The Girl With No Name (51 page)

Oh, well, she thought, glad that it hadn’t opened, I didn’t really want to go down there anyway. She gave one more cursory twist to the handle and pulled, but the door remained adamantly closed.

‘And just what do you think you’re doing?’ The voice behind her made her jump and she spun round to find the doorway blocked by the bulk of a man, silhouetted against the sunlight outside.

‘I... I was just looking,’ she faltered.

‘Looking for what?’

Just... wondering if—’

‘If there was anything you could steal, I suppose.’

‘No!’ Charlotte almost shouted. ‘Of course not! It’s just that, well, I used to live here.’

‘No you didn’t,’ snapped the man. ‘I know the people who used to live here and it wasn’t you.’

‘It was,’ cried Charlotte. ‘I lived here with some people called Federman.’

‘Did you, now? And what’s your name then?’

‘Charlotte Smith,’ answered Charlotte and was about to go on when he interrupted.

‘Then you didn’t live here. There was no Charlotte Smith here.’

‘My name was Lisa Becker then. Now, let me out of the house.’ She took a step forward, but the man still barred her way. ‘Please move,’ she said with more determination in her voice than she actually felt. ‘I want to go outside.’ Who was this man, standing in her way, quizzing her about herself? He wasn’t a tall man, but he was broad and sturdy.

‘Lisa?’ He stood in the doorway, unmoving. ‘Lisa, is it really you? I don’t believe you.’

‘Who are you?’ Charlotte demanded. ‘Why d’you want to know who I am?’

She edged a little closer to the door, thinking she might make a break for it. As she did so her face was lit by a shaft of dusty sunlight. The man took a step back and with sudden resolve she pushed her way past him, down the passage and out of the doorway. To her surprise he made no move to stop her, simply followed her out into the street.

‘Lisa,’ he said again, ‘it
is
you. We thought you were dead.’

Charlotte looked at him properly for the first time. She hadn’t seen him for two years and he’d changed from a scruffy, scrawny boy with fierce dark eyes into a stocky man, sturdy, with powerful shoulders and short cropped hair, but now that she could see him in the light, there was no mistaking him.

‘Harry?’ She stared at him, seeing his face crease into the irrepressible smile she’d known so well. ‘Harry?’ Tentatively, she reached out her hand, touched his arm as if to confirm that he was real. ‘Is it really you?’

Harry took her hand and held it tightly and nodded before saying, ‘Lisa, I can’t believe it’s you. We all thought you were dead. Thought you’d been killed in the raid.’

Lisa shook her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. Still holding her hand, Harry said, ‘Look, there’s still a caff in Hope Street. Let’s go there and get a cuppa. Come on,’ he urged as she hesitated, ‘we’ve got a lot to catch up on.’

Wordlessly she allowed him to lead her along the street, past the derelict Duke and into the café next to the air raid shelter on the corner of Hope Street. He pushed the door open and they went inside. Charlotte sat down at one of the wooden tables in the window while Harry went for tea from the counter.

How strange, Charlotte thought, that the last time I was with Harry we were in a café. It was something she hadn’t remembered before, but being with Harry now brought it back. Her hand went to the necklace she always wore, the blue beads Harry had given her a lifetime ago. Harry came back to the table and said the tea was on its way. He sat down opposite her and for a moment neither of them said anything, then they both spoke at once.

‘What happened...?’

‘Where have...?’

And they both laughed, but their laughter had broken the ice and Harry said, ‘You were on the bus, going home. You must have been caught in that first raid of the Blitz.’

‘I was. Someone found me unconscious with a broken arm and I was taken to hospital. When I came round, well, I couldn’t remember anything, not my name, where I came from, nothing.’

‘So what did they do?’

‘There was a man found with me...’

‘A man? What man?’ Harry looked stricken. ‘I knew I should have come with you!’

‘Just a man. He was dead. They said he was lying on top of me and that’s probably what saved my life. His identity card said he was Peter Smith. I didn’t have mine with me and they thought I must be his daughter, so they wrote me down as Smith.’

Harry listened, dismayed, as Charlotte told him of the intervening years.

‘We all looked for you everywhere,’ Harry said. ‘Your aunt Naomi went round all the hospitals, but she couldn’t find you. They thought you must have got back to Hilda’s and been killed there.’

