My Friend the Enemy (19 page)

‘Ahhh,' he said. ‘
Gut
.'

I sat beside him and put my fingers in the water. Despite the warm day, the burn ran almost as cold as ice.

Erik leant over to dip his own fingers into it, flicking the water at my face.

‘What did you do that for?' I said, wiping it away. ‘That's freezin', that is.'

Erik looked at me, his face serious, then a smile cracked across his lips and he started to laugh.

‘Oh, you think that's funny? Well, how about this?' I said, flicking water at him from my own fingers.

Erik flicked back, so I cupped my hand in the water and threw it up into his face. It hit him with a splash, showering clear water over his shoulders, into his short cropped hair, and he shut his eyes, the cold shocking him. When he opened his eyes again, he was laughing. A good, happy sound that made everything go away.

There was no war in that moment. There were no enemies. There was no hiding. There was only two people, like brothers, playing in the woods.

We splashed each other in a flurry of water, each of us laughing, until we heard voices. Erik stopped and cocked his head to one side, putting a finger to his lips. ‘Shh.'

I took my hands out of the burn and listened.

Footsteps. Voices.

Someone else was in the woods.

I stared at Erik as if mesmerised, and remembered the soldiers who had broken into Dad's shed; how Sergeant Wilkes had stabbed his bayonet into the undergrowth, cutting into Kim's leg.

A twig broke somewhere out in the trees and it was like an alarm breaking the spell. We had to get away. We had to hide.

I shook my head and stood up, offering a hand to Erik. Quickly, I helped him to his feet and supported him as he limped back to our hiding place.

‘Who's there?' Sergeant Wilkes' voice came from among the trees beyond the burn. ‘Come on out.'

It was always him. Whatever happened, the sergeant was always there, as if there were ten of him spread all over the village. Mam would have said he was like a bad penny.

‘We heard you. We know you're there.'

The sound of his voice coming closer sent shivers along my spine and all I wanted to do was hide, but as I was about to crawl into the den, something occurred to me: Sergeant Wilkes knew someone was here. If I hid with
Erik, he would have his men search this place again and again. They would scour it until they found Erik, and they would kill him. The bayonet that had cut Kim was proof of that. And even if they didn't find him, they would post men in here, or they would keep coming back, and this place wouldn't be safe any more.

Sergeant Wilkes had heard us, so he would have to find someone or he would not stop looking. The only thing I could do was to let him find
me
. It was the only way to protect Erik.

I grabbed my satchel and my stick and put out my hand, telling Erik to stay where he was, then I turned and ran back to the burn. I jumped over it and went towards the sound of people moving in the woods. I got as far away from Erik as I could, and waited for the soldiers to come to me.

‘We're going to find you. There's no hiding,' they were saying.

I stopped and put my hands in the air.

‘I'm here,' I said. ‘It's just me.'

‘Who's
me
?'

‘Peter Dixon,' I said.

‘Well, stay where you are.'

In a few moments, I saw two soldiers coming through the trees, rifles pointed out in front of them. Sergeant Wilkes was there, just like I thought. I didn't know the other one, but I'd seen him in the village before. He looked about the same age as Erik except he was quite short – not much taller than some of the older boys at school – and he had a hard look in his eyes as if he wanted
to hurt someone.

They came right over to me, still aiming their weapons.

‘It's always you, isn't it?' the sergeant said. ‘Poppin' up wherever I go. What is it this time, eh? What you doin' in here?'

‘Nowt. Just playin',' I said. ‘I was dammin' the burn.'

‘This place is out of bounds.'

‘I didn't know.'

‘You live in that cottage yonder, don't you?'

‘Hawthorn Lodge,' I said. ‘Just over the hill.'

Sergeant Wilkes watched me with suspicious eyes, then relaxed a little and lowered his rifle. He waved a hand, telling the other soldier to do the same.

‘All right, then,' said the short one. ‘Let's see your identity card.'

‘Don't be a clot, Banks,' said the sergeant. ‘I know who he is. He's always hangin' about with that lass – the one what looks like a lad.'

‘She doesn't look like a lad,' I said.

‘So where is she?' the sergeant asked.

‘What?'

‘We heard voices,' said Banks, still with that hard look in his eyes. ‘You're not hidin' something, are you?'

‘Hidin'? No. Course not.'

‘So who were you talkin' to? I'd bet that lass is round here somewhere. The pair of you are always hangin' about like you're up to somethin'.'

‘She
was
'ere,' I said, thinking fast. ‘That lass, Kim. She got scared and ran off when she heard you. Said she was going home.'

‘Got scared?' the sergeant asked.

‘Well, she
is
a lass,' I said.

The soldiers both laughed and that seemed to make them relax even more.

‘Right then, you, come with us.' Sergeant Wilkes stepped aside and waited for me to go past him, then both soldiers followed me out of the woods, and when we came to the barbed wire fence, I saw that Trevor Ridley and his friends were waiting.

‘Told you there was someone in there,' said Trevor. ‘Might've known it would be
him
. I'll bet that lass is in there somewhere too.'

‘Haven't you lot got homes to go to?' said the sergeant as he climbed over the fence, snagging his trousers. ‘Haven't you got better things to do than drag me out here for this?'

‘We thought it might be somethin' good,' Adam Thornhill said. ‘That escaped German, maybe.'

‘Aye,' Bob Cummings managed. ‘That escaped German.' ‘But all they found was you.' Trevor looked at me, then turned to the soldiers. ‘Couldn't you have just shot 'im?'

As the second soldier, Banks, went over the fence, he snagged his trousers, too, except his didn't come off so well. They had caught fast and he couldn't swing his leg over, so he sort of hopped on the spot for a while, trying to release them from the barbs. Trevor Ridley couldn't stop himself from laughing and the soldier was none too pleased.

‘Get lost,' Banks said once he'd freed himself. ‘Or maybe I'll think about shootin'
you
.' He came so close to Trevor
that their toes were almost touching, and he looked at him with a menacing stare. Their eyes were almost level, but Banks looked even meaner than Trevor did.

‘You wouldn't dare.'

‘Just try me.' He stepped even closer to Trevor.

Trevor looked at me and sneered, actually lifting the corner of his lip. ‘I'm still going to get you, squirt.'

‘Not now, you're not,' Banks told him. ‘Go on, push off.'

Trevor Ridley and his friends backed away a few steps and then stopped. Trevor pointed at me, saying, ‘I mean it,' then he turned and the three of them walked away.

‘I reckon you want to stay away from him,' Banks said to me when Trevor was gone. ‘Nasty piece of work.'

‘Couple of years and the army'll have him,' Sergeant Wilkes muttered. ‘
And
you.' He pointed at me. ‘Stay out of them woods. There's a German soldier on the loose and he's likely to skin you alive if he finds you.'

‘Why would he do that?' I asked.

‘What?'

‘Why would he skin me alive?'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Well, if you were in Germany and you found a German lad, would you want to skin 'im alive?'

Sergeant Wilkes thought about that, looking at me as if I'd spoken a foreign language.

‘Well,' he said eventually. ‘Of course not. I'm not German, am I?'

SPY

M
am 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?'