The Girl With No Name (18 page)

He banged on the door and when there was no response he called through the letter box. ‘Lisa! Lisa? It’s me, Harry. Are you in there, Lisa? I got something for you.’ The house remained silent. It was obviously empty.

Where is she? Harry wondered. Now he’d got her a present he wanted to give it to her.

Hilda’s! he thought. That’s where she’ll be, round Hilda’s house.

He decided to go round there and wait for her to come out, then they could walk back to Kemble Street together. He wouldn’t knock on the door or anything, he’d just wait for her, like he did outside school sometimes.

He set off down the road, back the way he’d come. He knew where Hilda lived. He’d followed the girls home from school on one occasion just to find out. Now he headed for Grove Avenue, determined to see Lisa before he went back to the hostel.

As Dan and Naomi had before him, he turned the corner into Grove Avenue and came to an abrupt halt. There was a yawning chasm where two houses had been completely destroyed and one, he was sure, was Hilda’s. He stared at the sagging houses on either side of the gap, both unstable, both open to the elements. The front door of one of them stood out, a brave royal blue. He remembered that door; he’d admired the colour and it was the house next to Hilda’s.

They’ve been bombed out, he thought with a jolt. So where’ve they gone?

At that moment the door of the house behind him opened and a man in ARP uniform came out.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘I’m the local warden. Are you looking for somebody?’

‘I... I’m friend of Langs,’ Harry said uncertainly. ‘That is their house? The one bombed? Are they OK? Where they gone to?’

‘A friend of the Langs?’ The warden looked him up and down. He didn’t look the sort of youngster who’d have been friendly with the Lang family.

‘I was at school with Hilda,’ Harry said, sensing the man’s reluctance to tell him anything. ‘I came to see how she is...’

‘I see.’ The warden’s attitude softened a little. ‘Well, I’m sorry to tell you that they took a direct hit. No survivors.’

Harry stared at him incredulously. ‘You mean they’re dead?’

‘I’m afraid so, son,’ replied the warden. ‘The whole family, and another friend. Perhaps you knew her too, Lisa someone?’

Harry felt the whole world swing round him. ‘Lisa?’ he whispered. ‘Lisa?’

‘Afraid so. Sorry to have to break the news to you sudden, like this. Her poor parents was here yesterday, looking for her. Broke my heart to have to tell them, an’ all. She’d spent the day with the Langs and was in the house when the raid came.’

‘Did they... did you find bodies? Lisa’s body?’

‘There weren’t much to find,’ the warden said soberly. ‘They took what there was away first thing yesterday. Bulldozer’s coming in any day. Have to take down them other two houses. They ain’t safe, neither.’ He looked hard at Harry’s face, completely drained of colour and said, ‘You all right, mate?’

Harry gulped hard. ‘Will be,’ he said. ‘Will be soon, just shock, you know?’ He gave one last look at the bomb site and then turned and walked away.

Once he was out of sight of the still-inquisitive warden, Harry broke into a run. He ran to the park, to the bench where he and Lisa always met. It was warm and sunny; the park looked as it always had, except for the sandbagged gun emplacement at the far end. The trees were dressed in their autumn finery, yellow and orange and gold. The ducks still quacked on the pond, children still played on the swings and slid down the slide, watched by their mothers.

How can all this be going on as if nothing has happened? thought Harry fiercely. How can the world simply go on as if nothing had happened?

He remembered the time when the Duke had first been bombed, when Lisa’s friend Mary had died. What had he said then? Something like ‘she ain’t the first and she won’t be the last’. Lisa had accused him of not caring, and she’d been right, but he’d promised he’d care about her. He’d tempted fate, he’d said lots more were going to die, but not Lisa, brave Lisa from Hanau.

He thought of the way he’d put her on the bus to go home by herself and felt himself go cold. If he’d gone with her she might not have gone to Hilda’s, she might have stayed with him till it was time to go home. No, the raid came too early, but if he
had
stayed with her he would have taken her into a shelter somewhere. He’d have kept her safe. Except he couldn’t have stayed with her. He had to meet that Dickett bloke for Mikey. He knew he wouldn’t have dared go back to Mikey and say, ‘Sorry, couldn’t make the meet, had to take a girl home instead.’ Take a girl home! That sounded as if she was his girlfriend, which would be worse. No, there was no way he could have missed the meeting with Dickett. Mikey’s business had to come before anything else, or there’d be major trouble.

