My Friend the Enemy (22 page)

‘You had chicken?' Kim asked.

‘Mr Bennett brought it.'

‘Lucky you. Make sure you invite me next time.'

I passed everything to Erik.

‘We'll have to take off the splint if he's going to get changed,' Kim said.

It would have been easier to cut the binding, but we didn't want to waste good rope so we picked at the tight knots until we could slip them loose. The pieces of wood fell and Erik waggled his ankle.

‘Looks like it's just about better,' Kim said. ‘Come on; let's leave him to get dressed.'

*

We went outside, walking into the woods in different directions, but there was no sign of anyone, so we encouraged Erik to come out of the den. He was still having a bit of trouble walking, but he was much better. He could walk quite well without holding on to anything. Kim had done a good job.

I thought I might feel bad seeing him in Dad's clothes but, really, it was just strange. They were a bit big on him, but they made him look completely different. He wasn't a Nazi airman any more.

‘He just looks normal now,' I said.

‘Well, of course he does,' Kim replied.

‘No, I mean—'

‘I know
exactly
what you mean. He looks like everybody else.'

‘Aye.'

Kim and I collected together all the broken wood and piled it close to the shed. I had already decided I was going to fix everything, make it just like it was before, so we divided it into two piles – broken beyond repair, and reusable – and I saw that when we were finished I'd need to find a lot more to rebuild the runs.

‘Don't worry, we'll get what we need,' Kim said. ‘We'll make it as good as new, I promise.'

And while we collected the wood, Erik went into the shed and gathered the tools from the floor, laying them out on the bench. One or two were lost in the nettles, but
Kim and I found most of the ones that had been thrown out.

‘I was thinking,' I said. ‘He can't stay here for ever. Mam said the war's going to last much longer and Erik can't live in the woods all that time.'

‘Why not? Maybe that's
exactly
what he'll have to do.'

‘But he can't. It's too dangerous. Think what would've happened if Ridley had found him.'

‘He has a gun; maybe he'd kill them.'

I looked across at Erik sitting in the shed, laying out tools. ‘He wouldn't.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I just know.'

Kim sighed. ‘You're probably right. We'll have to think of something.'

‘Like what, though?'

‘I don't know, Peter.'

And right then, in that moment, I had the awful feeling that while we had meant the best, we had actually done the wrong thing for Erik; that we had taken this all too far and that it was going to end badly for all of us.

I looked from Kim to Erik and back again, scared for my two friends, then I shook the dark thought from my mind, and carried on with the clear-up.

*

When we'd collected and sorted the wood, we set up a production line in the shed. Erik removed any dirt from the tools and passed them to me one at a time, I oiled and rubbed them, Kim put them away in the toolbox.

‘There. That didn't take too long, did it?' Kim said
when the final tool was in its box and the shed was tidy again.

‘Not too long,' I agreed. ‘Thank you.'

Erik put out his hand like Mr Bennett had done last night. ‘Friend,' he said.

I looked down at it and then at his face. I put my hand in his and we shook. ‘Friends,' I agreed. Then he and Kim did the same.

We risked going to the burn, where Erik put his foot in the cold water.

‘They're not really any different from us, are they?' I said, watching Erik lean back and look up at the sky. ‘Germans.'

Kim turned to look at Erik. ‘No,' she said. ‘They're just the same.'

‘I wish it was all over, don't you? That we could all go back to normal.'

‘Mostly,' she said. ‘But then I'd have to go back to Newcastle.'

‘Don't you want to? Don't you miss your mam and da'?'

‘Of course I miss them, but then I'd miss you, wouldn't I?'

‘Would you?'

‘Well, I wouldn't miss your silly remarks, but yes . . . I'd miss you. Wouldn't you miss me?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘I would.'

Just then there was a sudden loud boom from somewhere in the distance. Erik stiffened and jerked his head round. The birds stopped singing. The sound echoed,
faded and was gone.

‘What was that?' I whispered.

‘Sounded like a bomb,' Kim said. ‘In the village.'

