Pack Up Your Troubles (22 page)

Alone in the ladies room, Connie allowed herself a short cry and then splashed her face with water. ‘Pull yourself together,’ she told her reflection. She was a professional. A nurse. She dealt with this sort of thing every day, but, oh dear, it was so very different being on the other side of the fence. This was agony … her chest hurt and her eyes were stinging with unshed tears. She shivered involuntarily. On the wards, she could be sympathetic but remain detached. She had a reputation for being a gentle and considerate nurse, someone people could talk to, but this was different. This was her brother. Her Kenneth. Connie took a deep breath, several in fact. After that, she powdered her nose and put on some lipstick. Her last move was to rearrange a curl or two and then taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she practised a bright smile and then she knew she was ready.

Seventeen

The police were outside the Frenchie’s workshop. Had he seen them before he came down the little lane, Isaac would have ridden straight past the entrance and gone back to his caravan still parked behind the hedge in Titnore Lane, but one of them had spotted him. Isaac had never liked the police but if he made a run for it now, whatever they’d come for, they’d decide it was him. He’d have to take a chance.

Isaac had enjoyed the winter months. For the first time in his life he felt he had a purpose. He’d stayed because his father had wanted to stay. The old man had become nostalgic in his old age. He wasn’t well either. The rest of the family had moved on but Isaac had decided to take up the Frenchie’s offer to learn about motors. Actually, it wasn’t the Frenchie who taught him. An ex-soldier from REME was in one end of the workshop helping ex-servicemen get on their feet and the Frenchie had persuaded the bloke to take Isaac on as well. Isaac had had little formal schooling but young as he was, he had a sound business head on his shoulders. Since the end of the war, there were a lot of ex-service vehicles available. Plenty of people were buying and he had a shrewd idea that before long, once things started to pick up, everybody would want their own car. Reuben had worked in the fields, his uncle was a dealer in scrap metal, and his brother-in-law was good with wood so Isaac decided to become a mechanic. To his surprise, he found he enjoyed it. That was a bonus.

The freezing cold weather had put a bit of a dampener on things. He had no income and had to rely on his wits for a few weeks, trapping the odd pheasant and fishing in the river Rife, but he avoided anything illegal and stuck with it, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they could get back to fixing motors.

Isaac parked his bike against the wall and sauntered into the garage whistling a tune. Perhaps the police car had come in for repairs. The Frenchie and the two burly policemen turned towards him and Isaac’s whistle died on his lips. ‘What’s up?’

‘Someone has complained,’ said the Frenchie.

‘Complained? About what?’

‘There have been some thefts,’ said the copper with the sergeant’s stripes. All three of them stared at him hard.

‘This is Sergeant Palmer,’ said the Frenchie. ‘He wants to ask you some questions.’

‘Why me?’ Isaac protested.

‘Oh, I know all about you lot,’ said the sergeant with a sneer, ‘so don’t you go getting on your high horse, my lad.’

Isaac felt a rage creeping up into his chest. For the first time in his life he’d done nothing wrong but he knew what was coming. He was the gypsy. The man of ‘no fixed abode’. If somebody was thieving, it had to be him. His eyes narrowed. It wouldn’t matter what he said, they’d pin it on him anyway. He made a split decision, one he would forever regret. Turning on his heel, he legged it. He didn’t get far. The copper he’d seen just outside the door stuck his foot out and Isaac went flying.

‘Looks like we’ve found our culprit,’ said the sergeant with a satisfied smirk.

The Frenchie shook his head. ‘No, no. I cannot believe it. He wouldn’t …’

‘When you’ve been in the job as long as I have,’ interrupted the sergeant, ‘you get a nose for this sort of thing.’

The police officers had dragged Isaac to his feet and cuffed him. ‘It wasn’t me,’ he cried helplessly. ‘I ain’t done nothing.’