He sat on in the park, thinking about what he could or couldn’t have done, and then he suddenly remembered that the warden bloke had said there was little left to find. What if Lisa hadn’t gone to Hilda’s? After all, he, Harry, knew that she hadn’t been there the whole day like she was meant to be. Suppose she hadn’t gone there at all? For a moment hope sparked, only to be doused again with cold common sense. If she hadn’t gone to Hilda’s, where had she gone?

But as he gave this even more thought he realised that he had to tell Lisa’s foster parents that Lisa had been with him for much of the day and, just possibly, hadn’t been in the Langs’ house when it was hit. They would know where else she might go. Decision taken, he jumped to his feet and set off for Kemble Street, afraid if he lingered and thought about it some more, he might not go.

It was creeping towards dusk as he approached the house. No lights were showing, but he assumed the blackout was in place and hoped they were at home. He walked straight up to the front door and listened. He could hear the wireless on inside and so, taking his courage in his hands, he knocked loudly.

The wireless was turned down and a woman’s voice called, ‘Who is it?’ Harry drew a deep breath and called back, ‘Harry Black. I’m friend of Lisa’s.’

Immediately the door was flung open and the shadow of a woman was outlined against the deeper darkness of inside.

‘Come in, quickly,’ she cried. ‘Do you know where she is? Is she with you? Oh, thank God, thank God.’

Harry passed into the house and as soon as the door was shut the woman put on the light.

‘Who did you say you were? Oh, come in. Come into the kitchen and tell me where she is.’

Harry followed her into the kitchen where a man and another woman were sitting at the table.

‘He’s a friend of Lisa’s,’ she cried.

The man jumped to his feet. ‘Are you saying you know where Lisa is?’ he demanded.

Harry looked at their expectant faces and slowly shook his head. The man sank back into his chair and the woman let out a cry of despair. The second woman took her hand and led her back to the chair where she’d been sitting.

‘Who are you?’ asked the man.

‘Mr Federman, Mrs Federman.’ Harry looked at them as they nodded. ‘I don’t know where Lisa is, I wish I did.’

‘You said you were a friend,’ said Dan.

‘I was... I am. From Hanau, the same as Lisa. Same train. Met her at school. Lisa chased by some Nazis...’

‘Nazis? Here in England?’

‘Fascist boys,’ Harry said. ‘Hit her because she’s German. Teachers didn’t see. But I see.’

‘So what happened?’

‘You can see I’m a Jew. So can the Hitler Youth, so I learned to fight. These Nazi boys... I grab the gang leader and I beat him. I said I’ll break his arm but Lisa said “No!” I said if they touch her again or shout names, I will come back and next time I
will
break their arms. They all ran away.’

‘And it worked?’

‘Yes, it worked. And after that Lisa and me are friends.’

‘But we know nothing about you. Why didn’t she tell us about you?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Dunno. Her secret.’

‘So, why have you come here now?’ asked Dan, still wondering if he could believe all this youth was saying.

‘Because Lisa not at Hilda’s house on Saturday. Up west with me.’

‘What? Up west? Where?’

‘To West End.’

‘Why? No, never mind that. Where is she now?’

‘Dunno. She left West End on a bus to come home. Today I hear Hilda’s house is bombed. Everyone killed. But maybe Lisa wasn’t in Hilda’s house. Maybe she was still on bus when the bombers came.’

‘Was she going to Hilda’s when she left you?’ asked Naomi, speaking for the first time since Harry had begun his story.

‘She said yes. She wanted not to tell you lies. She told you she was going to Hilda, so she must go there, but not all day. Perhaps not there when raid comes.’ Harry was vehement now. ‘
Must
be still on bus.’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Dan said. ‘The house wasn’t bombed until the second raid. She must have gone there as she planned. She didn’t come home here. We think she stayed there...’ his voice quavered, ‘to be safe.’

Harry’s shoulders slumped. He had been so sure that Lisa must have been somewhere else. ‘May be hurt somewhere?’ he suggested, but Naomi shook her head.

‘I’ve been round all the hospitals. No one’s heard of her. She ain’t in any of them.’

For a moment the room was silent, but the silence was suddenly rent by the howl of the air raid siren.

Dan stood up. ‘Better go,’ he said. ‘You all go down in the cellar.’

The two women got slowly to their feet, but Harry looked at Dan. ‘Not to shelter?’ he asked.

