A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

I hardly slept the rest of that night and, when I did, my dreams were so clear I would have thought I was awake if it wasn’t for the strange things I saw. Crashed aeroplanes, the sky filled with falling parachutes like a million jellyfish floating in clear water. Falling bullet casings and balls of fire. There were moments of darkness, too; the thickest, oiliest blackness, filled with the stink of cooked meat. For a time I felt as if I was falling into a deep pit filled with the burnt bodies of dead soldiers, their eyeless faces staring up at me from the dark. Their bony hands reached out for me, clothed in the tattered remains of their ruined uniforms. Then I was yanked away, to watch soldiers moving across green meadows in the height of summer. And I saw Kim’s face in my muddled dreams, too. I saw her turned-up nose and her black hair, cut like a boy’s.

And when first light pushed around the cracks in the blackout curtains, I woke up with a mixed feeling of excitement and dread when I remembered what we had done.

I tugged back the curtains and reached under my bed to pull out the shoebox where I kept all the cigarette cards Dad had given me to collect. Then I climbed back into bed, sat up against my pillow and opened the box, moving the cards aside to take out the pistol.

There were bits of mud clogged in it, and I was careful not to drop any of the dirt on my bed covers. I held it out and pointed it at the foot of the bed, just as I’d pointed it at the airman last night.

It still didn’t seem real. Even with the gun right there in my hand, heavy and hard and metal. Even then, it didn’t feel as if it had happened to me – more like someone had told me about it, or I’d imagined it.

But it was real. Last night, Kim and I really had captured a German. We had sneaked out in the night and we had taken him to my secret place. My throat went dry at the thought of how many rules we’d broken, and for a moment I was smothered by a feeling of such guilt that I had to stop myself from rushing to Mam’s bedroom to tell her what had happened. A small voice in my head was telling me it was the right thing to do. The grown-ups could take over then. They’d deal with everything. They’d find the German and I’d have nothing to more worry about. Except for getting into trouble, of course.

And Kim would get into trouble and she’d call me a sneak and hate me. And maybe the German would be killed and it would all be my fault. And there was the other thing too – what Kim had said about how we should look after the German so that if something happened to my dad or her brother, then they would be looked after too. As if, somehow, our actions would affect the actions of someone else a thousand miles away. I was so desperate for Dad to be safe, so desperate for him to come home, that maybe it was worth a try. Maybe it would be bad luck to tell the grown-ups about the German. Bad luck for Dad.

I put the gun back in the box and hardened my nerve. I wouldn’t do anything without talking to Kim. We were in this together. I wasn’t going to tell on her.

As I slipped the box under my bed, I remembered what we’d talked about before we parted last night; about needing supplies for our prisoner. So I climbed out of bed and put on my dressing gown before creeping from my room and heading downstairs. It was early, but Mam would be up soon, so I went as quietly as possible, going through the kitchen and into the scullery.

Over on my right, there was a heavy white sink that we filled from the pump outside, using a bucket. Some of the houses in the village had taps in the kitchen, but ours was too far out and they hadn’t run in the pipes yet. We didn’t have gas either, so Mam did all the cooking on the range that took up most of the right wall.

In the far corner, a side door went out into the garden, but we hardly used it, so it was usually blocked by the mangle. Beside it, along the back wall, there were some uneven shelves and, because it was coldest there, there was a stone slab where Mam put the meat and butter under a sieve to keep it fresh.

I stood for a moment, the stone floor cold on my feet, looking at the shelves, wondering what on earth I might be able to take. We really had so very little. There was a nearly-empty tin of Lingford’s baking powder that had been there for ever, a tin of National Dried Milk, and a packet of dried egg. There were one or two other tins and boxes, but nothing that wouldn’t be missed or that would be of any use to our German. I checked the bread bin but there were only four thin slices left. There were a few vegetables in a basket on the floor. On the cold slab, under the sieve that kept the flies away, there was a small knob of butter on a metal plate, a chunk of cheese that wasn’t much bigger, two paper packets and a tray of five eggs. I stared at them, deciding if I had time to risk looking in the packets. If I were going to do it, I’d have to do it right now before Mam came down. The longer I waited, the less time I’d actually have to take anything.

I made up my mind and opened the first packet, careful not to crumple the paper. Inside, two thin rashers of bacon. They were fatty, with very little meat on them, but I knew I couldn’t take them. Mam would know. Two rashers of bacon was a luxury, and she’d be saving them for something special.