‘We should go and see.'

Kim nodded and turned to Erik, who was watching us. She held up her hands, palms out. ‘Stay here,' she said. ‘Don't move.'

THE PHANTOM AIRMAN

W
e saw that a lot had happened while we'd been in the woods that morning. Just as Kim had said, the whole village had been evacuated, and when we crested the hill, we could see that the crowd standing on this side of the road had grown. They were a long way off, two fields from where we were, and they all had their backs to us. All eyes were turned to the coast.

No one had thought to come this far away, but from where we were, we had a clear view all the way to the Black Bull, and it was a bright day so we could see the
soldiers busying around. One side of the pub was in pieces, the wall completely blown away, and a steady burn of black smoke rose to the sky, much like it had done the day Erik's plane crashed.

‘Wonder what happened,' I said. ‘Looks like they blew up the pub.'

‘Let's go and find out.'

So we crossed the fields and came to where the whole village had gathered. The men had congregated in one place, where they smoked cigarettes and pipes, nodding and rubbing their chins. The women were shaking their heads and standing with their hands on their hips, wanting to get back to whatever they'd been doing. The children just wanted to find out what was going on.

We melted into the crowd, sticking together, listening to what people were saying.

‘Is it the invasion? Are they coming?'

‘It's just a bomb from last night. Had to do something with it.'

‘They blew it up?'

‘Mr Charlton was trying to get them to move it, the daft old so-and-so.'

‘You'd think he'd know better, bein' the warden and everythin'.'

‘No, it's the German. The one that escaped.'

I felt a hand grab my shirt and I turned to see Mam standing behind me. I must have pushed past without realising it was her.

‘I might've known you'd be right in the thick of it.'

‘Hello, Mrs Dixon,' Kim said.

‘Hello,' she smiled. ‘So where do you two think you're goin', eh?'

‘We want to see what happened,' Kim said.

‘Plannin' on sneakin' through, eh? I don't think so. Come on back home, I think we've seen enough.'

‘But Mam, I . . .'

Mam shook her head at me and held out a finger. I knew what it meant. It meant ‘do as you're told', so I dropped my shoulders and looked at the floor.

‘See you later,' I said to Kim.

‘Don't you want to come too, pet?' Mam said, bending down to speak quietly. ‘I've made some delicious biscuits, but there's far too many of them. We might need some help.'

‘Biscuits?' Kim pretended to be unimpressed. ‘Oh well, then, I suppose I could help.'

We left the rest of the village to stand outside wondering what was going on, and made our way back to Hawthorn Lodge. ‘D'you know what happened?' I asked as we walked.

Mam pursed her lips as if in serious thought. ‘Well, people are talking, but they all say different things.'

‘Like what?'

‘Well, now, let's see. Mrs Dudley thinks the Germans are invadin'. She thought she saw a ship out at sea and now there's a whole fleet of German ships comin' to blow us up.'

‘That can't be right,' Kim said.

‘Mrs Howard, on the other hand, thinks it's the Phantom Airman. She says he's sabotaged the village pub.'

‘
Phantom
airman?' I asked.

‘That parachutist. They've been searchin' all over but there's no sign of 'im. No one ever found 'im, did they?' She looked at me. ‘So that's what they're callin' 'im in the village.'

‘The Phantom Airman.' I looked at Kim. ‘I like that.'

‘And then Mr Shaw said there was an unexploded bomb from last night and the soldiers evacuated the village and blew up the bomb to keep everyone safe. Now which one of those do you think is true?' Mam asked.

‘Erm . . .' I pretended to think about it.

‘I like the one about the phantom airman,' Kim said, glancing at me. ‘I like that one a
lot
.'

*

Mam was right about the biscuits, they were delicious. We sat at the table, with a plate because Mam wouldn't allow crumbs, and we had two biscuits each. Mam had a cup of tea, while Kim and I had a glass of milk.

‘I wish my aunt made biscuits like these,' Kim said. ‘Actually, I wish she made any kind of biscuits.'

