When the bell sounded for the end of the lesson I became aware of the smell of newly sharpened pencils and saw that George had put down the little blade he kept in a leather pouch. It was a shaving thing with two arms like pictures you see of Sweeney Todd, the barber. My pencils were laid in a row each with fine points on them. I glanced at George.
‘Thanks,’ I said ungraciously.
I was pretty good at the next lesson, English, too but I made sure I sat far away from George who didn’t know how to spell and said his words all wrong. The teacher even came up with a word I couldn’t say, it was picturesque and I thought it was pronounced ‘picturescue’ so I was brought down a peg or two but no one laughed. None of the class knew what it meant and the teacher had to explain it to us. After she finished I wasn’t any the wiser. I wasn’t as good at English as I thought.
We were learning some French. I didn’t like the language much, which made me try harder. The words were never finished but ended in a tailing off of the letters as though the one speaking was puffing out a heavy breath. Nevertheless I learned enough to convince my teacher I was a good linguist.
I tucked my knowledge of German away inside me knowing it was dangerous but after the French class the others started calling me teacher’s pet. I was glad when it was time to go home.
I wandered along the road at a dawdle and then my stomach turned over as I heard the sound of enemy aircraft. By now I could tell the difference between a Spitfire and a German plane. I crouched near the hedge as the planes swept by overhead. I thought I saw a pilot looking down at me but I suppose all he saw were fields and trees and a few heads of cattle.
I wondered how it was I could love one German and yet fear all the others. But then Michael was half Welsh, I suppose that made all the difference.
The next day was Saturday and Hari came in her jeep with Kate at her side. I could see at once Kate wasn’t herself. She blinked her eyes rapidly as Hari helped her out of the jeep and then she clung to my sister’s arm for dear life.
‘Michael!’ Hari had spotted him near the barn and was waving her arm to him. He ran towards her while my stomach did a jig and a rush of fear and pain rooted me to the spot. Michael took Kate’s arm and together the three of them went into the house without any of them even noticing me. Following them, I realized with a sharp feeling of horror that Kate couldn’t see. Her feet felt for the step hesitantly and she shuffled into the hallway of the farmhouse.
The house looked better these days mainly due to the fact that I made Michael clear up after himself. The place was free of clutter, the towels and sheets were put away in proper cupboards or waited in the outhouse for wash day.
Kate was taken into the parlour and she sat gingerly on the chair near the fire. She’d been crying, her face was whiter now, the yellow colour fading. I knew she wasn’t working the munitions any more—how could she go back when she’d been in a terrible explosion?
I touched her hand. ‘Kate, it’s me, Meryl the pest.’
Kate looked at me—at least her eyes were turned in my direction. They looked the same as ever, Irish pure blue with dark lashes that looked like they were made up with dark pencil.
Kate clutched my fingers. ‘Meryl, your voice is different, you sound so grown-up.’
‘You’re like Hari, she always seemed to forget I’m getting old.’
Kate laughed, a proper laugh. ‘Sure you’re very old.’
I sat beside her, still holding her hand. ‘I remember when I was sixteen,’ she said, ‘Mammy made a cake, a plum cake it was and she cut a candle up to make little ones, she was so clever.’ Her voice halted and I remembered her mother had died in one of the raids. I was glad Kate couldn’t see my face because I was remembering being under the table when our house was bombed, the way the lights went out, Mrs Evans’s big toe through a hole in her slipper. And Kate’s red shoes. I wondered if she still had them. Now she was wearing plain flat shoes, sensible shoes that no doubt helped her to walk without stumbling too much. No more red shoes for Kate.
I looked up suddenly. Michael and Hari were looking at each other like moonstruck kids. I wished Hari would go back home to Swansea and leave us alone.
‘Michael!’—I sounded like his mother—‘come and talk to Kate.’ He came at once and draped his arm around my shoulder as he bent over Kate to speak to her. I preened and there was a warm glow inside me. Michael was mine and no one was going to take him away from me. No one, not even my lovely sister Hari, however much she turned on her charms. I met her eyes and she looked away first, and then I knew there was a different feeling between my sister and me. It was probably called jealousy.
Seventeen
As Hari drove away from the farmhouse she knew she had felt the attraction again as she’d talked to Michael. He’d bent over her, his big shoulder touching hers, the magnetism between them almost palpable. Aunt Jessie didn’t like it, she made that abundantly clear.
And there was Meryl, she clearly thought herself in love with Michael but perhaps it did no harm. Meryl was still a child and Michael an honourable man. In any case Jessie would keep a strict eye on things.
Kate stirred at her side. ‘This is a bumpy road so it is.’ She shifted in her seat and Hari slowed down.
‘Sorry, I was going too fast. Habit I suppose.’ Last time she’d driven the jeep it was to take some messages to Bletchley Park in England. She had no idea what the messages contained as they were shut away in a leather bag with a lock on it and she was happy she’d been kept in the dark. She was in enough danger as it was without having secrets to hide. Any German would soon get the truth out of her. With a sharp pain she remembered that Michael was half German but then he was different from the ‘Huns’ and the cruelty they inflicted on civilians with their bombing raids.
Hari forced her thoughts away from the war. ‘How’s your tummy?’ She glanced down at Kate’s thin figure. Her belly bulged, still swollen, probably still swathed in bandages. Hari was only too aware that Kate was lucky not to have died in the explosion.
‘Still sore.’ Kate was listless and no wonder, she’d lost her sight, her baby and the man she loved. To add to her misery, her family had been bombed into oblivion in one of the raids. The only friends she had were Hari and Hilda.
‘Do you get on with Eddie’s mother?’ she asked.
‘Hilda’s kind,’ Katie said with a sigh. ‘I’m all she’s got left of her son. We share memories of him and it comforts us. She wishes we’d had the baby, a real bit of him but the Holy Mother didn’t will it so.’
Hari felt tears mist her eyes. ‘You’ll have other children, a new life after the war, you’ll see.’
Kate tried to be realistic. ‘I only wanted a baby by my Eddie and he’s gone, lost in some bloody field in a foreign land fighting to keep us free.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Changing the subject so I am but do you think Michael is half German?’
Hari felt a chill run down her spine. ‘No! I’m sure not,’ she said firmly. ‘He would have been deported, sent to the Isle of Wight or where ever they put the Germans. No, I think he’s probably Norwegian.’
‘I expect you’re right,’ Kate said softly. ‘In any case you can’t hate a whole race for what one mad leader is doing.’
Hari drove in silence for a time as it was getting dark and it took all her concentration to negotiate the winding lanes towards Swansea. And then at last she came off the common with its vast pony-ridden land and saw a glint of the sea and a big white house on the horizon that she knew led to the coast road. She was home and she was glad.
The next day Hari was back at work; the factory had been quickly cleared up after the explosion but the gaping teeth of blackened wood showed where the shed containing shells had once stood and, as Hari passed it and made her way quickly to the warmth of her office, she shivered with an icy fear.