I wrapped them back up and opened the second packet, seeing what was left of the piece of tripe. White and rubbery and foul. It was only a small piece, about the size of my hand, but I thought I might be able to take a tiny slice, so I hurried to the drawer and took out a sharp knife. I cut a piece of tripe no thicker or longer than my little finger, and then I wrapped the main piece back up again before cleaning the knife, drying it and putting it back in the drawer.

When I went to the cold slab to collect my thin strip of tripe, I realised I didn’t have anything to wrap it in. I glanced around for something but, as I did, I heard creaking upstairs. Mam was coming.

I looked down at my tiny piece of tripe, like a white worm in the palm of my hand, and felt a pang of guilt. I was stealing. That’s what I was doing. I was stealing from my own mam so I could feed the enemy. Except, I told myself, he wasn’t just the enemy; he was a scared, wounded, hungry enemy. Anyway, I wasn’t doing this just for him, I was doing it for my friend, too; for Kim. And I was doing it for Dad – so someone would do the same for him.

I put the tripe into my dressing-gown pocket and turned to leave the scullery. And that’s when I did something very silly. I reached out and grabbed an egg. One of the five eggs sitting in the tray. I slipped that into my pocket, too, then I turned and hurried out, closing the door behind me.

When I came out into the hallway, Mam was at the bottom of the stairs, dressed and ready for the day.

I stopped.

‘Mornin’ pet,’ Mam smiled. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘Nowt.’

Mam’s expression changed. The smile faltered as if she’d seen something in my eyes. Maybe she’d seen right through me. She had looked into my head and seen exactly what I’d been up to.

‘Is somethin’ the matter?’ she asked.

‘No.’ My heart was beating fast now, and there was something inside me that wanted to blurt it all out and tell her what I’d done. I was sure she was looking at the egg-shaped bulge in my dressing-gown pocket.

‘Well, off you go, then, and get dressed. I’ll get breakfast.’

‘All right,’ I said, moving past her, taking the stairs two at a time. I could almost feel her eyes on my back, watching me with suspicion as I went into my bedroom and closed the door behind me.

My hands were shaking when I took my bounty from my pocket. I held them out in the palm of my hand and stared at them: the first things I had ever pinched from Mam. A sad-looking piece of tripe covered in fluff from my dressing-gown pocket, and a single brown egg. I had stolen, but I’d done it to help someone. I felt good and bad at the same time.

I put the egg in my satchel and picked the fluff off the tripe, looking around, wondering what to wrap it in. The only thing I had that would do the job was the comic on the floor beside my bed. I’d read it a few times already, but I didn’t like the idea of ripping it because if I took it back to the shop, Mr McPherson let me have a new one for a cheaper price. Perhaps if I took a tiny piece from one of the pages, he might not notice. But as soon as I thought it, I began to feel like a criminal. I’d already stolen food from Mam, and now I was thinking about cheating Mr McPherson. I decided that I’d rip part of one page, and then I’d tell him I ripped it by accident. Maybe I’d even be able to bring the ripped piece back and put it inside the comic. That way I wasn’t trying to cheat him, I was just telling him a little white lie.

So I tore a small piece from one of the inside pages of my Dandy comic, and I wrapped the worm of tripe inside it before putting it next to the egg in my satchel.

Then I dressed and went downstairs.

Mam was in the kitchen by then and she smiled when I came in, giving me a hug and kissing the top of my head.

‘Hungry?’ she asked.

‘Starvin’.’

Mam had cooked one of the rashers of bacon I’d seen on the slab. I’d smelt it as soon as I’d come out of my bedroom, and the first thing I’d thought of was the dead airman in the plane last night, but I pushed the thought away. My stomach was grumbling, and I wasn’t going to let anything put me off my food.

My plate was already on the table – there was one rasher of bacon, with a single fried egg and a piece of bread. The bacon looked smaller now it had been cooked. It was tiny, curled up next to the egg, and I ate it very slowly, savouring the taste.

Mam was sitting opposite, sorting through her sewing box. There was a pile of clothes on the seat beside her; everything that needed mending. There was a steaming mug on the table, too, but I knew we’d almost run out of tea, so Mam was drinking hot water. She’d be saving the tea for another time.

‘You not havin’ anythin’?’ I asked.

‘I’ve had some toast,’ she said. ‘Now it’s time to make do and mend.’

