Worlds Between

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  He was off to fetch them without awaiting a response, because there wasn’t even a question about having to do as I was told. It was one of the things I resented most of all about my illness, above any of the pain and the inconvenience it brought, the fact that I had to just sit there and put up with the people around me. If there was ever a motivation to learn to walk, it would be that walking was the first step in learning to run away. If I could run away now, I could hide somewhere and find Henri, but instead I was stuck with Bickerstaff and his constantly disappointed expression.

  The doctor returned with two tall wooden structures that had grips about a third of the way down and padded rests at the very top of them. They were long, triangular things that ended in a point where they met the floor. Bickerstaff leant them against his desk then offered me his hands.

  “Up you get then, chop-chop,” he said in that expectant way.

  I wished I could have jerked myself up to show him how annoyed I was, but my attempt at a haughty leap only resulted in me failing the first attempt to rise. The second time I took it slower, standing and locking my knees as best I could. I looked down at the floor, colour creeping into my face. I had someone who needed me to be there for him, and here I was performing like a circus monkey instead for the beastliest ringmaster in Christendom.

  “This soft part of the crutch rests under your arm,” Bickerstaff said, shifting one of the walking aids under my left arm, “Lean on it whilst I get the other.”

  Soon I had one crutch under each arm propping me up where I stood. I felt like a heavy washing line drooping between the two. Bickerstaff put my gloved hands on the grips where I took hold of them with a vicious tightness; he nodded approval more to himself than to me, standing back and making some space between us.

  “Let’s see you walk then,” he urged, “Use the aids one at a time to help you get your feet forward.”

  My feet, it turned out, were not the problem. The huge wooden structures were wickedly heavy, heavier even than the splints that bound my limbs at night. I struggled to get the first one forward even a few inches before I brought my foot to meet it, then the other crutch snagged on the lino for ages before I was able to haul it up level. I managed about four of these awkward movements before the pressure under my arms was too much to stand. I felt bolts of electricity shooting down from my shoulder to where my fingers gripped the handles of the wood, my eyes burning with tears from the strain.

  “Your arms are still shocking,” Bickerstaff snapped, “This really isn’t good enough Kit, you’ll never strengthen your legs without your arms for support.”

  He reached for his file like he was just going to leave me standing there in agony. I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat, bit back my tears and let my frustration get the better of me.

  “I think you ought to start being a bit nicer to me, Doctor,” I began, my breathing sharp.

  He laughed at me without looking up. “Oh? Does that mean you’re going to start making better progress for me?”

  “I know about you,” I said, narrowing my eyes on the top of his blonde head.

  “Know what exactly?” he asked, still not looking.

  “About you and Blod… and Ness.”

  It was a slow, surreal process when Doctor Bickerstaff next let his big blue eyes meet mine. His face was much younger when he wasn’t scowling; his mouth was limp and open slightly as he studied my face. I hoped that the pain of leaning on my crutches was showing, adding to the anger in my burning eyes and gritted teeth. He didn’t bother to deny anything, so I knew my suspicions were close enough to the truth.

  “You dare to threaten me?” he demanded, leaning his hands hard into the wood of his desk. His mouth contorted back into its usual sneer, but his eyes were too shocked to comply.

  “Yes I do,” I spat angrily, “because you're a cold, nasty man who's horrible to me. Perhaps this will help you to change.” It was satisfying to be the disapproving one in the conversation for once.

  Bickerstaff’s chest rose and fell a few times as he huffed. He looked at me, then away again, and then back again until eventually he dropped himself into his chair, running one hand through his hair that messed up its slick, smart look.

  “I suppose Blod told you?” he asked, looking at his desk.

  “Of course not,” I scoffed, red hot anger making sweat pool at the back of my neck, “She hates me.”

  Bickerstaff snapped his head up again at that, his brows crashing down to hood his eyes. “Then how do you know?” he pressed.

