SPY

Mam stood up in surprise when I came in through the kitchen door.

‘There you are,’ she said, smoothing down her dress and smiling. ‘I was just tellin’ Mr Bennett how you’re out all hours of the day and goodness knows what you get up to.’ She cast a glance at him and then lowered her eyes.

‘No good, I should think,’ said Mr Bennett. He was at the kitchen table, the chair half pulled out so he was sitting sideways on. He would have been close to Mam when she was sitting down.

‘You all right, pet?’ Mam asked. ‘You look a bit pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ I said, but I was still getting over the shock of almost being caught with Erik in the woods. All of that disappeared, though, when I came right into the kitchen, because there was a smell coming from the open door of the scullery that made my belly groan in pleasure.

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘Mr Bennett brought us a chicken.’

‘A whole one?’

Mam nodded and grinned. ‘A whole one.’

‘Well,’ he said, smiling and looking at Mam and then at me. ‘She was hardly laying at all any more, so she wasn’t much use just scratching about. She’s probably not got much meat on her, but I thought it would be a good treat for the two of you.’

‘I was going to save it for tomorrow, but I thought we’d have it for tea,’ Mam said. ‘For a treat.’

‘Well, it is Sunday, so what more perfect time for roast chicken?’

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t like it that Mr Bennett came to the house so much, mostly because of what Trevor Ridley said, but the thought of a whole roast chicken was almost too much to bear. I couldn’t possibly be sulky under those conditions.

‘I’ve asked Mr Bennett to eat with us,’ Mam said. ‘It’s the least we could do, isn’t it, pet?’

I nodded reluctantly.

‘Well, don’t just stand there gawpin’,’ she said. ‘Go and wash your hands.’

The smell in the scullery made my mouth start to water as soon as I went in there. It was such a thick and rich aroma that it seemed to swell around me. My belly groaned again and I put a hand on it and looked across at the range, imagining the chicken roasting inside. No stinking tripe being boiled today.

I washed my hands in the sink, scooping water from the enamelled bowl beside it and rubbing them briefly with the lump of soap that was there. It was misshapen and knobbly because it was the left-over pieces of all the old bars, squeezed together to make one big enough to use.

Mam came in behind me when I was drying my hands and kissed me on the back of the head. ‘Aren’t we lucky?’ she said, ‘Rabbit one day, chicken the next.’

And when I looked at her, I could see how happy she was. I hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time. I was both pleased and disappointed. Pleased to see her that way, but disappointed it wasn’t because of me. It was because of Mr Bennett. And in that moment, my feelings towards him softened just a touch.

‘Why don’t you lay the table while I get it ready?’ Mam said.

We only had a few things that matched, but there was enough for all three of us to at least have a knife and fork.

‘I hear you’ve become quite the rabbit catcher,’ Mr Bennett said as I moved around the table.

‘Mm,’ I said, without looking up.

‘Your mother says you’ve brought a few home. Some good ones.’

‘Not that good, like. Mostly they’re little ’uns.’

‘I suppose we’re all hungry these days,’ he smiled. ‘Even the rabbits.’

‘Aye.’

He sat right back and laced his fingers behind his head. ‘So where’s the best place, then – or is it a trade secret?’

I glanced up at him. ‘Back o’ the woods. There’s not as many as there used to be, but . . .’ I stopped, almost annoyed with myself for being drawn into the conversation. I didn’t want to like Mr Bennett, but I just couldn’t help it.

He smiled and nodded, like he knew what I meant. ‘A few years ago, we’d have been pleased there were no rabbits. These days, though, we wish there were more. Everything’s upside down and topsy-turvy.’

‘That’s what I keep thinkin’,’ I said. ‘Nowt’s right any more.’

Mam came through carrying the chicken on a board and she put it on the table in front of Mr Bennett. ‘I told him to keep away from there, since that crash, but he never listens,’ she said. ‘Will you carve?’

‘Boy’s got to have some fun,’ Mr Bennett said, sitting up and taking the knife. He whisked it against the edge of his fork to sharpen it, just like Dad always did. ‘And if he brings back something to eat, then why stop him?’ He winked at me, then sliced into the chicken, separating the leg from the rest of the bird.