That’s what the posters told us all to do. ‘Make Do and Mend’. That meant instead of wanting new things, like clothes, it was better to mend the ones we already had. Like my shoes with the cardboard to cover the holes, or my worn-out shirts and trousers, and there wasn’t a man in the village who didn’t have a patch on the elbow of his jacket. Even Mr Bennett’s jackets had patches. I think it might have been Mam who’d sewn them for him.

I watched her pick up a sock and put her finger through a hole in the toe, then I went back to eating my breakfast.

‘I could have sworn we had five eggs last night,’ Mam said, taking me by surprise.

My hand stopped in mid-air, my fork a few inches from my mouth. I looked up at Mam. She was putting a wooden mushroom-shaped object into the sock, just behind the hole.

‘But there were only four this mornin’.’

I put the fork into my mouth, taking the small piece of bacon, the metal prongs grating against my teeth.

‘You don’t know anythin’ about that, do you?’

I shook my head, chewing slowly. The bacon suddenly tasted like cardboard. ‘Uh-uh.’

Mam nodded as she threaded wool into a thick darning needle. ‘There isn’t somethin’ you want to tell me?’

Once again, it was all on the tip of my tongue. But I couldn’t tell Mam. I couldn’t tell her I’d stolen the food. ‘No,’ I said.

Mam continued to look at me. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye.’

‘So what were you doing downstairs this mornin’?’ she asked.

‘Nowt.’

‘I see. So I wonder why the dishcloth was wet, the tea towel’s been used, and there’s an egg missing.’ She looked up at me from her darning. ‘As if, maybe, someone dropped an egg and thought they could clean it up without me noticing.’

I stared at her.

‘Don’t lie to us, Peter. What were you doin’ in the scullery? Looking for somethin’ to eat?’

I nodded.

‘Did you take anythin’?’

‘No.’

‘Good. We have to save what we’ve got,’ she said. ‘You can’t just take things.’

‘I was hungry,’ I said, adding lying to my list of crimes. ‘I thought . . .’ I shrugged.

Mam leant forward. ‘I know it’s hard – you’re a growin’ lad – but we haven’t got much. We can’t just help ourselves. There’s two of us.’

‘I really didn’t take anythin’,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

‘That’s not the point, Peter. You thought about it, but breakin’ the egg made you think again, didn’t it?’

I hung my head. ‘Sorry.’ And I really did feel sorry. For everything. But not sorry enough to come clean and tell the truth, I suppose.

‘Hm. Well, lucky for us, the hens are canny layers, so we’ll probably have another four eggs this morning.’ Mam looked at me for a long moment, then shook her head. ‘All right. Just don’t do it again.’

I nodded.

‘Eat up, then. It’ll be gettin’ cold.’

I ate slowly, trying to enjoy my breakfast, but somehow it didn’t taste quite right any more. I looked up from time to time, watching Mam darning my sock, and I felt bad that I’d lied to her. But I’d done it for a good reason, hadn’t I? I’d done it for Dad and Kim and Josh and to help the airman who was sitting out there in the woods, probably starving. Maybe even dying.

‘What do you think Germans eat?’ I asked.

‘What’s that?’ Mam stopped and glanced up at me.

‘What do Germans eat?’

She went back to what she was doing. ‘Whatever made you ask that?’

‘Nowt. Just wondered, like.’

‘Well . . .’ She thought about it. ‘I don’t know. I s’pose they probably eat the same things as we do.’

‘Bacon and egg?’

‘Maybe.’

‘And bread and cheese?’ I asked.

‘Aye, why not?’

‘And what do they do?’

Mam rested the darning on her knee and looked at me. ‘What on earth are you talking about, pet?’

‘I mean . . . well, I don’t know. Are they like us? I know they don’t talk like us, but do they do the same things as us? You know, like go to the shops and sleep in a bed and sit at a table for breakfast and . . . you know – the same things as us.’

‘I s’pose they do.’ Mam raised her eyebrows as if something had occurred to her. ‘I haven’t ever met any Germans but I s’pose they’re probably not so different from us at all.’

‘Not so different,’ I repeated. ‘So why do they want to bomb us?’

‘I’m not sure they all do,’ Mam said.

‘So, they’re not all bad then?’

‘Course not. Just like not all the lads in the village are like Trevor Ridley.’

‘Not even them what fly the planes?’

Mam looked at me with a puzzled expression. ‘What’s all this interest in Germans?’

‘Just wonderin’,’ I said, standing up and taking my plate from the table.

‘Is this ’cause of that plane yesterday?’

I shrugged.

‘Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because you’re never going to see any Germans in this country. Brave men like your da’–’

‘And Kim’s brother,’ I said.