  “That’s my business,” I said, borrowing the smug smile he usually wore.

  The doctor pointed at me wordlessly for a moment then slammed a fist down on his desk that made his pencils rattle off the table. I flinched; my breath was hot and furious still.

  “You kids,” Bickerstaff spat venomously, “you think you know everything at fifteen, don't you? Think you can control the world around you. Well this kind of behaviour gets people hurt, young lady, I hope you mark that.”

  I wanted to shout at him, to answer him back with the same poisonous tone he was using, but the heat and the sweat and the pain from leaning on the crutches was suddenly too much. I had been standing for minutes, too many minutes taking all the strain of my tired limbs. I looked down to my aching arms, feeling my face turn clammy with a sheen of hot sweat. My eyes widened in horror at the salmon coloured rash all over my forearm, creeping up under the sleeve of my blouse. I looked down at my unstockinged legs, seeing the same hideous orange-pink blotches breaking out on my feet and ankles.

  Bickerstaff was out of his chair and saying something about my face. I felt his arm close around me and heard the heavy wooden crutches fall away, but my vision was turning slowly black. I could smell the clean, soapy scent of the doctor’s hands as one came up to feel my head, slipping all over it because I was caked in the salty water rapidly seeping from my skin. I knew for just one moment that the fever had returned before everything went black.

  ***

  I had a horrible feeling that Doctor Bickerstaff might be sitting at my bedside when I was next conscious, so I was both surprised and relieved to find Bampi Idrys asleep in a chair when I managed to turn over in my bed at Ty Gwyn. The clock face told me it was six, but the light outside would not give way to it being either morning or evening and I had no way of telling what day it was either. The only solution to that would be to wake Idrys, which felt too cruel as I watched the gingery-grey farmer blow a bubble on his sleepy lip. Instead, I shuffled onto my back again and assessed my aching body. My mind felt clear, and though I knew it wasn’t a good idea given the fever, I shut my eyes and raised my palms up over my face.

  Henri?

  Everything was black for a moment before Henri’s eyes opened. He was staring up at a cloudy morning sky, the shadow of a pinky-blue hue lurking behind the heavy clouds. He groaned loudly, rubbing his face.

  “Kit? Did I hear you?” he whispered.

  You were asleep, I said guiltily.

  “Of course I was,” Henri added, clearing his throat, “It’s seven in the morning, and I have no job.”

  And no home by the looks of it, I observed, Where on earth are you?

  Henri answered my question as he sat up, showing me a series of great leafy trees, stone paths and benches. He was in a cold, empty park, lying on a hard wooden bench. Henri shivered against the morning breeze as he pulled a big overcoat out from under him and wrapped himself up.

  “Thank God it’s nearly summertime,” he breathed.

  What day is it? I asked him.

  “Wednesday,” he replied, “Do you not know?”

  I’ve been… ill. I’ve been asleep a lot.

  “Are you all right now?” I appreciated the concern in his lovely deep voice.

  I’m over the worst of it, I answered, hoping that was true. I still couldn’t decide if it was the strain of the crutches or the argument with Bickerstaff that had set me off. Either way I intended to avoid both for as long as poss
ible now. That suspicion I had about the doctor and Blod and the baby? It was true, by the way. The doctor knows that I know; he’s furious about it.

  “You spend a lot of time with this doctor,” Henri observed, “I think there’s something you’re not telling me.”

  He got up and walked in his scuffed shoes along the stone path, looking out into the park that was slowly filling with people; some of them were soldiers passing through. I thought for a while about what I ought to tell Henri. It felt wrong to keep things from him when I could just invade his head whenever I felt like it. He passed a few people then ducked off the path down to a lovely little pond covered in algae. Henri sat down alone in the reeds, plucking one off and running it between his smooth fingers several times.

  All right then, I began, here’s some things you don’t know about me. I have reddish-brown hair, blue eyes and very white skin because I’m hardly ever out in the sun. I can’t walk. Well, I can walk a tiny bit, but not enough to go out alone. I have to push myself around in a wheelchair.

