Shoes for Anthony (15 page)

‘There, look,' said Mam, leaning over to have a closer look. ‘That's the name, see? There.'

‘Can't make it out,' said Hughes, turning the tags upside down.

‘Piotr Skarbowitz,' said Piotr, taking the stick and placing it under his armpit. ‘My name.'

‘Obviously,' said Jones the Bible, with a purposeful nod, ‘we'll need to verify with the relevant authorities that you are who you say you are.'

‘We should definitely treat him like a proper German until we're sure, like,' said Hughes, lifting up his spade again. ‘Take him down the cop shop.'

‘Put that down, Mr Hughes,' said Jones, rolling his eyes.

‘Not sure the cop shop's the best place for him, what with that leg,' said Mam, gesturing towards the homemade crutch. ‘What you done? Broken ankle, is it?'

‘I think just bad sprain.' Piotr smiled at my mother. She blushed and looked away.

‘He'll have to stay somewhere,' said Jones the Bible. ‘We can't have him wandering round the village like a wraith.'

‘What about at the chapel?' said Mr Hughes, taking his cap off and scratching his forehead. ‘Or the back room at the pub?'

‘Neither are much comfier than here,' said Jones, gesturing into the den.

‘I'll have him,' said Mam. ‘We can make room for him. Davey won't mind. And if he is a Polish soldier, then he's a war hero. We should be looking after him. Not marching him from pillar to post. In fact, we should be ashamed of ourselves, coming up here armed to the teeth. Look at the poor man. He needs our help.'

Jones and Mr Hughes exchanged a short, nervous glance. ‘Yes,' said Jones the Bible, nodding furiously. ‘Yes. You're quite right, Mrs Jones. We must help him immediately. Come, now, Mr Skarbowitz, place your hand on my shoulder. I'll help you down the mountain.'

‘Sorry about trying to hit you with my spade,' said Mr Hughes, taking Piotr by the elbow. ‘You put your weight on me. It's not far. We'll have you down in no time.'

‘I'll go ahead and get the kettle on. I expect you'd like a cup of tea?'

‘I would, thank you,' said Piotr. ‘Thank you. Thank you.'

‘Right,' said Mam, with a nod. ‘Come with me, Ant. I'll need you to help get your sister's room ready for our guest.'

I pushed myself up from the grass and dusted down my backside.

‘Bloody hell, man,' said Ade, nudging me. ‘You've got a bloody German staying at your house.'

I didn't reply. Instead, I handed him back the pistol and ran off after Mam. Sometimes, I thought, Ade could be quite annoying. Besides, he was wrong. Piotr was Polish.

‘What do you mean there's a man upstairs in my bed?' said Bethan, frowning as she took her cap off.

‘He survived the crash. He's Polish,' I said, holding a cup of tea in a saucer to take up to him. ‘They were trying to escape. But the plane went down. Everyone's up there with him.'

Bethan put her hands on her hips and paused. She tilted her head to one side. ‘Really?' she said, as if she wasn't quite sure whether to believe me.

‘Honest, B,' I said, carefully ascending the stairs. ‘Mam's making him cawl. And he's going to get to eat it upstairs. And nobody's eaten upstairs since Alwyn had rheumatic fever and almost died. So that's how serious it is.'

‘And he's in my bed?' said Bethan, following me up the stairs. ‘Where am I going to sleep?'

‘In our room. Alwyn and Emrys are going to sleep on some camp beds from the Home Guard.' A peal of laughter came from the bedroom above us. Bethan pressed at my back. ‘Don't rush me,' I said, ‘or I'll spill his tea.'

Piotr was sitting on Bethan's bed, propped up by some pillows. He was wearing a pair of Father's best pyjamas, blue stripes, and his foot was raised onto a cushion. He'd had a wash and a shave and looked entirely different, a smart type, even; some might say handsome. Bozo and Fez were sitting facing him at the bottom of the bed, and Ade was behind the backboard, leaning over it. Jones the Bible was sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the room, arms folded. He looked very pleased with himself. I placed the cup and saucer down on the small cabinet next to the bed. Piotr turned and smiled to me. ‘Thank you!' he said. ‘Such service! I can't get over it. I should crash in Wales more often.'

Jones the Bible let out a small chortle.

Piotr picked up the saucer and took a sip from the cup. ‘Mam's best china, goodness,' said Bethan, coming in behind me. ‘Hello,' she added, holding out her hand. ‘I'm Bethan. This one's big sister.'

