Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I had a tiny thought that that would have been a good thing to say to Henri.
“Miss Cavendish, please,” Doctor Bickerstaff said from the door of his office.
I looked up from the warm little waiting room, noticing immediately that he wasn’t coming over to wheel me in. I looked down at my gloved hands and grimaced. This was yet another of his little tests, I knew. I pulled hard on the wheels of my chair until I made it to his door, but there was a bump where the carpet met the lino that I couldn’t get over. I struggled determinedly until my skinny biceps burned and tears came unbidden to the corners of my eyes, at which point Bickerstaff rolled his big blue eyes and pushed me over the threshold and up to his desk in a snap.
“Poor progress,” he sighed as he came to stand in front of me, “Let’s see if your legs are any better than your arms.”
He had been checking on me every couple of weeks for improvements and I knew the drill well enough by now. I could set my feet down with a lot more purpose than when I first met the cold, clinical physician, but the part where I had to actually stand on them always ended the same way. I resented the fact that he always had to help me back into my chair when my knees collapsed under the strain. This time I hauled myself up more slowly than before, trying to lock the joints into a stronger position. It was a good idea in theory, except that as soon as I was standing I felt as though my knee caps had been replaced by two nervous jellyfish.
Bickerstaff held out his hands, palms up. “Lean some weight on me,” he instructed.
This was new. I took his too-clean hands, happy that he’d have to hold onto the dirty palms of my gloves, and pressed into them.
“Too much,” he said immediately, “Take some weight back and try to balance. Don’t depend on me.”
“I wouldn’t,” I answered. It took me a moment to realise I’d said it out loud, but Bickerstaff didn’t look offended, in fact he was far too preoccupied in looking at my feet to even hear me.
I was still standing. It had been perhaps thirty seconds, which I thought was longer than any of my other attempts, and my feet were planted firm. The jellyfish sensation in my knees was definitely present, but the more pressure I put into Bickerstaff’s grip the less I felt the nervous twinge. It didn’t feel like they were going to give way for quite some time. I smiled in spite of the vile company and it was just my luck that the doctor chose that moment to look up at my face. He gave me a smug look.
“Shall we try taking a step?” he asked.
I hated his self-satisfied face, but the prospect of actually walking was too exciting to hide. I swallowed my pride and nodded eagerly, looking down at my own feet. It was a strange perspective to see myself standing upright like that; I was so used to looking at my knees that it was funny to have them out of sight under the flowing pleats of my skirt. Under Bickerstaff’s instruction I gently loaded more weight onto one leg than the other, eventually letting one foot come off the ground completely. But before I could use it to step forward the jellyfish feeling in the knee with the weight on it vanished, leaving only the crushing agony of bone hitting bone as it jarred.
I collapsed in an awkward swinging motion, my lifted foot finding nowhere good to land, and suddenly I felt the familiar wave of defeat as the doctor’s arms swept around my torso and put me back into the seat of the chair with a little heave. I tried to tell myself that I had made a great stride, that this was serious progress, even if it had still ended with me flailing and landing back in the chair. A dark little voice also told me it was Bickerstaff’s fault. He always pushed me too far. He had his nose in his file again immediately, one blonde strand of his hair falling down over his eyes. He pushed it back sharply without looking up from his notes.
“I want you to try standing like that for a few minutes at a time,” he instructed. No praise for my progress, as usual. “Lean on a person or a mantelpiece or something.”
I didn’t bother to say ‘Yes, Doctor’ because it was quite clear he wasn’t listening. Bickerstaff wrote a few things down and then snapped my file shut, checking his appointment list like he always did, ready to call in the next patient whilst I struggled to get my chair out of the way. When he saw the list his brow came down hard over his eyes and to my surprise he actually looked at me.
“Why am I seeing Vanessa?” he asked. It took me a moment to realise he meant Ness Fach. I hadn’t heard her full name in months.
“She’s bumped her head,” I explained, “Mam thought you’d better see it.”
