made a mistake.
‘Don’t you dare use that language here girl!’ She was fierce. ‘Don’t you realize Michael could be deported and what would we do then, eh?’
‘Sorry—sorry, I won’t do it again Aunt Jessie. It’s just a word I heard. I think it means thank you and I was just being clever. I see now it’s silly of me, “twp” as you would say.’
Aunt Jessie calmed down. ‘I know you’re a bright girl, you probably have a head for languages; I know you speak Welsh better than you ever did in Swansea and there’s no harm in that, no harm at all—but German? No!’
‘I understand.’ I hung my head. We both knew I wouldn’t put Michael in danger any more than she would. ‘I would be lost without Michael.’ It was unnecessary to say it but it pleased Aunt Jessie and she smiled.
‘You’d best get ready for school, miss. You’re getting older, you need your education more than ever now. The world is changing, Meryl, lots of doors are going to open to women, you see, because the war is claiming our young men, older ones too now the age of call-up is raised. See, even my farm is smaller now, just a few cattle, enough to keep us going; it’s all Michael can cope with anyway but one day Michael will want to make his own life, perhaps far away from our shores.’
I knew what she meant, he might want to go to Germany, see if he could find his father again. At the thought, my heart plummeted. But that wouldn’t happen, not unless he took me with him. I was decided on it.
I saw him across the fields. He was turning the big horse round. I had no idea what task he was doing, I only had the vaguest idea of farm life and didn’t really want to know any more. Michael and I wouldn’t be spending our life on a farm.
As I neared the red-brick school I saw George in the distance. I noticed he was bigger now, thinner but with broad shoulders. His ginger hair had darkened to a nice brown; he wasn’t bad-looking now, nearly as nice as John Adams. I smiled wryly as I hadn’t thought about John in a long time. I hadn’t seen him—not since we were taken off the bus at Carmarthen and sent to our ‘new homes’.
‘
‘What’s good about it now I’ve seen you?’
‘Nice to see you still got a sense of humour, girl.’
‘Sense of humour? You wouldn’t know one if it bit you on the bum.’
‘I don’t know anything about a bite on the bum,’ he said, ‘but I know well enough what a clout between the legs feels like.’
I had to laugh then. ‘All right, George, you’re growing up but don’t think this makes us friends. I had a lot more bruises than you when you gave me a hiding.’
He went red in the face and looked ashamed. ‘I wouldn’t hit you now, Meryl.’ His eyes roved over me and I knew my breasts were poking out through my coat. I had hair on the lower part of my belly now. I suppose I’d become a woman without really noticing. I hoped Michael had noticed.
Feeling happy at the thought, I actually smiled at George for pointing out I’d changed from a spoiled kid into a nearly grown-up woman.
George looked dazzled. ‘Could we be sort of friends?’ he asked. I put my head on one side and considered.
‘As long as you don’t try kissing me or anything daft like that.’
He clutched his cap in his hand, screwing it up into a ball. The wicked witch Dixon wouldn’t like that at all. I decided to be friends with George if only to irritate his mother.
‘Aye, we can be friends, George.’
He smiled. He wasn’t half bad-looking these days I thought again. Funny I hadn’t noticed before.
The teacher rang the bell and we filed into our classes. I was in the ‘A’ block for maths, so was George. He took the liberty of sitting beside me and I froze him with a look. He didn’t seem to notice and soon I was immersed in the magic of numbers.
When the bell sounded for the end of the lesson I became aware of the smell of newly sharpened pencils and saw that George had put down the little blade he kept in a leather pouch. It was a shaving thing with two arms like pictures you see of Sweeney Todd, the barber. My pencils were laid in a row each with fine points on them. I glanced at George.
‘Thanks,’ I said ungraciously.
I was pretty good at the next lesson, English, too but I made sure I sat far away from George who didn’t know how to spell and said his words all wrong. The teacher even came up with a word I couldn’t say, it was picturesque and I thought it was pronounced ‘picturescue’ so I was brought down a peg or two but no one laughed. None of the class knew what it meant and the teacher had to explain it to us. After she finished I wasn’t any the wiser. I wasn’t as good at English as I thought.
We were learning some French. I didn’t like the language much, which made me try harder. The words were never finished but ended in a tailing off of the letters as though the one speaking was puffing out a heavy breath. Nevertheless I learned enough to convince my teacher I was a good linguist.
I tucked my knowledge of German away inside me knowing it was dangerous but after the French class the others started calling me teacher’s pet. I was glad when it was time to go home.
I wandered along the road at a dawdle and then my stomach turned over as I heard the sound of enemy aircraft. By now I could tell the difference between a Spitfire and a German plane. I crouched near the hedge as the planes swept by overhead. I thought I saw a pilot looking down at me but I suppose all he saw were fields and trees and a few heads of cattle.
I wondered how it was I could love one German and yet fear all the others. But then Michael was half Welsh, I suppose that made all the difference.
The next day was Saturday and Hari came in her jeep with Kate at her side. I could see at once Kate wasn’t herself. She blinked her eyes rapidly as Hari helped her out of the jeep and then she clung to my sister’s arm for dear life.
‘Michael!’ Hari had spotted him near the barn and was waving her arm to him. He ran towards her while my stomach did a jig and a rush of fear and pain rooted me to the spot. Michael took Kate’s arm and together the three of them went into the house without any of them even noticing me. Following them, I realized with a sharp feeling of horror that Kate couldn’t see. Her feet felt for the step hesitantly and she shuffled into the hallway of the farmhouse.
The house looked better these days mainly due to the fact that I made Michael clear up after himself. The place was free of clutter, the towels and sheets were put away in proper cupboards or waited in the outhouse for wash day.
Kate was taken into the parlour and she sat gingerly on the chair near the fire. She’d been crying, her face was whiter now, the yellow colour fading. I knew she wasn’t working the munitions any more—how could she go back when she’d been in a terrible explosion?
I touched her hand. ‘Kate, it’s me, Meryl the pest.’
Kate looked at me—at least her eyes were turned in my direction. They looked the same as ever, Irish pure blue with dark lashes that looked like they were made up with dark pencil.
Kate clutched my fingers. ‘Meryl, your voice is different, you sound so grown-up.’
‘You’re like Hari, she always seemed to forget I’m getting old.’
Kate laughed, a proper laugh. ‘Sure you’re very old.’
I sat beside her, still holding her hand. ‘I remember when I was sixteen,’ she said, ‘Mammy made a cake, a plum cake it was and she cut a candle up to make little ones, she was so clever.’ Her voice halted and I remembered her mother had died in one of the raids. I was glad Kate couldn’t see my face because I was remembering being under the table when our house was bombed, the way the lights went out, Mrs Evans’s big toe through a hole in her slipper. And Kate’s red shoes. I wondered if she still had them. Now she was wearing plain flat shoes, sensible shoes that no doubt helped her to walk without stumbling too much. No more red shoes for Kate.
I looked up suddenly. Michael and Hari were looking at each other like moonstruck kids. I wished Hari would go back home to Swansea and leave us alone.
‘Michael!’—I sounded like his mother—‘come and talk to Kate.’ He came at once and draped his arm around