Juices oozed out onto the board and the meat came away easily, the white and dark both visible beneath the crispy skin. It couldn’t have been more perfect.

‘I haven’t been over that way for a while,’ he said, cutting away the other leg. ‘Maybe I’ll go with you one day.’

‘What for?’ I spoke without taking my eyes off the chicken.

‘Just to have a look.’

‘Nowt to look at.’ I watched him cut away the wings.

‘I haven’t checked on the pens for a while.’

‘They’re fine,’ I said.

Mr Bennett looked up.

‘I mean; I’ve checked,’ I said, trying not to sound too defensive. ‘I always check.’

Mr Bennett nodded. ‘Well, then. That’s good.’ He put the knife against the chicken breast and started to slice.

‘I’m keepin’ it all ready for when me da’ gets back,’ I said, looking at Mam and then back at Mr Bennett. ‘For when you need pheasants again.’

‘I think it might be a while before we have birds in there again,’ he said. ‘But, you know, it’s not a bad idea. You could be my helper. Keep an eye on the pens for me, in return for the things I bring for you and your mother.’

‘Eh?’

Mr Bennett stopped carving and looked at me. ‘I know you’re not keen on me trying to help you and your mother . . .’

‘Well, I . . .’

‘. . . so you can do some work in return for it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like looking after the pens, keeping them in good condition, and if I need a job doing, I’ll call on you – how about that?’

I shrugged.

‘That way you’ll be earning these things for you and your mother. The real man of the house.’

‘What kind of jobs?’ I asked.

‘I’ll let you know.’

I looked at Mr Bennett, halfway through carving the chicken, and I looked at Mam standing by the table. She was waiting for me to answer him and I knew what she wanted me to say.

‘All right then,’ I said. ‘Aye.’

‘It’s a deal.’ Mr Bennett put down the knife and reached out his hand. I put out my own and we shook. I squeezed his hand tight so he’d know I was the real man of the house. Just like he’d said.

*

Mam brought potatoes that had been roasted in with the chicken, and there were boiled carrots. She’d even made a thin gravy with the stock.

‘I think it must be more than a year since I had gravy,’ Mam said when she sat down and looked at her plate. ‘I don’t know that I’ll be able to eat all this.’

‘We’ll give it a try, though, eh?’ Mr Bennett smiled at her and then turned to me. ‘I reckon Peter could eat half of it at least. He’s got a hungry look about him.’

That lunch was the best lunch I’ve ever eaten. Nothing I had eaten before tasted as good, and nothing has since. The only thing that would have made it better was if Dad had been there instead of Mr Bennett. Although he wasn’t so bad – he made lots of jokes and told stories and I hadn’t seen Mam so perky in ages. She looked glad that he was there and I enjoyed the way she seemed so . . . lifted.

As I ate, I found myself thinking about Erik, too, alone in the woods with no one. So, when Mam and Mr Bennett were talking and looking at each other, I slipped a piece of chicken breast off my plate and into my pocket. I could feel it, wet and warm against my leg and, as soon as I could, I went upstairs and wrapped it in what was left of the already ripped page of my comic. I’d had to throw the last piece away because it was covered in egg. I wished I’d kept a piece of the scrap paper I’d found in the sideboard, because I knew that Mr McPherson probably wouldn’t give me anything for the comic with a whole page missing, but that didn’t matter. I wanted to take something back for Erik.

Afterwards, because it had been such a special lunch, we didn’t sit in the kitchen. Instead, we went into the front room – somewhere we only ever went on very special occasions. I sat on the settee next to Mam while Mr Bennett sat on the rocking chair by the window that looked out onto the village and across the sea.

‘I was thinking about that German,’ Mr Bennett said. ‘The one who came down on the parachute.’

I looked up with a start. ‘Have you heard owt? Do they know where he might be?’

‘No. All they have is the parachute – or what’s left of it,’ he said. ‘Nothing else. It’s as if he just vanished.’

‘Vanished?’ Mam asked. ‘You mean he’s still around?’

‘Looks like he might be.’

‘I reckon he’s long gone,’ I said.

‘Or maybe he’s just hiding.’ Mr Bennett leant forward and looked at me. ‘You haven’t seen any sign of him, have you?’