Mam laughed and told Kim she could come to our house and eat biscuits any time she wanted.

And when there was a knock at the door, Mam hardly even flinched. She took a sip of her tea and she went to the door and pulled it open.

There was a boy standing on the step. He was dressed in navy blue and his bike was leaning on the fence. I knew who he was. He was the telegram boy.

He couldn't look Mam in the eye as he held out the telegram.

Mam took a step back and shook her head. ‘No.' She retreated a few paces into the kitchen and put her hand out to steady herself on the table. She wobbled a little, and sat down in her chair, staring ahead.

The boy waited on the step. He looked at me and Kim sitting at the table, then he bent down and put the telegram on the mat.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘Sorry.' Then he turned, climbed on to his bike, and rode away.

THE TELEGRAM

M
am stared at nothing. It was as if she had turned to stone. She sat for a very long time, facing the window. I stared at the telegram that lay on the mat. Beside me, Kim put her hand on mine.

Outside, the birds continued to sing. The sun continued to shine. The telegram boy made his way to his next delivery. The villagers waited to be allowed back to their homes. But in our kitchen, no one moved. No one spoke.

And after many minutes, Mam took a deep breath and pushed herself from her chair. She moved as if her legs had no strength, then she forced herself to stand straight, gathering her thoughts, composing herself. And when she was ready, she took two firm steps over to the mat and
bent down to pick up the telegram.

When she straightened up, she held the telegram out but didn't look at it. She turned to me and forced a smile and said, ‘Will you excuse me a moment?', then she went to sit on the settee opposite the sideboard.

I didn't turn round to look at her, I was almost too afraid, but I heard her tear open the telegram.

Kim and I sat at the table with our half-eaten biscuits, and we listened to Mam sobbing.

Kim kept her hand on mine, and when she spoke, she said, ‘You should go and see your mam.'

*

Mam was sitting on the settee, looking up at the place where the wireless was on the sideboard. Dad's letters leant against it, all tied up with twine. Above them, his shotgun on the rack, as if he was going to walk in right now to get it. He would come into the kitchen, wearing his boots, and Mam would tell him off for bringing in the dirt. She'd tell him he was getting mud on her nice clean floor and he would smile at me and wink, coming in anyway and reaching up for his gun.

‘You comin'?' he would say.

But he wouldn't say that any more. He wouldn't come into this room ever again and he wouldn't ever reach up for that gun again.

The telegram was lying on the settee, so I sat down next to Mam and picked it up. A piece of clean white paper with the Post Office heading at the top. Strips of slightly different coloured paper had been stuck to it, and on those strips were the words we had feared so much.

‘Deeply regret to report the death of your husband D. Dixon on war service. Letter follows.'

Dad's number was on there, too, as if to confirm they had the right D. Dixon.

‘What did they do to him?' Mam said without looking at me. ‘What did they do to your poor da'?'

I couldn't have answered even if I'd wanted to. I felt so much sadness and anger inside me. Much more than I'd ever felt towards Trevor Ridley. So much more. My chest felt so tight, I thought I might choke to death right there on the settee. My throat seemed to narrow, my whole body was tingling with fear and confusion and every other bad and terrible emotion I had ever felt. I wanted to do something. I wanted to blame someone. I wanted someone to pay for what they had done to my dad.

And when I looked up at his letters on the sideboard once more, I knew exactly what I was going to do.

*

I jumped up from the settee and ran from the room. I didn't look at Kim as I left the kitchen. I went straight to the door and threw it open, running onto the path, through the gate and across the lane. I ran and ran and ran. It was as if I had unlimited breath. I had become something other than me. I was outside of me, looking down at this small boy running like a madman, climbing the hill. I slipped over and over, always getting up again, always running. My eyes burnt and my chest burnt but I kept on.

I didn't see the villagers waiting by the road for their homes to be safe again. I didn't see the group of boys who
watched me race across the crest of the hill, and I didn't hear Kim's calls from behind as she gave chase. All that existed was me, running.

