“I do not—”
“You do so, Lewis Finch, and don’t think I’m impressed one bit.”
“And what makes you think I care?” He stuck his tongue out.
Reaching out, Cath grabbed his earlobe between her thumb and forefinger and twisted.
He yelped and pinched back, his mum intervened, scolding them both, and it was as if he’d never been away. As the day faded they gossiped over cups of tea at the kitchen table until his dad arrived home from the shipyard, and shortly after that his brothers came in together, large and noisy, looking like men—and strangers—in their new uniforms.
That evening after tea, his dad took him for a stroll down to the river, their way lit only by moonlight on the melting snow. Although accustomed now to blackout in the country, Lewis had never seen the Island without light streaming from street lamps and headlamps and lace-curtained windows. It seemed a different city, an enchanted city, and he breathed deeply of the fresh air untainted by petrol fumes. In the still silence the occasional voice echoed oddly through the streets, and somewhere in the distance a bell chimed faintly for Christmas Eve services.
Lewis’s dad walked without speaking, his hands clasped behind his back, puffing on the pipe he held clenched in his teeth. He had never been a man much for words, but Lewis didn’t need them. He could sense his father’s contentment in his company and he felt a stirring of pride.
When they reached Island Gardens, they had to feel their way carefully through the darkness under the trees, but as they emerged onto the moonlit promenade the river stretched silver and gleaming before them. The smoke from his father’s pipe drifted out over the water like a fragrant cloud.
A barge passed by, lit only stern and prow by small, shaded lanterns. In the darkness and silence it seemed ghostly, primitive, a Viking longboat returned from the dead. Lewis shivered. Suddenly he felt a stab of homesickness as intense as those of his first few days at the Hall—and yet it was more than that. He wanted to freeze time, to hold everyone and everything unchanged, and the weight of his desire made it difficult to breathe.
“Da,” he said, forcing the words out. “Let me stay here. The war’s all bollocks anyway, everyone knows that. Nothing’s going to happen—there’s no reason I can’t come home.”
His father removed his pipe and sighed. “I wish it were so, Lewis. But the war’s waiting. Like a beast, it is, before it pounces on you. I can feel its breath. Your mother can, as well.”
Lewis had been away long enough to feel embarrassed by any reference to his Irish family’s clairvoyance—something he knew William and Edwina would think of as superstitious nonsense, so he countered with his ultimate authority. “But they’re saying in the newspaper and on the wireless—”
“It matters nought. They don’t want a panic on their hands, so it’s business as usual. But any fool can see the Germans won’t stop where they are. It’s only a matter of time, lad, and you’re better off out of it.” His dad tapped his pipe on the railing to empty it, then tucked it in the pocket of his coat. “Don’t you see, knowing you’re safe is the only thing gives your mum any peace. We can’t send your sister away, and your brothers have chosen their road—though before long I think it won’t be a matter of choice for anyone young and fit enough to fight.”
“I’ll go, too, if it lasts long enough,” said Lewis, smarting at always being thought a child.
“You know I’m not a religious man, lad—it’s your mum who thinks so highly of the Church—but I’ll say a prayer to all your mother’s saints that this war ends long before that.” He smiled down at Lewis. “And we’d best be getting back, or your mother will have Father Joseph out looking for us.”
It was as close to a joke as his father ever came, and an effective means of ending an argument. Lewis matched his dad’s steps, staying close beside him until they left the darkness of the park behind. They walked as briskly as the blackout allowed back to Stebondale Street, and the disappointment Lewis nursed became tinged ever so slightly with relief.
Even that disappointment was short-lived once they reached the house, for he was soon involved with the preparations for Christmas dinner. His family could have afforded few luxuries even had they been available, but his mother was adept at making do with little, and they sat down next day to a jolly table. Tommy and Edward had helped him make newspaper hats, and Cath had somehow procured a bit of colored tissue for homemade crackers. They’d filled them with bits of tinsel and mottoes concocted with much hilarity the previous evening. Lewis was even allowed a sip of Christmas gin, which inspired in him an affectionate glow and an unprecedented tolerance of his sister’s teasing.
On this occasion, his family’s gift seemed to have bypassed him altogether, for he had no premonition that this was the last time they would all be gathered together.
CHAPTER 11The great ships were brought into the Island to loom over back yards and gardens and the foreign sailors were set down in the dusty streets where the children played.
Eve Hostettler, from
Memories of Childhood
on the Isle of Dogs, 1870–1970
Kit had been working diligently on his obstacle course since lunchtime. The Millers’ back garden provided a level and shady area for his endeavors, and he had managed to persuade Laura and Colin to let him stay behind while they went into Cambridge for some shopping.
It was the dog show on the telly last night that had given him the idea. There had been the usual best-of-breed judgings, which he’d watched anxiously for dogs resembling Tess. When he saw the Norfolk terriers, with their shaggy brown coats and bright black eyes, he’d felt certain that Tess carried those genes somewhere in her ancestry.
But there had also been trials of agility and obedience open to all dogs, registered or not. He’d been particularly enchanted by the obstacle-course relay races, and the idea that Tess’s lack of pedigree could be overcome in such a contest had given him a fierce sense of mission. Tess was as smart as any dog—smarter, even—and now he’d seen a way to prove just how special she was.
He’d constructed the jumps from last winter’s leftover firewood—two logs for the supports, one for the cross-piece: just the right size for a small dog. Then he’d made a ramp from a piece of plywood and some milk crates he’d found in the garage, and a ring from an old tire rim. The only thing he hadn’t managed to figure out was the dispenser for the tennis ball at the far end of the course; the idea being that Tess would run the course, retrieve the ball from the dispenser, then bring it back to him at the starting point.
At first Tess had bounded after him excitedly, jumping at the end of the lead dangling from his pocket, but when she’d realized no walk or games were immediately forthcoming, she’d retired to a shady spot under the oak tree. There she lay with her head on her front paws, her tail thumping occasionally as she followed him with her eyes.
Kit kept up a singsong running commentary on his tasks as he worked. Although this monologue was addressed to Tess, he found it helped keep him from thinking, and thinking was something he’d done his best to avoid the last few days.
Since he’d refused yesterday to take Duncan’s phone call, Laura had been watching him with evident concern, but she hadn’t questioned him about it. He’d even caught Colin giving him the odd worried look, and being nicer than usual, which was worse. He didn’t want to talk to Colin, either—didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened, and especially not to Duncan.