‘Aye, and Kim’s brother . . . Brave men like them are keeping us safe. So that’s enough of that talk for now.’

‘All right.’ I was putting the plate in the sink when there was a knock at the door.

‘Someone’s early,’ Mam said, looking at the clock, then at me. She furrowed her brow as if thinking, then her face fell and her mouth hung open, her lips making a shape like an O, her eyes widening.

I knew what was wrong. As soon as I saw her reaction, I understood what she was afraid of. She was afraid of the telegram boy, the one who came early to give wives and children the message that their husbands and fathers were dead.

‘Go into the scullery,’ she said.

I didn’t argue. I just nodded and felt something cold squeeze my insides as I left the room, moving like I was floating, a million terrible thoughts in my head. But one of those thoughts was louder than all the rest. Something had happened to Dad. He was hurt or lost or . . . or worse. Except that couldn’t be. I’d helped the German. I’d hidden him and helped him, and that meant Dad would be all right, didn’t it? That was what Kim had said; that was what we’d decided.

I stood in the middle of the room and listened as Mam went to the door. There was a moment of quiet, then she laughed and came into the scullery with a relieved smile on her face, and I knew I was right. Nothing had happened to Dad. He was fine. And maybe, just maybe, we’d had something to do with that.

‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘Your new friend.’

Kim stepped out from behind her, raising a hand. ‘Morning.’ She was dressed in the same shorts and shirt as yesterday, and had her satchel slung across her.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked me as Mam went back to the kitchen. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘No one ever comes this early,’ I said. ‘We thought you were the telegram boy.’

Kim drew in a sharp breath and put a fist to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I nodded and we went back into the kitchen where Mam poured us both a small glass of milk.

When I sat down, Mam put her hand on mine and squeezed it. ‘Dad’s fine,’ she said quietly. ‘I know it.’

I smiled at her.

‘So you’re from Newcastle?’ Mam said, looking up at Kim. ‘Here to keep safe?’

Kim nodded and wiped her mouth on her forearm. ‘Well, let’s hope we don’t get too many more planes comin’ down on our heads, then, eh?’ Mam said.

‘At least there’s no bombs,’ Kim replied.

‘Oh, we get our fair share of those,’ Mam said. ‘Still, I s’pose it’s worse in the town . . .’ She stopped herself and looked at us, putting her hands on her hips. ‘Listen to me gabbing on when I’ve got things to do,’ she said. ‘Go on, you two, get yourselves out. But don’t go too far. I don’t want you back in those woods again.’

‘But Mam—’

‘No buts, Peter. I don’t even want to think about what almost happened yesterday.’

‘But it’s morning, Mam, the Germans won’t come now.’

‘They came yesterday when it was light. And anyway, there was a parachute, wasn’t there? There might be one of them Germans outside our house right now.’ Mam turned to look at the door as if, for a moment, she really thought there was a German outside. And when I saw that look on her face, seeing her suddenly realise that there might be an enemy on the loose near our village, I had to think quick or she wouldn’t let me go out.

‘He’ll be long gone,’ I said. ‘I know I would be if it was me. An’ if he isn’t then he’s prob’ly dead.’

Mam shuddered, and I wondered if I’d made things worse, but Kim stepped forward and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Dixon, I’ll make sure we don’t go too far. And if there’s any sign of trouble we’ll come right back. I promise.’

Mam stopped with her mouth half open, and she looked at Kim. When she closed her mouth, there was a faint smile on her lips. ‘Well, that’s very refreshin’.’ Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘All right. Just stay out of trouble, the pair of you. An’ I want you straight back if there’s any sign of trouble.’

Mam collected our glasses, taking them to the sink, and while she had her back to us, Kim took the chance to lean over and whisper in my ear. ‘Did you get a blanket?’

I shook my head. In all the confusion of stealing food, I’d completely forgotten about trying to get hold of a blanket.

Kim pulled a face to show her annoyance.

‘Back in a mo’,’ I said, thinking I’d run upstairs and get a blanket. I needed to get my satchel, too, with its cargo of tripe and egg.

‘What is it now?’ Mam asked.

I looked at her and then at Kim, an awkward moment. ‘Err . . . my penknife.’

‘Do you really need it?’ Mam asked.

‘Course I do,’ I said.

‘Lads.’ She looked at Kim for understanding but received none. ‘Go on, then, go and get it.’