I went over the hill and down the other side, my legs moving too quickly for me as I went down. The slope was too steep to be taken at speed, so I fell forwards, tumbling on the grass, bumping on the rabbit holes, but I hardly noticed. When I stopped rolling, I picked myself up and started running again.

By the time I came to the barbed wire fence, I had started to slow. I jogged to the wire and climbed through the section I'd cut away, not caring that the soldier at the crash site might see me. I had no thought for anything.

Coming from the sunshine into the woods where everything was darker and cooler, I started to run again, heading through the place where Kim and I had used sticks to hack the nettles. The leaves that remained intact brushed the exposed skin of my legs and arms, leaving stings that would swell into tiny bumps. Thistles scratched at me, and branches came out from nowhere to whip across my legs. One branch even caught the side of my face, running a ragged scratch, but I ignored it. I kept on going. Through the woods. Through the nettles. Through the burn.

Until I came to the den.

*

Erik reeled with surprise when I burst in. He lifted the pistol to point it, but lowered it when he saw me. He started to smile, but I came in without a word. There was only turmoil in my mind, I had no time for smiling or
speaking, I had something to do. I was here for a reason. I had to repay them for what they had done to Dad.

As Erik put the gun on the ground, I snatched it from him. I fumbled with it, turned it around, and I pointed it right at his chest.

My breath was coming in sharp hitches.

‘Your fault,' I said between breaths. ‘Your fault. Bloody,
bloody
Germans. Your fault.'

Erik shook his head, held out his hands and spoke quickly. I don't know what he was saying. Perhaps he was pleading for his life; begging me not to kill him. Perhaps he was telling me he wanted me to do it. I don't know.

‘It's your fault,' I said, putting the barrel of the gun against his chest, pushing hard as if I were trying to force it right through him. ‘You killed me da'.'

‘No,' Kim said from behind me. ‘Erik didn't do it. Not Erik.'

‘Might as well have been,' I shouted without taking my eyes off him. ‘They're all the same. They're killers. Murderers.' I pushed the gun harder.

‘That's not true, Peter, and you know it. It's just not true.' She came right in so she was behind me and she put her arms round my waist, pressing her face against my back. ‘Not true,' she whispered.

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the tears out onto my cheeks.

‘You're scaring him.'

I opened my eyes again and looked at Erik, seeing how afraid he was.

‘Oh, Kim,' I said. ‘What am I going to do now?'

‘You're going to be all right,' she said. ‘We're all going to be all right. I promise.'

I felt myself relax. I took the gun away from Erik's chest.

‘Put it down,' Kim said. ‘Please. Put it down. He's our friend.'

I lowered it, letting it fall from my hand.

‘That's better,' Kim said and I turned to her and put my arms around her and held her tightly and I cried and I cried, and Erik and Kim sat with me, neither of them saying a word.

When I finally stopped and looked down, I saw I was still holding the telegram in my left hand.

Erik took the corner of it between his fingers and waited for me to release it. When I did, he held it out in both hands as if he could read it. But he didn't need to be able to read the words to understand the message it brought. His eyes scanned the paper, his face without expression. He tipped back his head against the trunk of the sycamore and closed his eyes. He allowed his hands to drop to his lap, the telegram still held fast.

‘We should get you cleaned up,' Kim said.

I must have looked a state. I'd fallen so many times. My knees and elbows were bleeding, as was the scratch on my face. I put my fingers to it and felt the rough edges of the place where the branch had raked my skin when I ran past. I didn't care what I looked like, though. In that instant, nothing mattered.

‘You don't want your mam seeing you like that,' Kim said. ‘I reckon she needs you now. She needs you to be extra strong. Come on,' she said, gently encouraging me
to leave the den.

She led me outside and together we went to the burn. I stood by the water and Kim crouched to wet her hands and rub the dirt and blood from my knees. The clear water tinkled against the rocks.

