Shoes for Anthony (18 page)

Ahead of me, a wagon pulled over, a large gun barrel protruding from the green canvas roof. I wandered towards it and walked directly under the barrel, staring up. It looked powerful, deadly. Pushing myself onto the tips of my toes, I reached up to try and touch it, but I was too small and my fingers flailed just beneath. Ahead of me, there was a loud clank and I dropped down and dodged sideways to see a leg swinging out from the driver's side door. I ran forwards. ‘Give us some gum, chum?' I said, holding my hand out.

‘Hang on, kid,' I heard a voice say. The soldier was turned away from me. He was reaching for something in the cabin. His arm came back and then he turned, his teeth flashing white. ‘There you go, kid,' he said. ‘You like chocolate?'

I stared up at him, my eyes wide. He was a black man, the first I'd ever seen in the flesh. I felt the chocolate bar being pressed into my upturned palm, but I couldn't take my eyes off his face.

‘Cat caught your tongue, little fella?' he said. ‘Or would you like some gum instead?'

I blinked. ‘No, thank you. Good luck with the Germans.'

‘Thanks, pal,' said the soldier. He jumped down, patted me on the shoulder and walked off towards a man with a clipboard.

I stood, staring after him, as if my eyes couldn't get enough. He was standing, hands in pockets, waiting to speak to a sergeant who was directing drivers to various locations around the town. Other black servicemen were waiting with him. They shared a joke, heads thrown back and laughing.

‘Ant!' I heard a voice behind me shouting. I cast a glance back over my shoulder. It was Bethan, standing on the footplate of the jeep and gesturing for me to come back.

‘What's that?' said Bethan, as I ran over and hopped into the passenger seat. ‘Chocolate, is it?'

I nodded. ‘I saw a black man, B,' I said, fingering the bar in my lap.

‘What was that like, then?' said Bethan, smiling.

‘Smashin'.'

Piotr wasn't just sitting up; he was sitting downstairs in Mam's chair, leaning into a heap of plumped cushions. I'd come running in, all full of news, and Mam had had to tell me to slow down so she could understand a single word I was saying.

‘And then he gave me this,' I said, holding out the chocolate bar. ‘Look at that. Hershey's Tropical Chocolate. And what's even more amazin' is the American who gave it to me had a black face. A black face, Mam!'

‘You see black faces every day,' said Bopa, who was sitting next to the wireless, knitting.

‘Not from coal, though,' I said. ‘A proper black man. Like in the films.'

‘How exotic!' said Mam, shaking her head in wonder.

‘Exotic, you say?' said Bopa, putting down her needles. ‘Arthur Pryce will be pleased! Exotic animals!'

Mam gave out a short hoot. I handed Piotr the chocolate bar. ‘You can have that, Piotr,' I said. ‘I got it for you.'

‘For me?' said Piotr, taking the Hershey bar. ‘Surely I've done nothing to deserve such a treat. My goodness. Look at it. What a wrapper. Pretty fancy.'

He turned it over in his hand and lifted it to his nose to smell it.

‘There were thousands of Americans, Mam. All in wagons. And massive guns, too. And they're going to have huts for food. Bethan says they're coming here, Mam. And they're going to train up the mountain.'

‘I haven't seen you this excited since that time you ate a bag of sugar in one go,' said Mam, shaking her head. ‘You were sick on my shoes. P'raps try sitting down for a bit. Calm down, like.' She patted the seat next to her.

‘I don't want to sit down, Mam,' I said, fidgeting. ‘I feel all full of beans.'

‘Hop it out,' said Bopa. ‘Go on!' She gestured towards the hallway.

I stood up and began hopping on one leg. ‘I'm desperate for hopping,' I explained to Piotr, who was looking at me, puzzled.

‘It calms him down,' said Mam. ‘Pay no attention. He'll be worn out in a minute. Who'd have thought it, proper Americans, here in the valleys? I can't get my head round it. When was the last time we ever had posh visitors, Bopa?'

‘We had that man from the Swansea Rotary Club. Said he could speak to the spirit world, wore a turban. He was quite posh.'

‘But nothing like Americans,' said Mam.

‘No,' agreed Bopa. ‘Nothing like. Bethan said they'd be training up the mountain, did she?'

I nodded, still hopping.

‘They'll be getting ready for push into France,' said Piotr, taking another deep sniff of the chocolate. ‘Good time to do it, too. Hitler's pinned down in East. Might be beginning of end.'