I rushed upstairs, wondering how I was going to smuggle a blanket out of the house. We had a few spare in the cupboard and I hoped Mam wouldn’t miss one, but I didn’t know how I was going to get it past her.

I could hear them talking downstairs as I opened the cupboard and grabbed a heavy pink blanket from the pile. I stuffed it up my shirt, but that was no good. It looked like I’d eaten a whole cow, and the corners were sticking out, so I went to my bedroom and thought about putting on a coat, but Mam would think it strange – I never wanted to wear a coat.

Then I had an idea.

I opened my bedroom window, which was at the back of the cottage, and threw it down into the garden. If I ran straight out, I could collect it before we headed over to the woods. I grabbed my satchel and left my room.

On the way downstairs, I remembered the pistol under my bed. I stopped and stood for a moment, deciding we’d need protection if we were going to see the airman, so I went back to my bedroom, took the pistol out of the box and stuck it in my satchel.

‘Ready?’ Mam asked when I came into the kitchen. ‘Got the all-important penknife?’

I patted my pocket.

‘And your satchel, I see. What d’you need that for?’

‘Just ’cause.’ I put one arm across it as if to stop her from taking it.

‘You got something in there?’

‘No. Nowt.’

‘A lot of nowt goin’ on this mornin’,’ Mam said. ‘Are you two up to somethin’?’

‘No,’ I protested. ‘It’s just for . . . stuff. Souvenirs.’ As soon as the word escaped my lips, I knew I shouldn’t have said it.

‘Souvenirs?’ Mam said. ‘You’ll not be going near that crashed plane. If I find out you’ve been anywhere near there, I’ll tan your backside so hard that—’

‘We won’t go anywhere near it, Mrs Dixon,’ Kim stepped in again. ‘I promise.’

‘And you?’ Mam looked at me. ‘You promise, too?’

‘I promise,’ I said, glad she hadn’t made me promise not to go to the woods. She said I wasn’t allowed, but that wasn’t the same as making me promise.

‘And try not to get all clarty,’ she said, coming closer, taking the sleeve of my shirt between her finger and her thumb. ‘Marks like this aren’t easy to get out.’

I glanced down at the dirty brown stain on my sleeve, knowing straight away that it wasn’t mud from the field. It was blood. German blood.

‘Off you go, then,’ she sighed.

But before I could open the door, there was another knock.

I glanced over at Mam again and, once more, she had that look of worry in her expression, as if she were expecting bad news. Only this time she didn’t tell me to go into the scullery. Instead, she brushed down the front of her dress and put a stern look on her face, then she strode to the door and pulled it open.

When I saw Mr Bennett standing on the step, I let out my breath. I hadn’t even realised I’d been holding it.

Beside Mr Bennett was the man who’d been giving the orders at the crash site yesterday. The lieutenant had his feet together as if he was standing to attention. His hands were behind his back and his chin was jutting out, pointing straight at the door. Behind him were Sergeant Wilkes and another two soldiers, with their rifles over their shoulders.

Mam reached out to put her hand on the door frame and I thought I saw her legs give way slightly at the knees. She steadied herself, swallowed hard and forced a smile. ‘Gentlemen.’

Mr Bennett cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so early, Mrs Dixon . . .’ And then he saw it, too. He noticed the way Mam was standing, supporting herself on the door frame, and he suddenly looked concerned. ‘Oh, no, Mrs Dixon, really, it’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s all right. Lieutenant Rogers just wanted to ask you a few questions.’

My mother took a sharp breath. ‘Oh. Oh.’ she looked back at me. ‘I thought . . . Oh.’ She came back into the kitchen and sat down on the chair where Kim had been sitting. ‘Oh, thank goodness for that.’

‘May we come in?’ Mr Bennett asked.

‘Aye. Aye, of course,’ Mam said. ‘Please.’

Mr Bennett stepped in and the officer came with him, removing his cap. Sergeant Wilkes and the other two soldiers remained outside when the officer closed the door behind him.

‘I’m so sorry to have worried you,’ Mr Bennett said coming over to Mam, reaching out for her shoulder, but stopping short of actually touching her. ‘I should have said something straight away. I’ll remember next time.’ He glanced back at the officer. ‘I should’ve thought that when you saw the soldiers you’d think . . .’ He shook his head and looked at me. ‘Hello, Peter. How are you?’

‘Fine.’

Mam waved a hand at me. ‘It’s all right, you two go and play.’

The lieutenant stepped forward, putting his cap under his arm. ‘Actually, it might be better if they stay.’