The Girl With No Name (8 page)

‘Thank you for your kindness,’ she said. ‘I thank you and my mother thank you also.’ Her careful English sounded a little stilted, but the Federmans knew it came from the heart and Dan felt tears prick his own eyes as he gave her an awkward hug and damned himself for being soft.

Lisa didn’t sleep well that night. She was haunted by dreams of the Gestapo raid and woke in a cold sweat, certain that the man in the long black coat was coming up the stairs to find her. Once she was awake, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She tossed and turned, still hearing Nazis on the stairs. Determined not to wake Aunt Naomi and Uncle Dan, she stifled the sobs that rose in her throat. They had both tried to keep her spirits up all evening, but it had been almost impossible to respond. When it began to get light Lisa finally gave up trying to sleep and, easing the blackout screen from the window, she sat looking out into the street, watching the colour creep back into the houses opposite. And as she sat there, she made up her mind. She would meet Harry in the park later and she would go with him ‘up west’. She’d tell Naomi that she was going to Hilda’s, but she knew it wasn’t Hilda she wanted or needed, it was Harry, because he knew what their life had been ‘before’. He had lost his family to the Nazis. He would know how she felt. No one who hadn’t lived in fear of the Nazis could begin to imagine what it was like, day after day, never knowing if the Gestapo would come and take you away. Seeing them striding the streets, their arrogant sneers directed at you simply because you had a Jewish parent. So many had fled, but her father had left it too late. She needed to be with Harry, doing something different, something daring, something to obliterate, if only for a few hours, the desperate loneliness that was consuming her.

She was already downstairs when Naomi appeared in the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

‘Oh, well done, Lisa, I see the kettle’s on. Lay the table, can you?’ And Lisa laid out plates and cutlery while Naomi busied herself at the stove.

‘Aunt Naomi, I go to Hilda today, please?’

Naomi looked round and smiled. ‘If they’ve asked you,’ she replied.

‘Oh, yes,’ Lisa lied. ‘To go for whole day.’

‘Then certainly you can,’ Naomi said. It’s a good idea, she thought as she scrambled eggs and made toast, it’ll give Lisa something to do, help take her mind off her letter.

Feeling a little guilty at having lied to Aunt Naomi but determined to go, Lisa set off to meet Harry in the park. He was waiting on a bench tossing pebbles into the pond.

‘Knew you’d come,’ he said with a grin, but his grin faded when he saw her pale face.

‘Hey, kid,’ he said, ‘what’s up?’

Lisa flopped down beside him on the bench. ‘Had a letter,’ she said.

‘From your family?’

‘No, they’re not there any more,’ she answered, her voice breaking on a sob.

Harry listened as she told him what Cousin Nikolaus had written. When she finally came to a stop he stood up and, taking her hand, hauled her to her feet.

‘We still got each other,’ he said, ‘us orphans. You and me. So, let’s go up west and see what it’s all about.’

Lisa wasn’t sure what reaction she’d expected from Harry, but it wasn’t quite that.

‘Up west? Today?’

‘You got to make your own life now,’ he said. ‘I learned that the hard way, too. Got to look after number one. We ain’t kids no more. So, we get on with it. And today we’re going up west to see the sights. Come on, Lisa, today’s going to be special.’

Still uncertain, Lisa allowed him to drag her along to the bus stop outside the park gates.

‘We can get the bus from here,’ he said and within minutes he had his hand out, hailing a number 22. ‘Follow me.’ He led the way up the stairs to the very front of the bus. They sat side by side looking down on the London streets as Lisa had on her way from Liverpool Street. They were still busy, but Lisa had got used to them and she looked out with interest.

‘You get a good view from up here,’ she said as she peered through the window. ‘I’m glad we came upstairs.’

‘Best to be upstairs,’ Harry agreed. ‘You’ll see.’

‘You got the money for the fare?’ she asked him softly.

‘Nope, but it don’t matter, you’ll see.’

About two stops later the conductor appeared at the top of the stairs and gradually made his way along the gangway, taking money and issuing tickets until her reached them.

‘Fares please,’ he said.

Harry looked up at him and then felt in his pocket. He got to his feet and felt in the other pocket, then shook his head. ‘My money,’ he said in his heavily accented English. ‘Where is my money? It is lost!’ He made a great show of feeling through his empty pockets, but the conductor wasn’t deceived.

‘Off!’ he roared. ‘Down them stairs and off!’