‘
Diawl
, I hope so,' said Bopa. ‘I'm fed up with bloody rations. Oh, Em. Can you imagine what a feast we'll have when we don't have to scrimp and stretch every last bloody bit of meat?'

‘And tea!' said Mam.

‘And sugar!'

‘And clothes!'

‘And proper cheese!' wailed Bopa. ‘Oh, what would I give for a chunky lump of Cheddar?'

‘That man's days are numbered now,' said Mam, giving a small nod. ‘There's no way the Germans will hold off Americans. No way.'

‘No way,' I said, panting as I stopped hopping. ‘They've got crates of oranges.'

Bopa let out a throaty laugh. ‘Oranges, is it? Well! Hitler will be quaking in his boots.'

‘Here, Ant,' said Piotr, handing me back the chocolate. ‘You do honours. Break everyone off bit.'

The smell was wonderful: deep, heady, dark, a hint of sweet. It had been so long since any of us had tasted chocolate, and I let the small square I'd broken off sit on the top of my tongue.

‘Chewing that would be ungodly,' said Bopa, popping a square into her mouth. ‘I shall make this last as long as possible.'

I handed another square to Piotr and the four of us sat, silently sucking, eyes sporadically closing. I was expecting the chocolate to melt, like liquid velvet, but instead, it remained stubbornly solid. I frowned.

‘Is your chocolate melting?' I said, shoving the lump into the side of my mouth.

Mam shook her head. ‘I've given up not chewing. Not that that's doing much good, either.'

‘It's chewier than a pig's foot,' complained Bopa. ‘Tastes nothing like chocolate. Are you sure it's proper, like?'

I looked again at the wrapper. ‘It says it's chocolate,' I said, trying to bite into my square.

‘Have a tooth out with that,' said Mam, picking the mangled lump out from her mouth. She stood up and threw it into the fire. I watched as it landed on a burning coal.

‘
Uffach wyllt
,' said Bopa, staring in astonishment. ‘It's indestructible. Look at it. It's not even melting!'

Piotr frowned. ‘Rations chocolate,' he said, picking at a back tooth with his finger. ‘Made to withstand heat. I'm afraid you got bad trade, Anthony. Next time, get some gum!'

‘Who'd have thought,' laughed Mam. ‘Chocolate tougher than a shoe sole. I'd have had a better time sucking that lump of coal!'

There was a knock at the front door and we all turned to see who would appear in the sitting-room doorway. I was picking at the chocolate glued to the back of my teeth, but when no one appeared, Mam straightened and threw me a puzzled look.

‘Must be a proper visitor,' said Bopa. ‘Everyone we know just walks in.'

Mam quickly patted the underside of her tied-up hair and, licking her finger, wiped down her eyebrows. ‘It's probably for Piotr. Help him sit up straight, Ant. And tuck my knitting away.'

I quickly bundled Mam's unfinished jumper into a small wicker basket below the wireless. Piotr was pushing himself up in the armchair, and as I helped him sit more upright, Bopa rearranged the cushions behind his back.

Voices were coming up the hallway. ‘He's through here,' I heard Mam say. ‘Can I get you some tea? I've got a little Teisen Lap, local cake, if you don't know it. My neighbour brought it round. It's very good.' She was talking in that odd, posh voice she'd used before at the school. I looked at Bopa. We frowned.

Mam reappeared in the doorway and flashed us both with wide, impressed eyes. Behind her was a man in an RAF uniform. He was taking his cap off and tucking it into his armpit. ‘Here's a gentleman from RAF St Athan,' said Mam, gesturing towards him. ‘Come to see you, Piotr.'

The man stepped forward: clean-shaven, bright-eyed, brown hair, recently clipped and oiled. There was a faint, rosy hue to his cheeks, a hint of something cherubic. He held a hand out. ‘How do you do,' he said.

‘English,' mouthed Bopa, then pulled a face.

‘Captain Willis,' said the man, extending his hand. ‘Liaison Officer up at RAF St Athan. I hear you've had quite the adventure.'

Piotr took Willis's hand and shook it, gratefully. ‘You could say that,' he said, smiling. ‘But I've had such welcome, I've quite forgotten all bad bits.'

‘Hope you haven't forgotten
all
the bad bits,' said Willis, looking keen. ‘Hoping you can give us some useful intel.' He looked around the room. ‘I wonder, Mrs Jones, if I might be able to sit down? I've got a lot of questions to ask.'