  “That makes sense,” Henri said, surprising me with his casual tone. I didn’t feel even a fleck of disappointment in his body that I was crippled up in a chair. “You always seem to be indoors with everything you tell me about. Now I know why.” We were silent a moment at the little pond, I felt a cool relief sweeping over me. “This doctor, what does he do for you?”

  He’s teaching me to walk again… well, maybe. I’m not certain that I can.

  “I thought you said he was horrible?” Henri pressed, “That sounds very noble to me.”

  You haven’t met him, I countered. Henri chuckled.

  “Your illness,” he began in a softer tone, “Does it give you pain?”

  Yes. I felt his chest ache right in the centre.

  “I’m sorry for that,” he whispered.

  Me too, I replied, but it’s been more than three years now, you get used to some of the pain over time.

  Silence fell once more between us. Henri grew nervous, fumbling with the reed in his fingers until it slipped and swayed gently to the ground between his legs. He rubbed the dirty knees of his trousers thoughtfully and then let out a sigh.

  “I have decided what to do, now that I’ve no work to keep me here,” he said in a much more shaky tone.

  What? I asked impatiently.

  “I met some other young men last night,” Henri explained, blinking down at the dewy foliage he was sat on, “They’re going to escape from the city and travel north into the mountains.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that; surely the icy mountains were far more dangerous than the Germans? But why? I asked. Why would you go north?

  “Because boats have been arranged,” Henri answered, his voice now a nervous low whisper, “There are boats to bring men to Scotland, men who want to join the British Army and fight.”

  You’re coming here? I couldn’t hide the excitement in my voice, but then I realised the risk in what he was doing. Crossing the North Sea would be a harrowing task, and that was if he made it out of Oslo at all without the Germans catching him. Henri, isn’t this all too dangerous?

  He waved his hand. “Everything is settled. I leave tonight.”

  ***

  I stayed as long as I could with Henri before the cold shiver in my spine told me it was time to come back to my own head. He wouldn’t explain his escape plan since he was sitting in such a public place, but he told me the time that he was due to leave and I promised I would return to give him courage. It would be the middle of the night here, there was no reason I couldn’t do it, even if I knew I’d feel awful the morning after. As I opened my eyes back at Ty Gwyn I was filled with excitement and dread in equal measure. I knew by Henri’s watch that it was nearly nine here now, so I didn’t bother with the clock.

  Idrys was awake and watching me thoughtfully under his bushy brows. It made me jump when I realised he was still there and I winced with the sharp pain that shockwaved through me when I saw him. He scratched his bearded chin at me, smiling but with something serious in his eyes. I tried to rub my eyes, feigning sleep although I had actually been awake for hours.

  “You do that a lot, you know,” Idrys began, and to my horror he mimicked my motion where I placed my hands over my eyes when I let my mind travel. “I’ve seen you a few times in the sitting room, doing that, when you think no-one’s come in the room.” I swallowed dryly, but said nothing. “I asked Leighton about it the other day,” the old farmer continued, “but he just told me you get funny headaches.”

  “I, um,” I stammered. I didn’t know what to say, the old man was looking at me in a whimsical sort of way, like he had yet more words ready to fall from his lips.

  “The funny thing is,” he added, leaning forward, “I used to know someone else who did that with his hands and his eyes. That fella I was telling you about in the army, the psychic spy.”

  I felt like Bickerstaff had when I told him what I knew, helpless and shocked and angry that my secret was out. But like the doctor I had no power to deny it; no words would come to find a good excuse. Idrys knew. He already believed that people like me were possible; there was no way I could talk him out of that.

  “You moved your lips, you know,” he said amusedly, “like you were talking to someone.”

  “I was,” I replied, stunned.

  “Who?” Idrys asked.

