Beware This Boy (6 page)

“Granddad wouldn’t come down here without his roll-ups. Where are they?” asked Brian, jerking open the dresser drawer and scattering the tea package and cups to the floor, breaking one of them.

“Brian, stop it this minute,” Eileen said sharply. “Look at you, you’ve broken that cup.”

He turned around to face her. His expression was dark and wild but her presence obviously brought with it the old authority of aunts over young nephews.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“There might be some Woodbines in the house. Let’s go in there where it’s warmer. I’m freezing.”

“Then what?”

“What do you mean, then what?”

“Are you going to try to talk me into giving myself up?”

“That might be the best thing to do, Brian.”

“I’ll die first.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. You always did have a tendency to blow things out of proportion.”

“I’ll be executed if I go back. Hung by the neck until dead.”

“Not these days – we need fighting men too badly. You weren’t even on the front line. You’ll go to jail for a few weeks and that will be it.”

“Then I will have to go back to the war.”

Eileen sat down in one of the chairs, clasping her hands. “Likely not. You’d probably be given a desk job.”

He didn’t respond to this. Then he said, “How’s Vanessa? Have you talked to her lately?”

“Not since last week. We had tea together in the canteen.”

“I should have gone to her house when I got here, but her
parents would have called the police. They never really liked me. She’s probably wondering where I am. I wrote and said I had some leave coming.”

“Your mum told us that.”

He started to fidget. “They cancelled it at the last minute. Rumour was we were going to Africa. To the desert.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “You know me, I don’t even like going to Blackpool. I decided to take my own leave. Permanent.” He fished in his pocket and took out a small bottle. “A bloke gave these to me. Benzedrine. They issue them to the
RAF
lads to keep them awake.”

He was about to shake a couple into his hand when Eileen stopped him.

“I think you should hold off on those things. How long have you been taking them?”

“Since Wednesday. They really work. I thought I’d better stay on the alert. I’ve been on the run. I couldn’t risk having my rail warrant checked, so I’ve been travelling at night. Jumping on the backs of lorries mostly.” He paused. “You remember the Cowans? When I got to Brum, I ended up in their house. Just chance, really. I didn’t realize it at first but then I saw them. They were both dead, Auntie. Sitting like statues underneath the stairs.”

“So I understand.”

“I didn’t see them at first. They must have taken cover in the broom cupboard, and in the murk I hadn’t noticed them through the slats. They were sitting on two chairs, both covered with plaster dust, both quite upright, and both quite dead.”

“They were good, kind people,” said Eileen.

“Me and Jack used to go and sing carols in front of their house at Christmas.” He burst out in his hoarse voice, “
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat. If you haven’t got a penny, a
ha’penny will do. If you haven’t got a ha’penny, God bless you
. And
bang, bang
on the door.”

“They were very tolerant.”

“You told us finally that they were Jewish.”

“That’s right. Their real name was Cohen.”

“You told us because you found out we were singing the bad version of the song.” He shouted again, “
If you haven’t got a ha’penny, you’re a skinny old Jew
.”

Eileen sighed. “Shush. You’re making a lot of noise.”

He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry I sang that. They never said anything. Always gave us a shilling and some cake Mrs. Cowan had made. They used to give us homemade eggnog at Christmas. Do you know what, Auntie?”

“Yes?”

“They were holding hands. The wardens had to carry them out together. I hid in the parlour when they came. I couldn’t think, so I stayed in the house, hoping something would happen.” He made an attempt to smile. “And it did. Jackie found me and here we are.”

She got to her feet. “Come on. Let’s have a conflab inside.”

He didn’t protest and Eileen led the way back to her room, both of them tiptoeing like thieves as they crossed the kitchen.

Jack was sitting in the armchair, and he jumped up when they came in, looking warily at his brother.

“Why don’t you take that chair, Brian,” said Eileen, keeping her voice low. “Jack, is there any cocoa left?”

Jack shook the Thermos. “Some. Here, Bri.”

He thrust the drink over but Brian pushed his hand away. “I’m okay. I wouldn’t mind a slug of that brandy, though.”

Without a word, Eileen poured a hefty shot and he tossed it back as if it were water. She hoped it wasn’t going to have an adverse reaction with the Benzedrine he’d been swallowing.
His pupils were dilated and there were flecks of saliva at the corners of his mouth.

He plopped down in the armchair and leaned back. “Whew. Maybe I’m more tired than I realized.”

“Why don’t you close your eyes for a minute.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Within seconds he was asleep.

Eileen’s heart went out to him. Beneath the frenetic energy he was completely exhausted. She took the quilt off her bed and covered him up.

“What are we going to do, Auntie?” whispered Jack.

Even in the pitch darkness, Jack was pedalling dangerously fast. His Auntie Eileen had sent him home, making him swear to secrecy, but he’d dropped his rucksack in the Cowan house and he’d had to retrieve it. Donny had told him that, no matter what the hour, he had to report in when he’d completed his task. He was already much later than they would have expected and he was afraid of what he would encounter. His mind felt numb. He couldn’t think of an explanation for the amount of time he’d taken. He was almost out of breath when he reached the street where Donny lived. As he turned the corner, he ran over some debris that was strewn across the road. The jolt threw him forward onto the pedals, banging his already scraped knee. He dismounted to inspect the damage. His shin was stinging and he pushed down his sock so he could see what he’d done. Then he had an idea. He reached for a nearby chunk of brick and, before he could reconsider, he rubbed it really hard up and down the bone, aggravating the scrape and tearing the skin even more. He wanted to yell in pain but bit his lip so hard he drew blood there too. Tears sprung to his eyes. Tentatively he straightened out his leg and got to his feet.
As he flashed the beam of the torch, he could see that a swelling had shot up at once.

