary, only messin’,” the first boy brayed. Pete’s yelp of surprise cracked the boy’s mates up, but they let him pass. Sort of.
“Bye, Mary.” Pete heard the skitter of a stone behind him just before it caught his ankle. Ouch! A bigger one bounced off Dunny’s shoulder.
“It’s OK, don’t turn round,” he urged Pete. “I think they like us really.”
“I think Mum hired them to make us walk faster so her ice cream doesn’t melt.”
Pete could joke now he was back in the quiet cul-de-sac that ended with his house. Compared to the section of the canal where they’d come across the boys, it felt safe and peaceful. There weren’t even any cars parked; the only vehicle was Jenny’s empty buggy tipped back, wheels-up, under the weight of all Mum’s shopping. Jenny wasn’t in it, of course. Pete didn’t need to check. He could hear her giving Mum another earful somewhere beyond his open front door.
The boys staggered into the kitchen with their bags. Without being asked, Dunny started to unpack them and put the shopping away. In the fridge. In the cupboards. Pete could only stare. Where did anyone his age learn to do stuff like that?
“Will you get the rest in for me, Pete?” Mum was watching Dunny, looking more surprised than Pete. Her eyes, he thought, were nearly as big as the mini pizzas Dunny took from her hands and stacked in the freezer. “I’ll need to deal with Madam. She’s ravenous.”
“Think if we scream like that we’ll get fed?” Pete grumbled on his way back outside to see what shopping was left with the buggy. He was thinking how much he fancied a giant sandwich. An Elvis one, uh-huh, he decided. He was taking a quick look through the first bag of shopping he picked up, hoping Mum had remembered peanut butter, when he sensed there was someone beside him.
The old lady again, in the floaty bluebell
-blue clothes. She was so close to Pete this time he noticed her white hair was coiled into two fine pleated loops at each side of her head and that her eyes were the same bright colour as her outfit. These eyes were fixed on Pete, searching his face the same way Jenny’s did. Jenny’s eyes never look so sad, though, Pete was thinking, as the woman reached her arm out to touch him.
Old or sad, Pete was having none of that. Stranger danger. Rules were rules.
“Mu-um!” Pete reversed into the hall. “Can you come out please?”
The woman took a step forward onto Pete’s porch. Still reaching for him.
“MU-UM!” Pete’s call was urgent this time as he hurried into the house. “That lady’s back.”
“What lady? What does she want?” Pete could tell from the breathless way Mum spoke she was trying to struggle out of her deckchair.
But there was no need for her to rush.
“It’s OK,” Pete called back. “She’s gone.” He stepped out into the street. Looked up and down. Deserted.
***
“Was it a woman in funny clothes? All floaty?” Back in the kitchen Dunny put down the milk cartons he was finding space for in the fridge to whirl a finger around each ear. “Weird hairdo like…”
“Her out of Star Wars,” the boys said together.
Pete was nodding. “Princess Leia.”
“She was in your garden last week,” Dunny went on. “Busted Wee Stookie’s nose.” He added this second piece of information in the same tone he asked Mum, “You want the fruit juice in here, too? It’s long-life.”
“What?” spluttered Mum. “Shhh!” she told Jenny when she grizzled for attention. “This old lady attacked your brother?”
Dunny was signalling no with his finger because his mouth was full of the jam doughnut Pete had just offered him. “Not with her fist,” he sprayed. “It was her head’s fault.”
“She nutted him?” Pete spat doughnut in Dunny’s face.
“Shhhh, Missy.” Mum plonked Jenny down into her bouncy chair and moved over to the boys. It was the first time Pete could recall Jenny being ignored. Dunny was half laughing though.
“No, she just came through the hedge while we were both bouncing. Gave us a fright. Wee Stookie took a dive. Blood everywhere.” Dunny stared at the centre of his doughnut and squeezed it.
“What happened then?” Pete asked.
“Sick Kids Hospital.” Dunny put the doughnut down. “Stookie’s nose was broken.”
“That’s shocking.” Mum was still ignoring Jenny. “And the old lady?”
“Gone.” Dunny shrugged.
“Well, if either of you see her hanging about again…” Mum was giving Pete and Dunny her ‘I don’t need to spell it out’ look as she let her words hang in the air. Then she spelt out her warning anyway: “You don’t speak to her. You don’t go with her. You come and get me. Or Dad. If he’s here.”
“That’s exactly what my mum says: If he’s here.” Dunny said it with such a sting in his tone that Mum actually laughed. For the first time in ages. Pete wanted to laugh himself.
“Well the old lady’s no business to be trespassing. And –” Mum swiped Pete’s doughnut just as it reached his mouth, “– you’ve even less to be eating that before your Elvis sandwich.”
Chapter 12
Trespassing. Pete decided that felt like a mean word to use about an old lady who seemed so lost. OK, so if he found one of those big lads from the canal path mooching about in the garden, he’d say he was trespassing. Though not to his face. And threatening. But that tiny old lady? She’d spooked him. A little. But Pete didn’t feel threatened by her. And how did Mum even know she was trespassing? Maybe she lived nearby. Or maybe she used to… Maybe she was visiting…
Pete was in the shelter. Taking shelter. Ever since Dad had arrived back from the hospital, Mum had been snarking about the time he’d spent away from the house on the one day he’d promised to be around as much as he could.