‘We need to get you home to your mam. She'll be worried sick about you, running off like that.'

I pictured Mam sitting at home, still on the settee looking up at the letters leaning against the wireless.

‘You'll be fine,' Kim said, dipping her hand to scoop more water. ‘You'll see. Everything will be—'

‘What's goin' on here?'

Kim snatched her hand from the burn and turned around.

‘I thought we might find 'em here,' Ridley snorted to his friends. ‘I
told
you they'd come back. Little runts.'

‘Get lost,' Kim said. ‘Leave us alone.'

I tore my eyes away from the clear water. I'd been almost mesmerised by it, watching the bubbles form and disappear, seeing the vague reflection of the treetops swirling in its eddies.

Trevor Ridley was right there. He was standing in my woods. His friends were there, too. Adam Thornhill and Bob Cummings. They were walking in the places where I had walked with my dad; places they wouldn't have dared come into if he'd been here. They had destroyed all my dad's hard work, smashed the pens and made a mess of his shed, and now they had come back.

I wasn't going to allow it.

‘I see you've tidied up.' Ridley made a show of glancing
around. ‘I told you I was gonna get you.' He pointed a finger at me.

I ran at him.

‘What the—' Ridley took a step back, tripping on a tree root that rose from the soil. He fell backwards, losing his balance and I threw myself at him, pushing him right down onto the ground. I sat on his stomach and I balled my hands into fists and I hit him. I hit him as hard as I could as many times as I could before he twisted, grabbed my hands. Adam Thornhill was slow to react, but when he did, he took hold of my shoulders and dragged me from his friend. He pushed me onto my back, and then Trevor Ridley saw his moment.

He leapt on me, as I had done to him. He was much bigger than I was; much stronger. He was heavy, too, his weight crushing down on my chest. He sat there, pinning my arms and looking down at me, then he hit me square on the nose.

Pain shot through my head. It started at the tip of my nose and spread out like clay, smothering my whole face and wrapping itself around me. I shouted out and struggled, writhing under him as he raised his hand to hit me again.

‘Get off him,' I heard Kim shout, and she threw herself at Ridley, knocking him right off me. I scuttled away, getting to my feet in time to see Ridley stand and face Kim. Thornhill and Cummings grabbed my arms and waited for their leader's instructions.

‘I'm not scared to punch a lass,' Ridley said, advancing on Kim.

‘Go on, then.' She didn't step back. Instead, she raised her hands like a boxer.

I was afraid for her.
So
afraid.

‘You think you're going to hit
me
?' Ridley said.

Kim answered by stepping forward and throwing a punch at Ridley's stomach, but he dodged her attack and came back with a counter-punch, hitting her hard in the chest, knocking her back with great force. She stumbled, reeling, twisting, putting out her hands to break her fall. She seemed to move in slow motion.

And as she fell, a gunshot cracked.

I turned to see Erik standing a few feet away, pointing his pistol at the sky. A trail of smoke wisped from the gun, snaking up into the air as Kim went down.

Her hands were either side of her body when she hit the rock at the edge of the burn. She made no sound at all as her forehead thumped into the dark, wet stone. She just stopped moving.

Her whole body went limp and she slipped sideways to lie face down in the water.

Ridley froze, looking across at Erik who was shouting at them in German. Yelling like a maniac.

Kim lay with her legs on the bank, her face and shoulders in the water. Erik stood where he was, pistol raised.

I opened my mouth to shout her name, but nothing came out.

Cummings and Thornhill maintained their hold on me for a fraction of a second before I tore my hands away from them and ran to the burn, splashing into the water. I
took hold of Kim's shoulders and turned her over. There was a cut on the right side of her forehead, swollen and angry, and there was blood. Her black hair floated in the water like wet feathers. Her eyes were closed.

I struggled to pull her from the burn, looking up at Trevor Ridley, but his focus was on Erik and he was backing away, hands out. When Erik came forward again, still speaking in German, lowering the pistol to point it at them, Ridley and his friends turned and ran back into the woods.