Bickerstaff rose from his seat sharply and actually took hold of my chair to wheel me out. He did everything too quickly, like he couldn’t wait to get rid of me, swinging his door open and pushing me back out into the waiting room where Blod sat with Ness curled up on her knee.
“Vanessa Price,” he said quickly, abandoning me as he waited for Blod to scoop up her sister and follow him into the room.
She went in after him her usual haughty, high-heeled way. His behaviour was too strange to resist. There was no-one else gathered on the second hand chairs of the waiting room and the nice old receptionist was nowhere to be seen, so I closed my eyes and let my hands slowly rise to my face.
I got Bickerstaff immediately, which was both pleasing and awful as I remembered that horrid heavy feeling of being in his mind. I had steered well clear of connecting with him up until now, but as he shut the door of his office there was something new in the mix of depressing sensations in the doctor’s head. Fear. He focused on Ness immediately and crouched beside where she sat on Blod’s lap, pulling back her tawny strands to see the reddish-purple welt about the size of a shilling on her head.
“When did this happen?” he asked in a breathless tone. I could feel his whole face frowning as Ness tried desperately to wriggle away from his touch. Something sad hit him square in the chest when she turned her head out of his reach.
“Oh yesterday sometime,” Blod said without a care, “She’s fine, it’s just a bloody bump.”
“Where were you?” Bickerstaff demanded.
“Doing things,” Blod retorted. Bickerstaff was watching her face now as she rolled her eyes at him. I wished I had the courage she did to be so rude to the unpleasant man.
“You should take more responsibility,” he ordered.
Blod gave a short laugh. “Ha! You’re one to talk.”
“I would have,” he answered sharply. I could feel him getting hot under his collar, tense and angry in an instant. “If you’d let me.”
I was lost suddenly. They were talking about something that they knew about and I didn’t.
“Shush!” Blod said quickly, looking down at Ness, who had once again curled into a hedgehog-like ball. “Don’t say nothin’. She’s repeating everything at the moment like a bloody parrot.”
“Bloody,” mumbled Ness.
“Especially that,” Blod sighed.
I couldn’t be sure at first, he was awfully hard to interpret, but I rather thought Bickerstaff might be smiling a little. His focus went from Blod’s beautiful, irritated face back to the little girl.
“I’ll get her a plaster and a lolly,” he said with a sigh.
“Lolly!”
Ness exclaimed the word suddenly, uncurling to look for the person who had promised her something sweet. And now I knew Bickerstaff was definitely smiling. A tiny spark of some nice feeling cut into his heavy chest, but it seemed like agony for it to stay there, like it was struggling against the crushing weight of sadness that consumed the rest of him. The young doctor went to his desk and retrieved a little yellow lolly and a sticking plaster. He unwrapped both but gave Ness the lolly first, using the time to attach the plaster to the welt on her head before she noticed what he was doing. As she slurped away happily his gaze fell on Blod again, who was looking right at him. Her mean face had fallen away, leaving just her pretty features and a blank, thoughtful look.
“Your hair needs cutting,” she said softly. It wasn’t a criticism. It wasn’t
an order. I didn’t really know what it was; I had never heard her use that tone of voice before.
Bickerstaff sighed and settled into the chair opposite her. That blonde strand in his face had returned and he pushed it back again slowly. “No time to do it. I’ve started volunteering at the rationing office,” he explained, “But I wish I hadn’t now, it’s too much bloody work.”
“Bloody,” Ness said again around her lolly.
“Stop it!” Blod slapped her hand gently, but then she started to laugh.
The little glimpse of warmth in Bickerstaff’s chest spread all over his face. “Do you need anything else for her?” he asked Blod.
Her lovely face stiffened again at that. “I don’t need anything from you,” she said proudly.
And suddenly the doctor’s warmth was gone; it drained off like his very life was leaving his body. He was cold again with an empty chest. Bickerstaff rose so sharply that my head went fuzzy. He brushed himself off and cleared his throat which Blod seemed to take as her cue to leave too. She pushed Ness off her lap briskly.