‘What?’ Charlotte stared at him in horror. ‘What d’you mean, killed at Hilda’s? Is she dead?’

Harry nodded. ‘Whole family,’ he said. ‘Direct hit.’ He saw the colour flee from Charlotte’s cheeks and said, ‘Sorry, of course you didn’t know. Naomi and Dan were desperate to find you, to believe that you hadn’t been in the house, but it all came back to the fact that that was where you were going. The house was totally destroyed and it was impossible to know how many people had been inside.’

The waitress appeared at the table carrying a tray of tea, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Charlotte felt sick. She’d been imagining Hilda getting on with her life in London, back at Francis Drake Secondary. She’d been going to walk round to Grove Avenue this afternoon and surprise them all.

‘Is that what the Federmans thought?’ she asked when the waitress had gone again. ‘That I’d been killed by that bomb?’

Harry reached over and took her hand. ‘It’s what we all thought,’ he said.

‘I wrote to them,’ Charlotte said. ‘As soon as my memory came back I wrote to them, but I heard nothing back. Then Miss Morrison, who I work for now, came to Kemble Street to tell them where I was and that I was OK, but she found the house burnt out. She couldn’t find anyone to ask.’

‘So they don’t know you’re alive?’

‘No, and I don’t know if they are, either.’

‘They were last time I heard,’ Harry said. ‘Mrs had moved out of Kemble Street before the house was burnt, she went somewhere safer to have the baby.’

‘Baby!’ exclaimed Charlotte. ‘What baby?’

‘Didn’t you know she was having one?’

‘No.’

‘Well she was, and she went away. Dan stayed on. He still drove his cab. Had to make a living, didn’t he?’

‘So when was the house destroyed?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Don’t know, I’d been banged up by then.’

‘Banged up?’ Charlotte was puzzled. It wasn’t an expression she’d come across.

‘Yeah, interned, you know.’

She didn’t know and Harry proceeded to give her an edited version of his arrest and internment.

‘So you don’t know where the Federmans are now?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Nope. Just out of town.’

Charlotte looked disappointed. Now she knew they were alive and well, she wanted to find them; to tell them she was all right. She longed to see them and explain what had happened to her. She wanted to see the baby.

‘Perhaps someone in Kemble Street has an address,’ she said hopefully.

‘Maybe,’ Harry said, but he didn’t sound encouraging. He wasn’t keen to find the Federmans, not while he was still using their house. To change the subject, he asked her about the village where she’d been evacuated and thus succeeded in diverting her thoughts. There were several ways they might be able to find the Federmans, but for the moment Harry decided to keep them to himself.

Together they sat at the little table in the window, talking, their tea grown cold in the cups until the waitress appeared at their side and said, ‘Sorry, but we’re closing now. I have to ask you to leave.’ She looked down at the half-drunk cups of tea and said with a sniff, ‘Hope you enjoyed your tea, then. That’ll be a shilling.’

Harry rummaged in his pocket and paid up and then they went out into the evening air.

‘So, where’s this place you’re working at?’ he demanded.

‘Livingston Road. It’s a children’s home.’

‘How’d you get here?’

‘I came on the bus, Harry.’

‘Still no Tube?’ he teased.

‘No,’ she said sharply, ‘not if I can avoid it.’

‘Well, I’ll come back with you,’ he said, ‘so’s I’ll know where to find you.’ He took her hand and together they walked to the main road to catch the bus.

When they reached Livingston Road he followed her to the gate of a large double-fronted grey stone house. ‘Looks a bit grim,’ he said, looking up at the three rows of windows. ‘I wouldn’t want to live here.’

‘You might if you had nowhere else,’ Charlotte snapped. ‘Most of the kids don’t want to live here either, but they haven’t any choice.’

‘All right, all right, keep your hair on.’ He raised his hands placatingly. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to Miss What’s-her-name?’

Charlotte hadn’t thought of it, but as Harry had asked, she might as well. ‘All right,’ she said, and opening the gate she led him up to the front door.

Caroline Morrison was in her box of an office just off the hall and Charlotte knocked on the open door.

‘Oh, Charlotte, good, you’re back. Have you had a nice afternoon?’

‘Yes, thank you, Miss Morrison.’ She paused in the doorway and Caroline looked up from what she was doing and said, ‘Did you want something?’

‘Just wanted you to meet someone,’ Charlotte replied. ‘I met an old friend this afternoon.’