The Frenchie watched him being bundled into the police car and turned back into the garage. Isaac had been at the workshop every day helping out and learning whatever he could about motors. They slipped Isaac the odd pound or two and gave him a pie at lunchtime but there wasn’t enough money coming in to pay him a wage. True, Isaac had helped them with the old folks when the weather was really bad, but stealing from them? Eugène couldn’t believe it. But what had happened to Isaac wasn’t the end of his troubles. Because he had few customers, the mechanic who shared part of his workshop couldn’t pay his share of the rent. The terrible weather had meant that Eugène was losing money hand over fist and he couldn’t keep going much longer. Nobody was buying luxuries like Simeon’s carvings or his own paintings and the bicycle repairs he usually did completely dried up because of the bad weather. He’d got a few odd jobs but even though he was engaged to his daughter, Councillor Hampton was already breathing down his neck for a good return on his investment. Mavis didn’t seem to care that he had no money. She spent it anyway. Eugène had ploughed everything he’d got into the workshop. He had built up a sizeable bit of goodwill by helping the locals in the snow, but now the thefts had left an unwelcome blight on his good deeds. All that mattered now was racking up some more business. Pity about Isaac. The boy could have made his way in life. He was a damned good mechanic, a natural. Then it occurred to him that the police would be searching Isaac’s caravan before the day was out. The boy’s father didn’t look too good the last time he saw him and would be needing a hot meal. He’d better get up there and check on things.

‘Hello, Kenneth.’

As he heard Connie’s soft greeting, Kenneth leapt to his feet knocking his chair over in the process. ‘What are you doing here?’ He had flung his arm across his face. ‘No, I don’t want you here. Go away, Connie. Leave me alone.’

Roger righted the chair and Kenneth sank into it, his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking.

‘Shhh,’ Connie soothed. ‘It’s all right, Kenny.’

The rest of the men melted away. They’d seen reunions like this before. Some of them had even had their own. They were painful, but once everyone got over the terrible shock, they were usually therapeutic.

Someone tapped Roger on the shoulder. ‘Fancy a drink, mate?’

‘I thought he’d agreed to her coming,’ Roger accused.

The scarred man looked a little sheepish. ‘He’ll be fine in a minute. You look as if you need a stiff one and this place is famous for its grogging parties.’ His benefactor was about twenty-three with a deeply scarred face. His eyebrows were missing and his hairline began somewhere near the crown of his head. ‘So, what’s your poison?’

Roger followed the others indoors.

Connie was crouched down in front of Kenneth, with one hand on his knee and the other on his arm. ‘I’m here now, Kenny,’ she said softly. ‘I’m here.’

Eventually he regained control of his emotions and lifted his head. Connie stood, bending over him with her arms around his shoulders, her forehead to his forehead.

‘Oh, Connie,’ he wept, ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’

It took a while before either of them could talk. She drew a chair close to him and put her hands over his poor scarred hand and the stump. She kissed his cheek and smiled up at him as if he were the same handsome brother who had left home all those years ago. To her, he was. To her he might be damaged but he was her perfect brother, her Kenny, and she had him back at last.

A nurse put a tea tray on the table beside them. Connie looked up and mouthed a thank you.

‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ she asked.

Connie shook her head. Kenneth tried to get something out of his pocket and the nurse anticipated his movement. Pulling out a neatly folded handkerchief, she shook it and handed it to him. ‘Do you want me to ask someone to come and look at your pedicle?’

It was only then that Connie really looked at the long trunk-like skin hanging from his nose. She guessed crying must make it feel uncomfortable.

‘You do it,’ Kenneth told the nurse, and while the nurse busied herself cleaning him up, Connie turned her attention to the tea. There were three cups and saucers on the tray but Roger had disappeared. She could hear the sound of laughter coming from inside. No need to worry about him. He was obviously all right.

‘How did you find me?’ said Kenneth when the nurse had gone. ‘Did Mum ask you to come?’

Connie shook her head. It took a while to explain that most likely Ga had prevented their mother from knowing where Kenneth was. ‘You know we’ve moved to Goring-by-Sea?’ she said.

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Kenneth. ‘Was that because of me?’

Connie grasped his fingers. ‘Of course not!’ she cried. In truth she’d never put the two things together but this wasn’t the time to go into all that. ‘Mum got married again and Ga bought the nurseries.’

Kenneth was staggered. ‘Mum got married?’

‘To Clifford Craig,’ said Connie. She wished she hadn’t blurted it out like that. It must have been a shock to hear their mother had married again.

Kenneth beamed. ‘I remember him. He was a really nice bloke.’

‘He still is,’ Connie laughed in relief. ‘They have a little girl now. Mandy.’ She opened her bag and took out the photographs she had brought especially to show him. Kenneth studied them carefully. ‘You can keep them if you like,’ said Connie. He gazed lovingly at the family picture with unshed tears glistening in his eyes. They talked for ages. Kenneth wanted to hear all about the WAAFs and now her nursing experience.