‘Yes, yes, we go. So sorry!’ Harry’s accent was still heavy and he grabbed Lisa by the hand, hurrying her along the gangway and down the stairs. The conductor rang the bell and when the bus pulled into the next stop Harry and Lisa jumped off. As it drew away again, leaving them on the pavement, Harry said, ‘There you go! Easy!’

‘Harry, haven’t you any money?’ asked Lisa.

‘Not to spend on bus fares,’ replied Harry, cheerfully. ‘Come on, here’s the next bus.’ And he stuck out his hand again.

It took them six buses before they were disgorged into Piccadilly Circus, but Harry’s system worked and once Lisa knew what was happening, she simply followed his lead, giggling as they were turfed off the buses by the angry conductors.

It was a beautiful December morning, with a clear blue sky and pale winter sun, but the air was bitterly cold. Lisa shivered despite the winter coat her mother had managed to buy for her before she left. Harry, with only a jacket to keep him warm, seemed impervious to the cold, simply standing, taking in everything around him, the bustle, the traffic, the noise.

It was the Saturday before Christmas and people were hurrying along the pavements, in and out of shops finishing their Christmas shopping. Despite the war, everyone was determined that Hitler shouldn’t stop the usual celebrations. There might be fewer things in the shops and more unusual presents to be bought, but if you simply glanced at the pre-Christmas streets, you might well think everything was normal. Of course it wasn’t; it was all too clear that the country was at war. Uniformed servicemen, home on a few days’ Christmas leave, were among the shoppers laden with parcels. Everyone carried a gas mask, slung over the shoulder, signs directed people to public air raid shelters and a huge sign across the front of Swan and Edgar’s urged everyone to DIG FOR VICTORY!

In the middle of Piccadilly Circus, where Eros should have stood, brave atop a fountain, there was a strange, sandbagged cone. Eros had been removed for his own protection and his fountain boarded and sandbagged. Around the base of the cone was a banner cautioning:
Keep them Happy! Keep them Safe! Christmas Treat Fund.

Christmas was nearly here, but it would be an entirely different Christmas. For many children it would be a Christmas away from home; children who’d been evacuated for fear of the bombing. There had been none and parents were beginning to bring their children home again, something the government was anxious to discourage. Even so, too many families would be apart this Christmas and the Treat Fund had been established to distribute extra treats to those children who were spending Christmas without their parents.

Harry and Lisa stood at the side of the road, watching the traffic driving round the sandbagged fountain, awed by the perpetual busyness of the famous Piccadilly Circus.

‘You wouldn’t think there was a war on,’ Lisa said, ‘not really. Look at all that traffic.’ Petrol was rationed, she knew that, because Uncle Dan had only a limited amount for his taxi, but there seemed no fewer vehicles on the road here. Horns hooted, men shouted, engines roared, a man on a bike wove his way through the congestion.

High above them were huge advertisements for Bovril, Coca-Cola and Wrigley’s gum, things that were now almost impossible to come by, still advertised on great signs; and ticking away the minutes of that busy Saturday morning was the famous Guinness clock. Above it all floated huge barrage balloons, silver whales wallowing in the ice-blue sky.

‘D’you think them balloons’ll stop the bombers coming in?’ Lisa wondered as she looked up at them.

‘If they come in low they will,’ Harry said. ‘None today, anyway.’

‘P’raps they won’t come at all,’ said Lisa hopefully.

‘Oh, they’ll come,’ Harry assured her. ‘Hitler ain’t going to say “Thanks for Poland, now I’ll stay put,” is he?’ He turned and began walking towards Piccadilly.

‘Shall we go in the shops?’ asked Lisa. She longed to go inside one of the tall, gracious buildings and see what they had on display. She moved towards Swan and Edgar, pausing outside to peer in at the window.

‘OK,’ Harry sighed, ‘not for long, mind.’

They went inside and wandered through the different departments looking at all the goods displayed. Lisa wished she had some money. She would have liked to buy something for Aunt Naomi and Uncle Dan.

Harry was quickly bored with window shopping and edged them back out into the street. ‘Come on,’ he urged, ‘let’s go this way. P’raps get something to eat.’

He strode along Piccadilly with Lisa almost having to run to keep up with him.

‘What’s the hurry?’ she panted. ‘Slow down.’

Harry did slow down, eventually, and when he did he pulled a silk scarf out of his pocket and knotted it about his neck. ‘You were right,’ he said with a grin. ‘They had some good stuff in there.’