‘Me? No. Why would I have seen any sign of ’im?’ I glanced sideways at Mam, who was looking at me with narrowed eyes.

‘Have you seen somethin’?’ she asked.

‘No. Course not.’

She stared at me as if she was trying to read my mind.

‘Honest,’ I said.

‘The reason I ask,’ said Mr Bennett, ‘is that I thought you could be my spy.’

‘Spy?’

‘Mm. It can be one of your jobs.’

‘Doin’ what?’

‘Well, you get out and about. You must see things. So, if you see anything suspicious, I want you to tell me or your mother straight away. How about that?’

I nodded.

He sat back in his chair. ‘Seems to me those woods would be a good place to hide,’ he said looking out the window.

‘I don’t like ’im playin’ there,’ Mam said. ‘I’ve told ’im that before. He’s not supposed to—’

‘There’s no one there,’ I said.

Then Mr Bennett turned to me again. ‘There’s a shed, isn’t there? Maybe he could hole up in there.’

‘The soldiers looked,’ I said. ‘Just the other day. He’s not there. Me and Kim play there sometimes and—’

‘I told you not to play there and I know you don’t take the blindest bit o’ notice of me, but now . . .’ Mam shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’ She looked to Mr Bennett for his opinion. ‘Should I keep ’im in, d’you think?’

Mr Bennett kept his eyes on Mam as he thought about that, and there was a soft look about him. As if a contented smile was just at the corners of his eyes. Then he shrugged and said, ‘I think Peter’s a sensible boy. He’s the man of the house now, remember.’ He looked at me. ‘You’ll be safe, won’t you? If you see any Germans, you’ll let us know, won’t you?’

‘Aye.’

*

When Mr Bennett was gone, Mam put a fire under the copper in the scullery to heat some water and we listened to the wireless while we waited. The copper was a sort of metal vat on four legs with a wooden lid and a space underneath for lighting a fire. It took a while to boil the water, but when it was ready, I went outside to get the tin bath. There was nowhere to keep it inside, so we kept it hung it on the fence in the garden. I brought it in and put it in the kitchen, in front of the fireplace, then I pulled the curtains for privacy. Mam ran the hot water from a tap at the bottom of the copper into an enamelled bucket and took it to the bath. It took a few journeys, but not many. Four inches was as deep as we were allowed, so it barely covered my backside when I got in. It wasn’t too bad in the summer, but in the winter it was freezing, even in front of the fire. I was just glad I only had to have a bath once a week.

When I was in, Mam brought the knobbly lump of squashed-together bits of pink Lifebuoy and scrubbed my back while I stared down at the water. I was thinking about Erik, and how much he needed a bath and a change of clothes. Kim and I had mentioned trying to get him something else to wear, and I now thought it was time I tried to do something about that.

When Mam had rinsed the soap off me, she sat back on the hooky mat and looked at me. Her eyes were ringed red, almost like she’d been crying.

‘I love you,’ she said.

‘You look sad.’

‘I’m not sad,’ she replied. ‘I’ve got my Peter to make me happy.’

‘What about Mr Bennett,’ I asked. ‘He makes you happy, doesn’t he?’

Mam made that sad face again. ‘I s’pose he does in a way. It was nice of ’im to come round. He’s nice, don’t you think?’

I shrugged.

Mam sighed. ‘I understand why you try so hard to not like ’im, I really do, but Jack – Mr Bennett – is a nice man. He’s kind and funny and thoughtful and he’s done a lot for us, Peter. He’s done a lot for me. He’s a good friend, that’s all.’

I ran the soap along my arm.

‘He looks after us. Brings us things we need – things we can’t get.’

‘He’s always here,’ I said.

‘He comes to check on us. Make sure we’re all right. He does it for your da’ as much as he does it for you and me. And I like the company.’

‘What about me?’ I asked. ‘Am I not company?’

Mam raised her eyebrows and looked away to the window. ‘Not in the same way, Peter, no.’ When she looked back at me, she had that sad expression again. ‘Grown-ups sometimes need a different kind of company. You don’t understand that now, but you will when you’re older.’

‘I’m old enough,’ I said.

Mam shook her head. ‘Not yet, son.’