‘I love it,’ smiled Connie. There was a lull in the conversation and then Connie said, ‘What happened to you?’

‘You may not think so to look at me,’ he said, ‘but I’m lucky to be alive. I lost the undercarriage in ’45. We thought we’d be all right but as soon as we realised we were on fire, God alone knows how it landed. I can hardly remember what happened except for the bloody flames. They came between my legs and were twenty feet above me. My hand was burnt straight away and it seized up altogether. Funnily enough, I didn’t even feel my face.’

‘Oh, Kenny,’ said Connie.

‘I vaguely remember them dragging me out of the cockpit,’ he went on. ‘I was on fire and they rolled me in the grass to smother the flames. The rest of the crew …’ he faltered and swallowed hard. Connie squeezed his hand again and he took a deep breath. ‘They took me to the local hospital and they did the best they could, but eventually, I got sent here. Best thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Mum will be so relieved to know you are still alive.’

His head jerked up. ‘You mustn’t tell Mum,’ he said.

‘But Kenny …’

‘No,’ he cried. ‘Absolutely not. I don’t want her to see me like this. Please Connie, you’ve got to promise me you won’t tell her.’

Connie stared at him helplessly. ‘She wouldn’t care, Kenny. So long as you’re alive and on the road to recovery, she’d look past all this.’

‘No!’ Kenneth insisted. ‘I’d sooner top myself than let her see me like this.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Connie cried. ‘Please don’t say such things. I can’t bear it. All right, I won’t tell, but please don’t ask me to keep it a secret forever. Mum would never forgive me.’

‘Just let me get this thing sorted out first,’ said Kenneth pointing to his nose.

Connie nodded bleakly. This wasn’t what she was expecting. She’d wanted a fairy-tale reunion and for Kenneth to come home. He looked exhausted.

‘Do you need to rest?’ she said. ‘I’ll go if you’re tired.’

‘I am a bit,’ he said.

‘I have a train to catch anyway,’ she smiled.

Kenneth rang a little bell the nurse had placed on the tea tray. ‘Who’s the chap you came with? Is he your beau?’

Connie shook her head. ‘Just a friend.’ Out of the corner of her eye she could see Roger hovering near the doorway. She nodded for him to come out on the terrace.

‘I’m glad you’ve got someone, Connie,’ smiled Kenneth. ‘I did wonder after that business with Stan Saul.’

Connie shot to her feet. Hearing that name again after all this time still made her feel physically sick. She staggered and would have fallen had not Roger reached her and grabbed her arm. Kenneth had risen from his seat as well. ‘I’m an absolute idiot,’ he said. ‘I never should have mentioned him … sorry.’

Connie’s mind was a complete jumble. Those horrible memories she’d spent so long pushing away came rushing back. Stan kissing her on the mouth, sucking her lips into his own mouth and pushing his tongue between her teeth. It was horrible and his smoky breath was disgusting. She hated it. Her head was spinning. Now she could still see Stan flying down the stairs dressed only in his shirt, his hands covering his modesty and when he reached the bottom, his clothes hit him on the back of his head. Then he’d looked up at her and pointed his finger. She shuddered. Even now, just the thought of him scared her half to death.

‘She’s going to faint,’ cried Kenneth. ‘Do something. Dear God, I never meant for this to happen. I only said his name.’

Roger forced Connie back onto the chair and the nurse who appeared in answer to the bell took charge. ‘Breathe slowly,’ she told Connie as she made her put her head between her legs. Roger stood over her with quiet and puzzled concern. Someone gave Connie a glass of water and she gradually stopped trembling and regained her composure.

‘We’ve put Kenneth on his bed,’ the nurse said eventually. ‘It’s probably best if you say goodbye to him now. He’s very upset about what happened.’

Now recovered and leaning on Roger’s arm, Connie went to say goodbye to Kenneth. Roger waited at the foot of the bed as brother and sister whispered together.

‘It was because of Stan that you left home, wasn’t it?’ said Connie.

Kenneth hung his head and nodded. ‘Ga blamed me for what happened,’ he said, ‘but I promise you, that bastard hoodwinked me just the same as he did you.’

‘I know,’ said Connie. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’