Piotr took her hand in his and shook it. ‘He's been looking after me well,' said Piotr, smiling in my direction. ‘You're army?' he added, seeing Bethan's uniform.

‘WAAF, based up at RAF St Athan. I'm a paper shuffler, really. Don't get to do anything that exciting.'

‘You're helping out with the Americans coming,' I said, joining Fez at the edge of the bed.

‘Americans?' said Piotr, taking another sip. ‘Really? In Wales?'

‘Father reckons it's for something big in Europe,' I said, nodding.

Piotr raised an eyebrow. Bethan shuffled on her feet. ‘Well, I wouldn't say helping out. I just type up stuff. Anyway. How's your leg?' She nodded down towards the raised foot.

‘Sore. Bruise coming.'

‘Show us again,' said Fez, grinning. ‘It's a right whopper.'

‘There's a lady,' said Piotr, taking another sip of his tea. ‘I'm sure she doesn't want to see.'

‘Oh, don't mind me,' said Bethan, leaning against the wardrobe and folding her arms. ‘With three brothers, I've seen most things.'

‘Well …' said Piotr, casting a look at us.

‘Go on, Piotr,' I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Show us your bruise again.'

‘All right, then,' he said. ‘Don't say I didn't warn you,' he added, throwing a look to Bethan. ‘Not nice.'

Putting his cup down he leaned forward and pulled off the large knitted sock Mam had given him to keep his toes warm. As it slipped off his foot, Fez, Bozo and Ade gave out a large ‘Errrrrrrrr' to signify how impressed they were. The bruise was a medley of tones ranging from a halo-like yellow fringe through to a compote of blues, reds and purples. It stretched from the bottom of his toes, across his foot and slid sideways around his ankle and up to the midpoint of his calf. It was the greatest bruise I had ever seen.

‘Goodness,' said Bethan, behind me. ‘That looks terrible.'

‘And disgusting,' said Ade, grinning.

‘Does it hurt?' I said.

‘Yes, it does,' said Piotr. ‘But not too bad. I think I'll live.'

‘Take note, boys,' said Jones the Bible, resting his hands on his belly. ‘That's bravery right there. Did Jesus complain on the cross?'

‘He did a bit,' said Ade, thinking about that.

Jones the Bible blinked. ‘No, Adrian, he did not. Expressions of regret for mankind are not the same as complaining.'

Ade shrugged.

‘You haven't complained once,' said Fez, leaning closer to get a better look. ‘That means you're braver than Jesus.'

‘Well, hang on,' said Jones the Bible, who looked as if he wished he hadn't started this.

‘Can you help me get sock back on?' said Piotr, changing the subject. ‘I can't quite reach.'

‘Here,' said Bethan, stepping forward, ‘I'll do it.'

She took the sock and gently pulled it back over Piotr's foot. ‘Thank you,' he said, smiling. He laughed. ‘All I've done since I got here is say thank you. But truly, thank you!'

‘Right then,' said Mam, coming in holding a tray. ‘Cawl! It's Welsh penicillin. Eat that up and you'll be right as rain in no time.' She placed the tray on Piotr's lap and handed him a spoon.

‘Thank you,' said Piotr, then looked at everyone in the room and burst out laughing.

I sat, on the edge of the bed, laughing along with him. Everyone was laughing. Ade, Fez, Bozo, Bethan, Mam too. It felt wonderful. I looked back at Piotr. He was the single most exciting thing ever to happen to our house. ‘There's nothing warmer than a welcome,' I remembered, and there and then, I resolved to look after him. No matter what.

Arthur Pryce arrived at half past three. He was sweating and looked anxious. Mam had asked him if he wanted to take his helmet off, as he was a tall man and we had low ceilings, but he'd declined, politely. He was here on official business and was to see the gentleman from the plane immediately. The boys were still hanging about. There was a real buzz of excitement, and with the men not back yet from underground, it was like we were holding the fort, in charge, like. A small crowd was gathered by our front door. I felt important, famous.

‘He's upstairs, Arthur,' said Mam, wiping her hands on the end of her housecoat. ‘I hope there's nothing wrong?'

Arthur, who wasn't used to being sent on official business anywhere, swallowed deeply and gave a non-committal shake of his head. ‘If you could show me to the gentleman, I'd be greatly obliged,' said Arthur.

‘Right, then,' said Mam, with a firm nod. ‘Follow me.'

A small army of children flooded in and up the stairs after Arthur. There was no point telling them to leave. This was the single most thrilling thing that had ever happened in Scott Street.