‘You like ’im, though.’

‘Aye. He’s a good man, Peter. He’s not your da’ but he’s a good man. And I think he’s a bit lonely, like me, so it’s good to have a friend; someone to talk to.’

‘Like me and Kim?’ I said. ‘Someone your own age?’ It made sense. I talked about things with Kim that I didn’t talk about with Mam.

‘Aye.’ Mam smiled. ‘Aye. A bit like that.’

‘And he’s not your fancy man?’

‘No, pet, he’s not. Sometimes it’s difficult but I’m true to your da’, I promise.’

‘What do you mean, “it’s difficult”?’

‘I mean . . . well . . . I haven’t seen him for such a long time and . . . I miss him, Peter. It’s hard without him. I need him here.’

‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Me too.’

After my bath, I went upstairs while Mam got in. I knew that after she’d had a bath, she’d put our clothes in the water to soak, so she’d be downstairs for a while yet. I had at least a few minutes to do what I needed to do. So I went to my bedroom, quickly put on my pyjamas, and then slipped across the landing into Mam’s bedroom.

There was a dark-framed double bed against the far wall, close to the window, and I tried not to imagine Dad pushing himself up on one elbow in bed to ask what was wrong. I stood there, as if rooted to the spot, staring at his side of the bed. I hardly ever went into that room. Even now, I almost never went in. But I remembered times, before the war, when nightmares or a full bladder woke me and I went into their room. It was always Dad who would wake up first, as if he’d been waiting for me.

I wished he were there right now.

Hearing a scrape from downstairs, I shook myself and reminded myself why I was here.

There was a dresser on the right-hand side, made of a different-coloured wood, with a mirror over the top of it. On my left was the wardrobe, and that’s what I went to, opening it up and looking in at the clothes. There wasn’t much to look at. A handful of Mam’s dresses hanging on one side, and a handful of Dad’s shirts on the other. There were a few pairs of Dad’s trousers on a small shelf at the top.

Movement downstairs again. The sound of water sloshing about in the metal tub as if Mam was getting out.

I stood on tiptoes to take a pair of trousers, but when I pulled at them, the other pairs followed, the whole pile falling out into a heap on the floor.

A door closed downstairs and suddenly everything was happening in a rush. I knew Mam’s routine and I knew I had to be quick. I didn’t have much time. Mam had just been into the scullery to get the washing powder. She’d poured some into the tub, taken it back, and closed the door. Any moment now, she’d be coming up the stairs. She’d walk right in and find me taking clothes and then . . .

I got down on my knees and grabbed at the trousers, folding them carefully but as quickly as I could. My hands were trembling, my fingers not moving fast enough, but I managed to get the trousers into a neat pile and I stretched up to slide them back onto the shelf, just as I heard the kitchen door open.

A creak. Loud and clear. The first floorboard in the hallway.

Mam was on her way. Any second now she’d come in and catch me.

I snatched a shirt from the rail and moved the other ones about to fill the space where one was missing. I closed the wardrobe and turned around, hurrying to the bedroom door. I slipped out of Mam’s room and darted across to my own, just as Mam put her foot on the bottom stair.

‘Peter?’ she called. ‘What you up to?’

‘Eh?’ I put my head around the door.

‘You up to something?’ she asked, coming up the stairs.

‘No,’ I said, showing her my most innocent face.

‘Hm. I thought I saw you coming across from my room.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Not me.’

When Mam got to the top of the stairs, she looked at me. Then she turned to go to her room. She pushed the door open and stopped, turning around. ‘Stay out of trouble,’ she said. And then she went in and closed the door.

*

That night I lay in bed looking at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about everything that had happened over the last few days and beyond. I tried to remember what it had been like before the war had started, but I couldn’t.

I thought about Erik in the woods and I thought about Kim stuck with her Aunt Hillary, and I thought about Mam and whether or not she was happy. I thought about a hundred things – a thousand things. And muddled into all those things as I fell asleep, I wondered if I might have heard the sound of the kitchen door opening, the low murmur of voices. But my mind told me it was only the beginnings of a dream and I sank deeper until sleep took me away from everything.

It was feet on the stairs and the horrifying wail of sirens that brought me back.