‘Never, CP. Never.’
‘And I’d never eat you Goblin-runt-human-child. It’d be like sucking on a mummy’s corpse all decomposed and gnarled and rotten and skin and bone.’
‘Why thank you, Corporal, thank you very much. Eating you would be much the same. Look at you! Empty fatty folds hanging off your bones. A pig should be rotund, a pig should waddle, head held high as their humongous behind sways this way that way.’
‘Why, thank you very much, Goblin-runt-human-child. So what are we to do about it?’
‘A mission, CP. Into enemy territory.’
That’s when I took the risk of leaving the forests and the fields and headed towards a small village. I tied CP to a tree. I didn’t want the villagers thinking they could eat him for their tea.
‘Look, CP,’ I said, ‘I need to go this mission alone, but there’s danger that lurks round every corner and if a monster or a tiger or a wolf or a fox tries to chew on your skinny bones you do just like you did back home and give ’em a kicking. Right? Just like you used to, CP. I’ll be mighty mad if I come back and you’re a bloody mess. Mighty mad.’
‘Where’s your ration books?’
‘I lost them.’
The old grocer man looked me up and down.
‘I don’t know you. You one of those refugees?’
‘Evacuee. I live with the Frys,’ I said, remembering a name on one of the doors I passed as I walked through the village.
‘The Frys didn’t take on any refugees.’
‘I can assure you, sir, they did. I am me, I am they, the refugee, evacuee. They took me in. The authorities, sir, said they must. “Don’t you know there’s a war on?” is what the authorities said, and the Frys they had to do their bit or be shamed.’
‘Well, I haven’t heard news of this. When’d you arrive?’
‘Sir,’ I said, ‘you have to help me out,’ I sidled up to him and lowered my voice. ‘The Frys are reluctant guardians, sir, poor parents to I am me the refugee evacuee. Poor parents indeed. But it’s a roof over my head and a bomb-free sky over that roof, so who am I to complain? No, sir, not one to complain. But they’ll give me a thrashing, sir—’
‘I doubt that, young lad. Unless you deserved it.’
‘Well, sir, you see, I lost the ration books.’
‘So you said.’
‘It takes an awful lot of time and fuss to sort that out, sir, and if I go back empty handed… well, you don’t want us to starve, sir. I’m sure you don’t.’
He let out a snort.
‘They got themselves a right one in you, didn’t they? I can tell the likes of you. Weaving tales, spinning words into nets. One day you’ll get in trouble with that mouth, boy. Starving, indeed!’
He shuffled over to the shelves, picking out various bags and tins.
‘The usual, then? I’ll be making a note of it, mind. I’m not getting in trouble on this one.’
‘Yes, sir, of course, sir.’
I watched him and could see there was too much for me and Corporal Pig to carry, so I said, ‘Well, sir, why don’t you make it half the amount. We really don’t need all that, just a bit to tide us over ’til new ration books come in.’
I smiled sweetly and nodded as he paused.
‘Just half?’
‘That’s right. That’ll tide us over.’
I came away with a good supply that would keep CP and I going strong and I hurried past the Frys’ house with my loot, glancing nervously at their door as if they might sense I was off with half their rations.
‘There’s a war on,’ I said to CP, ‘and the Frys are just doing their bit for the thing I am, a refugee, evacuee, a holy holy holy escapee.’
Travelling by foot was taking its toll, feet all blistered, weight falling off me and the Corporal before we could put it back on with the rations. We were weary, me and CP, the spirit of adventure sucked out of us by the reality of day upon day upon day of trudging. The more miserable I felt, the more I thought of Angel, the more I wished I’d brought her with me. But I was just feeling sorry for myself – I knew it was selfish, I knew I couldn’t take her away from a home where she was cared for and subject her to my ma.
I tried to keep spirits up by talking with CP, telling stories, singing songs. Less wary of humans now that I’d put a fair distance between us and the unholy bastards, I greeted fellow travellers on the road and trotted through villages head held high, CP kept close.
‘Which way to London, my fine man?’ and off we went, trudging, trudging.
Trucks went by in a succession of khaki and indistinguishable faces. I trotted after them.
‘Oi! You got room for a kid and a pig?’
The faces came to life, laughing and sneering. One of the soldiers flicked his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other and gave a squint smile.
‘Where you going, kid?’
‘London.’
‘Most kids go the other way.’
‘I’m going home.’
‘You running away?’
‘What’s it to you?’
He laughed. ‘You got balls, kid. Throw us the pig.’
I tried to lift Corporal Pig, floundering under his weight, even in his skin and bone state. He wriggled, all legs and flapping ears and snorting. I loped along, but couldn’t keep up. The soldiers gathered at the back of the truck to watch, cheering and whooping. A lit cigarette hit me in the face.
‘You sonsofbitches, you goddamn bastards I’ll bash you, I’ll bash the lot of you.’
They cheered and the squintsmiler jumped out, grabbed CP, threw him on board, took a hold of me and threw me straight after CP, before jumping up like it was easy as pissing in a pot.
There was chaos. CP was snorting and squealing, running round the truck in a panic beneath the soldiers’ feet. They kicked at him and he squealed some more and they laughed. I ran after CP but they grabbed at me, all hands. CP bit one of them and the soldier flicked out a knife and I went for him, bashing his face. He fell back and took the pummelling as his comrades dragged me off, yelling and foaming at the mouth.
‘Yerasorrybunchosonsobitches,’ I said. ‘Stay away from Corporal Pig, you shits.’
‘Corporal Pig! Corporal Pig!’ they chorused.
‘Leave the kid’s pig alone,’ said Squintsmiler, ‘It’s his only friend in the world. That right, boy?’
He winked at me and I scowled, getting a firm hold of CP, who was shaking and wide-eyed. I stroked him and whispered in his ear and I stroked his ear too and rubbed his snout and patted his back and he calmed down. I eyed the one who had flicked open the knife. He stared at us, using the knife to pick dirt from under his nails.
‘Sons of bitches,’ I said every few minutes, chewing on gum Squintsmiler had given me, but soon no one was really listening. They went back to their card games and nude magazines.
‘Don’t mind us, kid. We were just playing.’
‘Sons of bitches.’
‘You’ve got some mouth on you, kid.’
I chewed on my gum, stroking CP. I looked around, just daring any of them sonsofbitches to come near us.
‘You’re a wild one, boy. Whatcha running away from?’
‘Sons of bitches.’
‘You’re trouble. You’ll give the girls a hard time, won’t you? I can see it in those eyes. You like pussy, kid?’
He showed me one of the nudey pictures, and I said, ‘Sure. Sure, I like pussy.’
‘The kid likes pussy, boys!’
They cheered. I was patted on the back.
‘You can keep that kid. For the lonely nights.’
He winked at me and I stuffed the picture in my pocket.
‘How old are you, boy?’
‘Ten.’
‘That right? You not too young to be travelling on your own?’