“Go on, go and find Kit,” Blod said, giving her a push.
Bickerstaff was looking at her again, his eyes wide with anticipation. Blod was about to speak, but I knew now that the office’s door was opening and Ness would be headed straight for me. I wanted so desperately to hear what Blod was about to say, but as her lips parted I felt an icy shiver hit my spine and I was instantly another ten feet away outside in the waiting room. Ness was already ambling towards me with what was left of her yellow lolly to show me.
I watched her coming closer with her huge blue eyes, looking for the first time at their oval shape. Blod’s were more like almonds, just like her mother’s, and Clive’s eyes were narrow and brown. The only other person I had ever seen with eyes like Ness’s was Steven Bickerstaff. Blod emerged from the doctor’s office a moment later with a face like fury, and Bickerstaff followed her out to see if his next patient had arrived. I took one last look at him before Blod grabbed my chair angrily and turned me around. I was right. He had Ness’s eyes. Or more accurately, she had his.
***
It was an awful thing to have suspicions running around in my mind. I had half a story, an inkling of what might be going on, but no-one to talk it out with who could confirm or deny what I was thinking. No-one here, at least.
When the time came that I was left alone in the sitting room to practice my new physical task I checked my watch, delighted to find it was about the same time Henri had said he would be free. Learning to stand up could wait, my burning questions about Bickerstaff and Ness couldn’t. I calmed myself enough to perform the usual movements, searching hard for Henri in the blank, black space between my closed eyes.
Aha!
“Hello Kit,” Henri said in what he thought was a casual tone.
Hi Henri.
He was trying to hide the fact that I had startled him again, but of course he didn’t know that I could feel what he felt as well as use his eyes. His heart was humming with nerves for a few moments as he set down the suit he was working on.
“So, what’s new in England?” he asked in his lovely rich voice.
I’m actually in Wales, I corrected, We used to live in London, so we were moved away from danger.
“We?” he pressed, “Are you with your family?”
With my brother, I answered, And with a new family who are looking after us.
“I see,” Henri answered. I felt him rubbing his chin, there was a sound like scraping sandpaper and I wondered with a smile if he had stubble. “I am looked after too,” he continued, “Mr Hoffman lets me live here on the top floor.”
Don’t you have family nearby? I asked.
I felt his chest deflate. “No,” he said simply, “My parents died some time ago.”
I’m so sorry.
“Don’t be, it’s all right.” But it wasn’t all right. I knew he was lying by the heavy weight on his heart and the flush I felt creeping into his cheek. “My mother was born in England, you know,” he said as if he was still happy with the conversation topic.
Is that why your English is so good? I asked, trying to shift the subject.
“I suppose so,” he said in a brighter tone, “but I have my English teacher too.”
Bavistock, was it? Henri nodded. I remembered the mention of him in front of the German officer. What will happen to him?
Henri’s sadness grew again. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I’ve hardly been out of the shop since the Nazis arrived. Oslo is not a safe place now.”
Let’s not think about it, I suggested, How about you help me with something instead?
“Oh?” Henri said. I felt one strong eyebrow going up on his face. “What could I possibly help you with?”
I told him everything I had heard in Bickerstaff’s head, but then realised that I had to go back and fill in some things about Blod and Mam and our situation. I left out the part about how sad the doctor always felt so that Henri wouldn’t know I could sense emotions and I also managed to steer away from any mention of why I myself was acquainted with the good doctor. Whatever mental image Henri had of me, I was pretty certain it wouldn’t involve a wheelchair and jellyfish knees and night splints, so I wanted to let him have his own idea. It was surely be better than the truth.
“How old is this doctor?” Henri asked when I had finished my tale.
Late twenties, I think.
“But the little girl’s mother, this Mam, she is much older than that, isn’t she?”
Exactly, I answered, and that’s why I don’t think she’s Ness’s real mother. I’ve heard of it before when my mum used to chat with the gossip on our street, some young girl having a baby with no husband and then the mother pretends it’s hers instead.