“Happy to play the big daddy with someone else’s family. What about your own, Steve?”
Ouch. Pete was glad Dunny had left to check out Wee Stookie’s new stookie. It was horrible hearing and seeing Mum like this, so worn out and ragged, she sounded mean.
Too mean for Pete.
He slumped on one of the benches and flicked Dad’s torch on and off, letting the thin yellow beam play over the whitewashed walls. When it found the rhyme he had read earlier with Dunny, Pete held the light over that date:
13th March 1941
Pete fixed his eyes on it until the writing swam out of focus. This made his lids feel heavy. He let his head rest against the cool wall behind him and tilted his face to the spot where a shaft of sunlight stole through a gap in the roof. As its heat bathed him, Pete’s grip on the torch loosened and his mind sank down into the twists and turns of a stolen half-dream.
He was travelling at first. Fast. Along the motorway from London to Glasgow. Faster than he liked. Strange things that the un-dreaming part of his brain knew shouldn’t be there dotted the hard shoulder. A stall, for instance, selling off all his football figures, two of them mini Simon and Alfies in England strips. Pete passed a Wee Stookie-sized version of himself breaking his heart, begging Mum to be allowed to keep the figures if he stored them out of the house. Mum, eating a banana, ignored him while the actual Wee Stookie bounced up and down behind her. His hair had grown long and fair and he wore it in two plaits that kept flicking out at Pete like switching tails, catching him in the eye.
Pete tried to open his mouth to make his dreaming self beg Dad to stop the car so he could buy his figures back. But not only did his lips feel superglued shut, he couldn’t seem to catch Dad’s attention over the soaring screech of a siren that started up from nowhere.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Pete’s dream-head was urging, but Dad wasn’t listening, just driving.
“Stop the car.”
Pete knew he was struggling to move, but sleepiness pinned his heavy limbs to the bench like a magnet. And the siren continued to blast his eardrums.
In his dream-state, Pete was afraid. Afraid of the noise. Afraid of the danger the siren was warning him about.
This is a dream, Pete’s non-dreaming self came through to remind him. Don’t worry. You’re going to wake up soon.
“OK.”
Even though he was asleep, Pete knew he had said this word aloud. He heard it in his head despite the siren, and understood he was in the shelter now, no longer travelling. No longer with Dad. Although Pete sensed he wasn’t alone. His “OK” hadn’t bounced off empty walls. It had been absorbed by clothing and the people who wore it. Pete could feel them around him even though his eyes were closed. Smell them too: wool, scent, tobacco, the same sharp nip of ammonia he recognised from Jenny’s nappy when it needed changed. He could sense tension in the way these people he couldn’t see shifted and winced and made the bench creak as the siren wailed and wailed above them.
And then the siren stopped. The silence which followed was almost as unbearable as the noise it replaced. Very close by, Pete heard a baby whimper. Someone opposite him was muttering a prayer – Our Father who art in heaven – another voice joining in. Then another, as a tremor rippled the bench and grew into a powerful vibration. Pete heard planes droning overhead, drowning out the prayer, and knew they were flying far lower than they should if they were harmless. Something bad was about to happen, Pete realised, and he tried to brace himself just as he sensed all those around him were bracing themselves too. The baby bleating. A girl breathing in and out far too fast…
Then there was a great bang. Pete jumped to his feet, wide awake. The torch clattered to the floor, the light snapping out as it fell.
Heart racing, Pete groped the floor till he found it. Flicked it on. Swung it around the walls. No one there. Because I was dreaming, Pete reassured himself, just as the torch beam found the verse he’d read with Dunny.
Pete gasped. There were new lines added to the bottom of the verse.
“When you are here and I am far away,”
Pete whispered the words aloud as he read them.
“Think me back and I will make my thoughts
fly home,
To be there with you.”
This message was signed:
For Mummy and Daddy, with love from Beth
Chapter 13
“Hiya!”
The hairs on Pete’s neck were already bristling. So when Wee Stookie bobbed up out of nowhere at Pete’s elbow he nearly shot out of his skin.
“Sign my stookie. Dunny drew a big bum pooing.” Wee Stookie thrust a full-arm plaster under Pete’s nose. “Cracked in three places under here. Saw the X-ray. Made mum puke. The doctor wrote this.” Wee Stookie was pointing out the letters L.O.L. written in green marker. “But you can write something rude if you want.”
“Look at all these kisses.” Pete was supporting Wee Stookie’s arm, trying to find a space on it to write.
“Nurses,” Wee Stookie puffed out his chest, “cos I was very, very, very brave. But this wasn’t a nurse.”
When Wee Stookie tapped the drawing across his plastered knuckle, Pete nearly dropped his broken arm. It was a cartoon of a boy caught in mid-air on a trampoline, just about to bounce off. It was brilliant, catching not only the animation – legs splayed, arm flying, out of control – but the perfect likeness of Wee Stookie, right down to his freckles and his dirty knees.
“Who did this?” Pete asked, although he already knew before Wee Stookie stuck his nose in the air and pretended to flick a pigtail over his shoulder.
“Your sister.” Wee Stookie took a biro from behind his ear and gave it to Pete. “You not hear her outside a minute ago? Says she couldn’t sign my plaster because ‘silly’ –” Wee Stookie was pointing and nodding at Pete, “– made her drop her pencil. You going to write something rude or not, ‘silly’?”