He set off again. Would Donny punish him for being so late? Would the loot satisfy him? He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand. What a mess he was in. Donny’s house was the end one in a mean row of back-to-backs on Water Street. Jack leaned his bike against the wall. It must have been almost two in the morning, and so dark he might as well have been standing in a coal pit. He didn’t dare knock but pushed open the door and stepped directly into the living room. A sharp voice snapped at him.

“Who’s that?”

“It’s me, Jack.”

A pause. Then he saw a figure heave itself up from the floor. Another shape was beside him. Two people had been lying in front of the fireplace, where the embers of a fire still glowed. The second shape said in a drowsy voice, “Wot’s up, Donny?” It was a girl’s voice. Donny’s latest, Thelma, was with him.

Donny poked her hard. “Sit up, slut. We’ve got a visitor.”

She pushed herself onto her elbows. Even in the dim light, Jack could see she was naked. She made no attempt to cover herself. Permission would have to come from Donny first.

“Put the light on,” Donny said to Jack, and he obeyed, trying not to look at the girl now revealed. She was his age, only fourteen, but her breasts and hips were already full and rounded. Her eyes were puffy and in the light he could see she had a bruise on her cheek. Whether she’d got it from Donny he didn’t know and wouldn’t ask.

Donny reached for his cigarette papers and tobacco pouch, which were on the floor beside him.

“Roll us a fag,” the girl said.

“No. I only got enough for one left.” He was sitting up now
and he quickly went through the routine of rolling a cigarette and lighting it. The sharp smell wafted over to Jack, almost turning his stomach.

“All right, Jacko. What have you got for us and why are you so late? Lucky for you me and my bird weren’t in the middle of a shag. Could have been friggin’ embarrassing.”

“I – I fell and hurt my leg,” stuttered Jack. “I dunno, I must have fainted or something. Next thing I knew I was on my way here.” He swung his rucksack off his back and put it on the floor. “Got some good swag, Donny.”

He opened the bag and tipped out the contents. Donny got to his feet, pulling the blanket that had been covering him and Thelma around his shoulders. He was wearing tight underpants, and Jack couldn’t help but glance down. Donny’s private parts showed large and defined.

“Oi, Donny, I’m perishing. Give us a blanket.” Thelma was whining. Jack knew Donny hated that tone of voice, and he tensed with fear at the retaliation he thought would fall on the girl. But tonight Donny seemed to be in good humour and he let it go.

“Shurrup. I’ll come and warm you up in a tick.”

He drew on his fag, the red end throwing light onto his thin lips. The old scar was white. He stirred the contents of the bag with his foot.

“Looks good, Jacko. But you’re trying to pull one over, aren’t you.”

Jack tried not to shrink away from him. “No, Donny. Course I’m not.”

Donny blew a smoke ring and watched as it dissolved into the air. “Let’s put it this way. It’s now the middle of the friggin’ night. You’ve had plenty of time to go back and forth several times. But you’ve only got one sack. What did you do with the others?”

Jack could feel his legs starting to shake. “I told you I fell. I must have been unconscious. I stuffed my bag and came here direct. I swear I did. Just one bag.”

“Let’s see your stripe.”

Jack showed him the goose egg and blood on his shin. Donny whistled softly as if in sympathy.

“I bet that hurt bad.”

“It did, Donny. Really hurt.”

Donny bent down and brought the end of his cigarette close to Jack’s leg. He squinted upwards.

“If I were to stub out my soddin’ fag on that there stripe … well, it would be pretty bloody nasty, wouldn’t it? Especially if I did it more than bloody once.”

Jack didn’t answer. Oh God. He was afraid he was going to mess his trousers any minute. He could sense that even Thelma was watching them in fear.

Donny straightened up. Jack could see the excitement in the other boy’s eyes, the pleasure rising at the prospect of causing pain. Help came from an unexpected quarter. Thelma said, “Look, pet, he’s brought some tinned pears. I fancy some.”

Jack didn’t know if her intervention was an act of courage or if she truly was only interested in the fruit. Whatever the reason, Donny moved away and resumed smoking the fag, pulling down the red-hot tip as far as he could.

“What’s it to be then, Jack? The truth or …”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. The wound on Jack’s shin was already throbbing and he knew Donny was quite capable of following up on his threat.

He opted for the truth and gave up his secret. He betrayed his brother.

L
EV
K
APLAN TURNED INTO THE NARROW COBBLED
lane just past Corporation Street. The telephone booth was at the far end. A sign on the handle read
OUT OF ORDER
. He glanced around to make sure he was not being observed. The fog had lifted and the War Ministry’s campaign to make the population aware of questionable behaviour had been effective. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. He squeezed into the booth. It smelled strongly of stale cigarette smoke and cat piss. What did they do, come in to take a leak?

He put a coin in the slot and pressed A.

“Number please?” said a pleasant female voice.

“Cypress 8184.”

“One moment, I will connect you.” While Kaplan waited he rubbed his painful shoulder. It probably got dislocated when he fell last night. The ligaments were too loose, and a good knock could put it out of joint.
Bloody kid
.

A soft male voice came on the phone. “Identify yourself, please.”

“Hitchcock. The lady vanishes.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hitchcock. This is John Grey speaking. How is the weather at your end?”

God, the British and their preoccupation with the weather
, Lev thought to himself. “Still foul.”

“What a pity. We actually are seeing some sun here.”

“Jolly good.”

The other man gave a genteel cough. “Quite so. Did you have your meeting?”

“Sure did.”

“And who was in attendance?”

“Same people as before, with one addition.”

“Describe please.”

“A youth, barely into long pants but obviously with a heart of steel, forged in poverty and cruelty. I wouldn’t want to run into him in a dark alley.” He winced as he twisted too quickly. “Come to think of it, I did run into him, literally. Or at least one of his kin.”