“It’s a big suspicion,” Henri mused, rubbing his stubbly chin again, “But you might be right. How can you find out for sure?”
Well, I can hardly ask them, can I? I responded. Good morning Doctor, I say is this your illegitimate daughter? Hi Blod, had any secret pregnancies lately?
Henri burst into laughter at that, wiping at his eyes. “You’re very funny Kit,” he sighed, “I suppose you’ll have to keep your eyes open for more evidence.”
I sighed too, though I didn’t know if he could hear me.
Look, I think I’ll have to go, I must have been here ages telling you all this.
Henri checked his watch, a lovely brass coloured dial that looked very old and expensive.
“Thirty minutes!” he exclaimed, “I’m supposed to have this suit finished by now.”
Oops, I said. He laughed again. Sorry to bore you with all this, by the way.
“It’s not boring,” he protested immediately, “Your voice is wonderful.”
I was once again grateful that the hundreds of miles between us meant he couldn’t see me blush.
I think next time, you can do the talking, I suggested.
“I promise I will,” he replied.
Clive, Thomas and Ieuan arrived on the back of a lorry during breakfast on Blodwyn’s 21st birthday, which sent the young goddess into a flurry of delight. The RAF Flight Sergeant swelled with pride as he hugged his daughter before Mam attacked him with an embrace that covered his uniform in flour and bacon grease. The boys managed to avoid the same scenario by quickly sitting down with the rest of us at the breakfast table. Thomas slipped a brown paper packet out of his top pocket and handed it to Blod, who ripped it open and screamed the place down in delight.
“Chocolate!” she cried like a child. “Oh I haven’t had chocolate in forever! Thanks Tom!”
“We brought some for everyone,” Ieuan whispered to me with a glimmer in his eye, “But don’t tell her yet or she’ll sulk.”
I just nodded and mouthed a quiet ‘thank you’. Mam set about making a whole new round of breakfast out of the meagre rations we had left to support her boys. As Blod went off into excited chatter with Thomas about all her plans for her birthday weekend, Clive
sat himself down between Leighton and I at the opposite end of the table. He ruffled Leigh’s hair with a big, warm smile.
“And how are you, young man?” he asked in a deep voice.
“The school here’s not as boring as the one in London,” Leighton explained with a grin.
“Is that so?” Clive asked.
My brother nodded, shuffling right to the edge of his seat to be close to Clive. I realised with a pang that perhaps he was missing Dad, but then we’d both been missing Dad since before the war had even begun. Clive clapped a warm arm around Leigh as he turned to me.
“And you Kit? Mam says that doctor’s doing wonders for you, isn’t he?”
“Well,” I began uncertainly, “He’s trying to get me to walk, actually.”
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Clive said to Leighton, who nodded happily under his arm. The warm Welshman creased his dark eyes with the width of his smile. “I bet you’ll be off like a shot by the time I see you next!”
“Do you know when it’ll be?” Leighton asked.
Clive shook his head. “No, we’re all being sent down London way from next week, training for some big manoeuver.” He tapped his free palm on the knee of his navy uniform excitedly. “Us Welsh might finally get to go head on with Jerry at last!”
“Here’s hoping,” Ieuan added as he began the familiar process of shovelling a truckload of food into his mouth.
***
Blod’s actual birthday was the Friday, so after breakfast Leighton had been carted off to school with a miserable sulk on his face and Blod was released from her chores to go out and about with her father and brothers. There was to be a much bigger celebration for her on the Saturday afternoon when Bampi Idrys would also be able to come, which meant I had to pick up as much of Blod’s slack as I could to help Mam get ready for it. Which meant no time alone, no Oslo and no Henri. I went to bed that night doubly miserable, not just because I had spent the day peeling vegetables and mixing batter until my arms burned for the sake of the most ungrateful young woman on the planet, but also because I was worried that Henri might think I wasn’t coming back.
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