‘Ant, clean away that paper from your father's chair. I'll get the tea and cake.'

Willis shot me a smile as I cleared Father's chair for him. ‘Thanks awfully. Very kind.'

‘Know Bethan, do you?' asked Bopa, giving him a good look up and down.

‘Bethan Jones?' said Willis, meeting her gaze. ‘Vaguely. She works over in the secretarial pool. Pretty girl, I recall.'

‘You married, are you?' asked Bopa, folding her arms.

‘Ummm,' said Willis, a slightly puzzled look passing across his face. ‘No, I haven't yet had that pleasure …'

‘Bopa!' called Mam. ‘Would you be so kind as to lend me a hand?'

‘Oh!' replied Bopa, throwing her arms up and putting on an equally fake accent. ‘I should be delighted, to be sure.'

Captain Willis had a brown leather attaché case, and as he sat, he pulled it onto his lap. He undid the clasp and pulled out a file of papers and a notepad. ‘We checked all your details with Polish HQ. Turns out you're quite the hero. Wouldn't be surprised if a medal was coming your way.'

‘What did he do?' I asked, folding Father's paper and placing it on top of the mantelpiece.

‘Took out a German position single-handed, and pulled out five injured men. If you were British, you'd be getting the Victoria Cross!' I turned and beamed at Piotr. I knew it. He really was a hero. ‘I've made some arrangements for you to receive some back pay,' said Captain Willis, smiling. ‘Should be quite a sum. But until that comes, I've been authorised to give you some cash, to tide you over, so to speak.' He reached into the attaché case and pulled out a small yellow envelope. ‘There you go. Don't spend it all at once!'

‘Thank you,' said Piotr, taking the envelope.

Willis took an ink pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. It had a jade top and looked heavy, expensive. He opened his pad and wrote the date at the top of a blank page, followed by what looked like Piotr's name. He held the pad towards him. ‘I think I have the spelling right, but I'd be grateful if you'd check.'

Piotr peered at it. ‘Quite right,' he said, with a small nod.

‘Super,' said Willis, taking the pad back and leaning it against his attaché case. ‘So if you don't mind, we'll go over the basics. And then I'd like to discuss your time after capture. Whether you heard anything, saw anything, that sort of thing.'

‘Is there going to be a push into France, then?' I said. ‘I saw all the Americans, like.'

‘Well,' said Willis, casting me a glance. ‘It's supposed to be classified, of course, but it's impossible to keep a secret with three thousand Americans running round the Rhondda.'

‘Hit them hard through Normandy,' said Piotr. ‘You'll need to. Their strength is in Panzer divisions. And Luftwaffe.' He stopped and tapped his finger methodically along the arm of the chair.

Willis stared at him, then made a quick, urgent scribble. ‘Yes,' he said, nodding, then stopped and looked up. ‘Sorry … why would you say Normandy?'

‘Well, you're not going to land troops in St Tropez,' said Piotr, letting his palm float upwards.

Willis gave out a short snort. ‘No! Ha! Quite!'

‘They'll expect you at Calais. That's most heavily fortified. Go either side, and you'll have better odds.'

Mam returned with a tray of tea things. ‘Here you go, gentlemen,' she said, placing it down on the occasional table.

‘Would you like me to pour?' added Bopa, following her in with the pot.

‘Actually,' said Willis, placing his attaché case on the floor, ‘I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. Bit awkward, I know. But what I'll be asking is classified. Loose talk costs lives, and all that. Is there somewhere you could go for an hour?'

Bopa stared at him. ‘Leave? And miss everything?'

Willis blinked. ‘That's sort of the point …'

‘Oh,' said Mam, looking a little crestfallen. ‘Well, if it's classified, I suppose …'

‘Come on,' said Bopa, putting down the teapot. ‘We can go round mine. I've got tumblers …' She mimed holding them up against the wall, and winked.

‘You too, I'm afraid,' said Willis, towards me.

‘You can run some errands for me,' said Mam. ‘I need all those old newspapers taken to salvage. And then you can pick me up a cob loaf from the baker's.'

She reached for her handbag and pulled out her purse. ‘There,' she said, handing me a coupon and a shilling. ‘That's for the bread. And bring me back the change.'

‘Thank you,' said Willis, standing as my mother went to leave. ‘I'm very much obliged.'

Mam nodded in return. ‘Come on, then, let's leave the gentlemen to it.'