Caroline put down her pen and got to her feet. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Who is it?’ She emerged into the hall and saw a young man standing there. He was in workman’s clothes, a blue checked shirt open at his throat, his big boots sticking out from under his well-worn dungarees.

Charlotte turned back to her, her eyes dancing. ‘This is Harry, Harry Black. He comes from my town in Germany and I knew him in London when...’ she hesitated, searching for the right words, ‘before I came to St Michael’s.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Harry said, treating Miss Morrison to his most dazzling smile and sticking out his hand. ‘Lisa’s been telling me all about what happened to her in the raid and that.’

Caroline Morrison shook the proffered hand. Lisa. He means Charlotte, she thought, but of course he’s never known her by that name. ‘And I’ve heard about you, too,’ was what she actually said.

‘Harry just wanted to see where I live,’ Charlotte explained, ‘and he wanted to meet you.’ Her face was bright with happiness as she looked at her old friend; someone who had known her ‘before’. Miss Morrison was pleased to see the change in her meeting Harry had wrought, but she wasn’t at all sure about Harry himself. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about him that made her distrust him. Which isn’t fair, she told herself firmly. You don’t know the lad from Adam, you’re in no position to make judgements, especially as he’s so important to Charlotte.

‘I’ve got to work, now,’ Charlotte was telling him.

‘That’s OK,’ Harry replied as they went back out into the street. ‘I know where you are now.’

‘But I don’t know where you are,’ Charlotte reminded him. ‘You don’t live at Kemble Street, do you?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Just keeping an eye on it for Dan.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I can’t believe I’ve found you, Lisa,’ he said. ‘It’s a miracle.’

Impulsively she flung her arms round him and gave him a huge hug. ‘I can’t believe it either,’ she said. Pulling away, suddenly shy, she added, ‘But I still don’t know where to find you, Harry.’

‘Told you, I’m working at the docks, I got a room down there. Don’t worry, Lisa, I shan’t lose you again, I promise.’ With that he turned and with a jaunty wave, set off back the way they’d come.

Charlotte watched him as he rounded the corner before she turned and slowly went back into the house. It had been a miracle to find Harry and in his company she had forgotten, for a while, the feeling of emptiness that she’d been carrying with her for so long. But as Harry had disappeared from sight, it returned, a slow, smothering cloud descending on her. She was here in London, alone, and despite living in a house full of children, she’d never felt so lonely.

That evening, when Charlotte had gone up to bed, Caroline sat in her office and thought about her. She had seen the happiness in the girl’s face when she introduced Harry, and despite her own inexplicable reaction, Caroline was pleased for her. However, when he’d left and Charlotte had come back in to the house, that spark had been extinguished. Caroline had called her into the office for a chat.

‘How lovely to meet up with Harry,’ she said. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘I went to Kemble Street,’ Charlotte said. ‘I told you I was going.’

Caroline nodded. She hadn’t been sure that was a good idea either, but realised that though it might be painful for Charlotte to see the remains of her former home, it might help her to put that part of her life behind her and look to the future, rather than the past.

‘Well, it looked like you said, probably worse. Nothing has been done to clear the ruins or mend the houses.’ She sighed and rubbed her eyes as if trying to wipe away the sight of number sixty-five and its neighbours. ‘Anyway, I went to look inside.’

‘Oh, Charlotte, that was dangerous!’ exclaimed Caroline.

Charlotte shrugged. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘The house wasn’t going to fall. Anyway, I went inside. It’s a complete ruin, still covered in soot. I went into the kitchen and was looking at the cellar door – we used to hide in the cellar during raids – when he came in through the door.’

‘Harry did?’ Caroline was amazed. ‘What was he doing there?’

‘That’s what he asked me,’ Charlotte smiled. ‘I didn’t recognise him at first. I couldn’t see his face and anyway, he’s changed. Grown up, I mean. He was a boy when I last saw him. He’s not a boy any more.’

‘No,’ agreed Caroline, remembering the broad-shouldered young man who’d tried to charm her with a smile.

Charlotte described how they’d sat over a cup of tea, talking and talking. ‘It was as if I’d seen him yesterday, not two years ago.’

‘I think that often happens when you meet up with good friends after a time apart. You pick up where you left off.’ For a moment Caroline’s thoughts flew to Henry Masters. It was just like that whenever they met and she felt a secret glow.