‘No, firefighting,’ said Dan, and put on his coat.

‘I come,’ Harry said. ‘Fight fires.’

Dan gave him a sharp look and then said, ‘Come on then, we always need runners.’ He reached over and kissed Naomi hard before saying, ‘In the cellar till the all-clear. OK?’

Shirley and Naomi promised and Dan and Harry left the house together, heading out into the hostilities of the night.

‘She seems to have lost her memory, doctor,’ said Sister Miller as they discussed the child in the corner bed. ‘Her surname is Smith, we know that much, and the note that came with her from Casualty says that she’s from Harrogate, though I’m not sure how we know. She was brought in by ambulance after the first raid on Saturday and that was the information the driver passed on.’

‘How has she been since she came round properly?’ asked Dr Greaves.

‘Physically better, both her head and her arm are healing, but she has no memory. She doesn’t remember her name and as far as I can tell she doesn’t remember anything else either. She speaks English, but I’m sure it’s not her first language. At times she lapses into German.’ She looked across at the corner bed, hidden behind drawn curtains. ‘It’s why we’ve put her over there. It upsets the other patients if she starts to speak in German. She’s very withdrawn,’ she went on. ‘All she says is, “I don’t know my name.” I’m really worried about her.’

‘I see,’ said the doctor. ‘Well, let’s go and have another look at her.’

‘Good morning, young lady,’ he said cheerfully when he reached her bedside. ‘And how are we today?’

The girl looked up at him. She was pale, her eyes huge in her pinched face. ‘I don’t know my name,’ she whispered.

‘So I hear,’ he replied. ‘The trouble is, you’ve had a nasty bang on the head, and just for now your memory isn’t working. It often happens after a bang on the head. Nothing to worry about. It’ll all come back to you soon, you’ll see.’

‘But I don’t know who I am,’ insisted the girl. ‘I haven’t got a name.’

‘We know part of your name,’ Sister Miller said with a smile. ‘Your surname is Smith. Tell you what,’ she said with sudden inspiration, ‘would you like to borrow my Christian name for now? It’s Charlotte. How about you being Charlotte, just till you remember your own name? Would you like that?’

The girl looked a little doubtful, but nodded and answered, ‘Yes, please.’

‘Charlotte you are then,’ smiled the sister. ‘So, Charlotte, I’ll be back to see you in a minute or two.’

‘Good idea, that,’ said Dr Greaves when they had left her. ‘Gives you something to call her and gives her some sort of real identity. Probably won’t be long before she remembers who she is. It’s the brain’s way of dealing with the trauma she’s been through. Simply blocks it out until it’s in a position to cope with it.’ He glanced back at the curtained bed in the corner. ‘The next problem,’ he went on, ‘is going to be what do we do with her? She can’t stay here much longer. She’s got over the concussion physically, her head wound is healing nicely and her broken arm is plastered and on the mend. Did you know St Thomas’s was bombed last night?’ Sister Miller shook her head. She hadn’t heard that piece of news.

‘So, you see,’ he continued, ‘beds are at an even greater premium. She’s taking up a bed we need for someone else.’

‘I know.’ Sister Miller looked worried. ‘I do understand that, but we can’t just discharge her without finding somewhere for her to go until her people can be found.’

‘Better talk to the almoner,’ advised the doctor. ‘She’s the one to deal with situations like this. Now, who’s next?’

Sister Miller spoke to Mrs Barnett, the almoner, later that day. ‘Dr Greaves says that the girl known as Charlotte Smith in my ward must be discharged as soon as possible. The trouble is, we don’t really know who she is. Somebody Smith from Harrogate.’

‘Must be hundreds of Smiths in Harrogate,’ said Mrs Barnett, wearily. She was a woman in her fifties, but looked older. Her normal workload had increased a hundredfold since war had broken out and like so many others, tested to the limit, she was exhausted. ‘Not going to be easy to find her people, but we can try.’

‘I’ve been wondering,’ said the sister cautiously, ‘I’ve been wondering if the child is half German? Perhaps through her mother, as her surname is Smith.’

The almoner looked surprised. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘Well,’ replied the sister, ‘she certainly speaks German as well as English. While she was still confused and talking to herself she almost always spoke in German, but if you speak to her in English, then she answers in English. She has some sort of accent, but maybe that’s because she comes from up north. I’m not good at accents.’