‘Mind your …' Mam began, pointing back towards the doorframe. Arthur's helmet banged off the wood and tipped backwards. ‘Well. Here we are. This is Arthur. He's from the cop shop. He wants to speak to you. Official, like.' Mam went and stood by Piotr's side and crossed her arms. ‘Go on, then, Arthur. Get on with it.'

Arthur's helmet fell onto the floor and rolled towards the wardrobe. He bent down to catch it, picked it up and tried putting it back on, but the tip scraped the ceiling and it fell off again.

‘Let me take that for you,' said Mam, taking it and putting it on the bed.

Arthur looked desperate and uncomfortable. ‘Right, then,' he said, reaching into his breast pocket. Pulling out a small notepad, he opened it and cleared his throat. ‘At ten this morning, I was informed that a man, you' – Arthur stopped and gestured towards Piotr – ‘had been found up Pen Pych mountain, and that this man, you, made claims that he was a Polish Prisoner of War captured by Germans and flown here during an attempt to escape.' He stopped, licked his finger and turned the page. ‘In my capacity as the police officer in charge of this area' – his eyes darted about the room, and Mam nodded encouragingly – ‘I made a telephone call to headquarters in Cardiff. They then rang someone in London.'

‘Who's that, then?' said Ade, who was standing behind me at the front of the small gaggle of onlookers.

Arthur stopped and thought. ‘I don't know. Anyway, someone in London then made enquiries of the Polish Army based in Scotland. And then the person in London rang back the headquarters in Cardiff.'

‘Person in London's quite busy, isn't he?' said Mam, with a sniff.

Arthur swallowed. ‘And then headquarters in Cardiff rang me and I can confirm that one Piotr Skarbowitz, that's you, was reported as being captured by Germans four years ago.' He closed the notepad and put it back in his pocket. ‘That's it.'

‘Is that it?' said Ade, in disbelief.

‘What does that mean, then?' said a small girl towards the back.

‘It means Arthur's come to tell Piotr who he is,' said Mam, ‘and Piotr is who he says he is, which, everyone take note, is a proper war hero who we are very lucky to be able to look after.' A cheer rang round the room. She gave Piotr a comforting pat on the forearm. ‘And what's more, I couldn't be more proud that he's in my house. So everyone here, go tell your mams. Arthur's made it official. Now off, the lot of you. This man needs rest.'

She shooed everyone down the stairs, then turned back into the room. ‘Never doubted it for a minute,' she said, quietly, patting down the quilt.

‘Nor me,' I said, leaning on the bedpost. Piotr smiled.

‘Em!' came a call from downstairs. ‘Yoohoo! Only me!'

‘Come up, Bopa!' shouted Mam. ‘Bopa Jackson, lives next door. She'll be wanting to meet you.'

Bopa came in, all wide-eyed and smiling. ‘Arthur,' she said, giving the policeman a nod. ‘Now, then. Is this him?'

She came and stood at the edge of the bed and stared at Piotr as if he were a brand-new sofa. ‘Handsome, inne? Bet you've noticed that already, Bethan!' she said, casting a glance back towards my sister. Bethan blushed. ‘You know she's not courting at the moment, don't you?' she said, turning back to Piotr. ‘Wait till you're up on your feet, you can ask her to a dance.'

‘I think I'll just pop downstairs,' said Bethan, with some urgency. ‘Put the kettle on. Do you want a brew, Arthur?'

‘Oh, no, thank you,' said Arthur, shuffling uncomfortably. ‘I'm on official business, see.'

‘The official business is over now, Arthur,' said Mam, sticking her hands in the pockets of her housecoat. ‘Have a cup of tea. Sit down, man.'

Arthur gave a small, awkward smile. ‘All right, then. One sugar, please. Two if you can spare it.'

Mam rolled her eyes. ‘You'll have half, Arthur, and make do and mend. Off you go, Bethan. Bring a tray up. We'll all have one.'

‘I wish I had some more sugar,' said Bopa, nudging Piotr in the leg. ‘If I did, I'd make you quite the cake. I've got the eggs. I've got the flour. I've even got the butter. Em makes her own, you know. But sugar?' She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘Harder to find than a hen's tooth. We should have a whip round, Em. Ask everyone for a little bit of their sugar rations, then I can bake him a cake!'

Piotr frowned as if trying to grasp hold of a distant memory. ‘Actually,' he said, pointing his finger upwards, ‘I know recipe for cake that doesn't need sugar at all. Prunes and a little orange juice instead. Warm prunes with juice, blend it to paste. Add melted chocolate and butter. Stir in egg yolks and beaten egg whites. Cook for twenty minutes.'