over a book they were reading or a point of history—because all that had changed on that June morning when Mr. Cuddy had gathered them together in the schoolroom as his annual holiday was to begin. As he’d asked them to sit down, Lewis had seen, to his surprise, that his tutor had tears in his eyes.
“I cannot put this off any longer,” Mr. Cuddy had said then. “You all know that I’m going away, but I’m not going on holiday as I’ve told you, and I’m afraid that I won’t be coming back.”
Irene recovered first. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Cuddy. Why ever wouldn’t you come back?”
Mr. Cuddy had turned away from them, a slight, balding, familiar figure in spectacles and moth- eaten jacket, and Lewis had felt the first stirring of fear.
“I have been torn this last year between what I saw as my duty to you, and what I felt was my duty to my country, and I’m afraid I have let myself be swayed by my desire to stay with you three children. But I have realized that you are not children any longer.” Mr. Cuddy turned back to them, his hands in his pockets, and Lewis knew he would be fingering the old watch he always kept there. “I have told you that I believe the Allies will shortly be invading Italy and the Mediterranean. Translators will be needed—”
“Are you saying you’ve joined up?” asked William, with an expression of astonishment that was almost comical.
“They refused me at the beginning of the war, but I speak Greek as well as rudimentary Italian and German, and it seems the army has come to see the advantages of that.” The light glinted from Mr. Cuddy’s spectacles as he nodded. “Yes, I have enlisted. And if this war goes on as it has, you boys will be doing the same before long.”
“But you’re too old,” blurted Lewis, without thinking.
Mr. Cuddy smiled. “I tried telling myself that. But for this it doesn’t matter. I won’t be fighting at the front, just trying to keep things running smoothly behind the scenes.”
“But what about us?” Irene was frowning so hard that Lewis guessed she was holding back tears.
“You will all be perfectly fine without me,” Mr. Cuddy had replied. “William will rebuild his father’s business when the war is over. Lewis, I think you can do anything you set your mind to, once you decide what that is. And Irene—our Irene is going to be prime minister, of course.” He lifted Irene’s chin gently with his forefinger, the first time Lewis remembered him touching any of them, then he had bid them a determined goodbye.
They’d watched him from the window, tramping down the drive with his rucksack as if he were going on holiday after all, and Lewis had felt as if he’d awakened from a silly sort of bad dream and found it not to be a dream.
In the autumn, Edwina had enrolled them in the village school, and while they were bored with their schoolwork, life at the Hall had gone on very much as before.
At first, Lewis wouldn’t talk about Mr. Cuddy when William or Irene brought his name up, and when letters came from Italy, he pretended disinterest and refused to read them. But sometimes in the evenings, when everyone had gone to bed, he would creep into Edwina’s drawing room. There he could pore over the letters alone, by the light of a guttering candle, as many times as he wanted.
Mr. Cuddy had been posted to General Clark’s 5th Army, which had landed at Salerno, on the shin of Italy, a few days after Montgomery’s 8th Army entered Italy at its toe on the 3rd of September. As the weeks passed and William and Irene speculated about whether Mr. Cuddy would eventually meet up with John Pebbles, Lewis occasionally let slip that he knew more than he admitted. Irene looked at him but said nothing, and somehow this made their friendship closer.
Raids had been light and infrequent over the past eighteen months, since the Blitz had ended in May of ’41. They were all allowed home for a long holiday at Christmas—William to his family’s home in Greenwich; Irene to Kilburn, where her house had been repaired enough to be at least habitable; and Lewis to his parents’ tiny flat in Millwall.
As they sat down to tea the first evening in the room that served his family as bedroom, parlor, and kitchen, Lewis had glanced at the three places set on the makeshift table and asked, “Where’s Cath, then?” thinking she must be working an evening shift at her factory.
The look he’d come to recognize passed between his parents again, then his father stared down at the pile of mashed turnips on his plate and muttered, “Bloody Yanks.”
Lewis turned to his mother for enlightenment. He’d seen the American soldiers in the street, and the American military police everyone called “snow-drops,” in their white belts and hats, but he didn’t make the immediate connection.
His mother gave another glance at his da before she said softly, “Your sister’s gone, Lewis. I hadn’t the heart to tell you in a letter. She’s married an American flier who’s been invalided home—” Faltering, she touched his father’s arm, but he shook his head, refusing her comfort. “And she’s going to have a baby,” his mother finished quickly.
Lewis had heard enough village gossip to guess the order of events, but that didn’t quell his rising anger. “You mean she’s gone off to the States without even saying goodbye?”
“It was all that quick, in the Registry Office … and your da didn’t want any fuss.” His mum’s eyes filled with tears and she pushed a covered dish towards Lewis. “The greengrocer saved me a special treat for your tea—fresh Brussels sprouts.”
Feeling suddenly nauseated, Lewis pushed back his chair. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not hungry.”
The air outside was dense with a freezing fog that seemed to creep inside his clothes and cling to his skin, but Lewis found himself trudging along West Ferry Road in the dark, the thin fabric of his coat pulled up round his chin. There was nothing he could do about the cold nipping at his wrists and ankles. His sleeves were too short, as were his trousers: he’d already outgrown the few items allotted by his ration coupons.
It seemed there was nothing he could do about people leaving, either, he thought, kicking savagely at an empty tin in the street. A man hurrying in the