  His old face was kind and curious. A weight that had been resting on me for a very long time suddenly disappeared. I took a very deep breath and told him everything.

  I stayed sat up in my bed all that day. The horrible Doctor Bickerstaff had not come to see me, but he had commanded three days’ rest until the fever was definitely gone. I had slept through one and half of those days already, but Mam insisted on sticking to his word. I wondered if she would be so eager to please him if she knew about him and Blod, but any part of me that wanted to spill the beans on him was overshadowed by how much I cared for Mam. It would surely have broken her heart to know that Ness’s father was the surly doctor living just over the hill.

  Idrys left after breakfast to sort a few things out with the farm boys, but he promised he would return in the evening to advise me on Henri’s escape. He said if I was going to be there, then maybe I could take some old military tips with me and be useful. Being useful to Henri was exactly the plan, so I was keen for him to get back. I tried to sleep a little but I was too worried to really relax even though I needed to build up my strength. I had just about drifted off when a great clattering and slamming of my bedroom door told me that Blod had arrived in her usual carefree style.

  “Come on you, lunch,” she ordered.

  It took my weak limbs a little while to obey me and organise my body back into a sitting position. Blod huffed out her breaths as she stood with my lunch tray, tapping one of her heeled feet to a slow rhythm on the threadbare carpet. The very second that I looked like I was sitting right she dumped the tray over my lap so that soup dribbled out over one edge of the bowl. I righted it quickly, biting back my annoyance as my oh-so-gracious maid turned to go. A wicked thought hit me when she got to the door.

  “Blod.”

  The blonde stopped in her tracks, throwing her head back in my direction with a roll of her eyes. “What now?” she demanded.

  “If you had a secret,” I began in a low, careful tone, “And someone else found out about it, would you want them to tell you that they knew?”

  Blod’s face didn’t change at all. If I hadn’t already known that she did have a secret, her perfect features would have given nothing away. She was much better at playing it cool than Bickerstaff. She looked thoughtfully at the wooden lintel of the door, running her fingers down the doorframe.

  “Hmm,” she mused, “I suppose if it was something shameful, I’d rather they didn’t tell me they knew. It’s easier to pretend then, isn’t it?”

  Blod’s bright blue eyes became terribly pensive, focusing hard on the wood and wallpaper near her. I was dangerously close to fee
ling sorry for her, but I put that down to this being the first real conversation we had ever had.

  “What if it wasn’t shameful,” I offered, “just sort of… unfortunate?”

  Her rosy lip stiffened.

  “I wouldn’t want people feeling sorry for me,” she bit the ends off her words as she spoke.

  Before I could say anything else she swept her perfect frame from view and I heard her heels totter off down the stony hallway. She had left my door open and a little spring breeze filtered in, cooling my soup. As I ate I began to think that Blod and I weren’t all that different sometimes. I knew exactly how awful it was to have people giving you their sympathy all the time, like it was going to be some comfort to me that these healthy, able-bodied people had taken time out of their active lives to take pity on poor sick Kit in her chair. It would be worse for her if people knew about Ness. Poor husbandless Blod and her child.

  A shaky, bitter guilt hit my throat as I tried to eat. Perhaps I had made a mistake in threatening Doctor Bickerstaff, but there wasn’t much I could do now to put it right except to keep my big mouth shut.

  ***

  A whole day sat in bed was excruciatingly boring, save for the portion where Leighton came home from school and sat talking to me before dinner. Mam let him stay with me for the meal but I became more and more anxious as I wolfed down an overload of veggies and not much meat. Idrys had not yet returned. I had about five hours before Henri was due to make his escape from Oslo and no advice as yet from the only other person who knew of my gift. Leighton made a crumbly mess all over my covers with bread and I tried my best not to bark at him with my growing irritation.

  “You’re going potty in here alone, aren’t you?” he observed brightly.

  “It was bad enough when I was stuck in the chair,” I moaned, tapping my knee rapidly, “but this is just awful.”