‘Harry! You stole it!’ cried Lisa.

‘They had plenty more to sell, they can spare this one for me...’ he reached into his pocket again, ‘and this for you.’ He handed her a string of blue beads. ‘Happy Christmas!’

It was a day to remember. They continued to walk up Piccadilly, pausing outside the Ritz to watch the wealthy going in for lunch. Ladies wrapped in furs on the arm of officers in uniform, sleek gentlemen in camel-hair coats handing their ladies out of taxis.

‘Toffs,’ said Harry dismissively. ‘Snobby toffs. Just like the Nazis.’

Comfortable in the anonymity of the crowded streets, Harry had been speaking in German. As he spoke a hand dropped on his shoulder, holding him in a vice-like grip.

‘You should be careful what you say, young guttersnipe.’ A tall man dressed in immaculately tailored civilian clothes towered over him and was addressing him in German. ‘You should be careful what you say about people who’ve taken you in and given you a home.’

‘You don’t know nothing about me,’ Harry answered with more bravado than he felt.

‘I know that you’re a refugee, young man. Speaking German; but anyone would know it. Just look at you! Look at your clothes! Ungrateful street kids like you should be sent back where you came from.’ The fingers tightened their grip on Harry’s shoulder, making him yelp with pain.

‘You let him go!’ shrieked Lisa. ‘He ain’t done nothing to hurt you.’

‘Well, little madam, you’re another of them! Out to pick our pockets, were you? Thieving?’ He eyed Harry’s silk neckerchief with suspicion. ‘I should get out of here pretty damn quick if I were you, before I call the police.’

At this moment the commissionaire stepped forward and said, ‘Is there some problem, Sir Edward?’

‘No, just some rude German children making nuisances of themselves.’ Sir Edward Marshway let go of Harry’s shoulder and, giving him a cuff round the ear that sent him staggering off the pavement, turned and walked into the hotel.

‘You kids better scarper,’ hissed the commissionaire. ‘Go on! Get lost.’

Harry picked himself up and the two of them edged away.

‘Typical Teddy Marshway,’ drawled a woman’s voice. ‘Likes to forget his mother was German.’ She had been speaking English, but both children understood most of what she’d said and turned round. A tall lady, wearing a black fur coat with a matching fur hat perched on her smooth fair hair, had paused beside them.

‘Take no notice of him,’ she said, seeing them turn. ‘He’s always been a bully.’ She reached into her handbag and extracted a florin. ‘Here,’ she said, holding it out, ‘expect you could use this. Happy Christmas.’

Harry snatched the coin and stuffed it in his pocket with a muttered, ‘Thanks, miss,’ and then grabbing Lisa’s hand, he set off up the road, leaving the disapproving commissionaire to open the door to the lady, saying, ‘Good day, Lady Meldon.’

Further along the road, Harry paused for breath and said, ‘One day I’m going to walk into that hotel and the bloke on the door is going to hold the door open for me.’

By mid-afternoon they had walked themselves to a standstill. They had found their way through Green Park to the top of The Mall and had stared up at the sandbagged front of Buckingham Palace.

‘D’you think the king’s at home?’ Lisa wondered. ‘I’d like to see the king.’

‘Not if he’s got any sense,’ Harry replied. ‘He don’t have to stay in London, do he? He’s got palaces all over the place.’

They kept walking and finally reached Trafalgar Square where they looked up at Nelson on his column, standing tall and proud against the sky.

‘Don’t rate much for his chances if the bombing really starts,’ said Harry. ‘They’ve boarded up the bottom, look, but that won’t be any good against a bomb.’

They wandered round the square, admiring the lions, and then sat on the steps of the National Gallery and shared a pie from a stall and a rather tired-looking chocolate bar Harry had in his pocket. The fountains weren’t playing but even so they were impressed with it all.

The day was clouding over and it was now very cold. The clouds, grey above them, seemed laden with snow and Lisa looked up at them anxiously. As she did so, she caught sight of the clock on the steeple of St Martin-in-the-Fields and saw the time.

‘Harry!’ she cried, grabbing his hand. ‘It’s nearly four o’clock!’

‘So?’

‘So I have to get back. Before it’s dark. Aunt Naomi will wonder where I am. She might go looking for me at Hilda’s!’

‘OK.’ Harry still sounded not in the least worried. ‘Come on then, let’s find a bus.’