A Mistletoe Kiss (26 page)

Gran turned to wait for them and Hetty, giving her a kiss, pointed out that she was perfectly capable of carrying her own suitcase. ‘But I do think Gran might let you take at least one of her baskets,' she observed, and presently the three of them set off once more, Gramps striding along with the heavier basket in his right hand, whilst he and Gran shared the weight of the other one between them.

When they entered the kitchen, Uncle Matthew, who was sitting at the table peeling potatoes, insisted that the three of them should sit down whilst he made a pot of tea. ‘And Hetty can tell us all about her canal trip,' he said, smiling at her. Hetty sighed with pleasure as she slipped the rucksack off her shoulders. She had had a lovely time with Sally, but it was good to be back.

It was a hot day towards the end of August and Hetty was alight with excitement, for she had just gone to the high school where the results of the recent examinations were being displayed on a large board in the main hall. She had approached the board with some trepidation, screwing up her courage to face the fact that she might have failed. But in the event, she did not even have to read the result for herself, since as soon as she appeared one of her classmates called out to her. ‘Haven't you done well, Hetty Gilbert! You've passed with distinction! In fact we've all done pretty well. Three distinctions, two credits and seven passes; not bad, eh?'

Hetty agreed that it was not bad at all, then walked up to the board and read the delightful result for herself. Yes, it was true. Pamela hadn't been teasing, so now she was all set to try for her Higher. Other girls were hanging around chatting, but Hetty knew that she must tell her family before she did anything else, though Miss Preece would be anxiously awaiting the result. After all, it had been she who had not only encouraged Hetty but coached her in maths and science, both subjects not at all dear to Hetty's heart. However, Hetty knew her duty and turned her footsteps towards Heyworth Street.

Uncle Alf would be at Laird's on the other side of the Mersey, so he would have to wait until he returned that evening to hear the good news. Aunt Phoebe, however, was still at Rudham's, where she was highly regarded, and Hetty knew that when she entered the shop and asked for her aunt she would be taken at once to the small office whilst the rest of the staff would cluster in the doorway, as eager as Aunt Phoebe to know her results.

Because of the heat, Hetty decided to catch a tram and was soon entering Rudham's, asking if she might speak to her aunt. The middle-aged woman behind the counter beamed at her. ‘Course you can, chuck; you know where the office is. Tek a seat in there while I get your aunt from the kitchen. And I don't have to ask you how you gorron 'cos I see'd you hoppin' off the tram with a grin like the Cheshire cat fair splittin' your face. But don't you tell me nothin','cos it's only right your auntie should be the first to hear the news. After all, she's been as good as a mother to you.'

‘Thanks, Mrs Huxtable,' Hetty said, ducking under the counter flap and heading for the office. She had barely entered the small room when her aunt joined her there, dusting the flour off her hands.

‘Go on, tell me the worst,' she said, trying to sound worried but failing dismally. ‘I guess you scraped through; you certainly deserved to do so, the way you've worked these past few months.'

‘I didn't scrape through,' Hetty said, chuckling to see her aunt's face fall and then brighten as she added:
‘I passed with distinction. Oh, Aunt Phoebe, the relief!'

‘Hetty Gilbert, you wicked girl, letting me think even for one moment that you'd failed,' her aunt said, flinging both arms round her niece and leaving large white fingermarks on Hetty's threadbare school blazer. ‘Now look what you've made me do! Oh Lor', I'm that excited I forgot I'd been making puff pastry.' She turned to Mrs Huxtable, who was hovering in the doorway. ‘Did you hear that, Mrs H? Passed with distinction! That means she'll go into the sixth form and start studying for her Higher.' She hugged her niece again. ‘Gran and Gramps will be so proud; they'll say you're as clever as your mam was. She'd have been proud an' all; she'd have said you was a chip off the old block. And now you'd best telephone the post office in Burscough, because Gran and Gramps will be pacin' up and down the pavement waitin' for your call.'

Hetty said she would go to the nearest box at once, and presently set off along Heyworth Street with a large box of cream fancies beneath one arm, a present from Mr Rudham. He had come into the shop just as she was about to leave, and upon hearing her news had insisted on giving her the cakes.

Hetty rang the number of the telephone box outside the Burscough post office and the receiver was snatched up so quickly that she guessed Aunt Phoebe had been right; Gramps had been hovering, possibly for hours. She told him the news, received his excited congratulations, and then set off for Everton library
where Agatha Preece refused to be surprised by the result, though she could not hide her pleasure. ‘You deserve your success,' she told Hetty. ‘No one could have worked harder than you've done, my dear. Unless you have another appointment, I'll treat you to lunch at the Priory to celebrate.'

‘That would be lovely,' Hetty said gratefully. ‘Have a cake! I'm taking the rest back to Salisbury Street, but I can spare you and Maria, and Mr Gower of course, one to eat with your elevenses. I shall be off to Burscough on the first bus tomorrow, to celebrate with Gran and Gramps, but I'll take them chocolates, I think.' She laughed. ‘I must be the only pupil in the whole of Liverpool who is looking forward to the end of the summer holidays and the start of the new term!'

Max Galera looked down at his brother's sleeping face and decided not to wake him yet. After all, what was there to wake up for? The Republicans had clung desperately on to Madrid, their last stronghold. They had continued to fight through the worst winter anyone could remember, with constant blizzards, deep snow on the plateau and, very soon, almost no food. Despite Franco's promises, the Luftwaffe had attacked the city relentlessly, night after night, until there was nothing left worth bombing. And now that winter was beginning to withdraw its cruel claws and the wind
was growing softer as spring crept in, the Republicans had surrendered and the Nationalist troops had begun to pour into Spain's capital city.

What will happen to us, the members of the International Brigade? Max asked himself. Britain and France had recognised the Franco regime in February, and international recognition had followed. Now, Max guessed, Franco would show no mercy to those who had fought him to the bitter end, so it behoved him to get himself and his brother out of this damned, doomed city. Already the red and yellow Nationalist flags flew everywhere, and citizens who wanted to preserve their lives were hastily scrabbling round for any red and yellow material which could become a makeshift flag, for whatever their true allegiance now was no time to display it.

The brothers had found shelter of a sort in the cellar of a bombed house. At first they had shared it with others, but now that the war was over the Madrileños must have decided that to be caught anywhere near members of the International Brigade would be asking for trouble, so the brothers had the cellar to themselves. But it would not be safe for long; sighing, Max reached out and shook his brother's shoulder, watching as the younger man's eyes opened. At first his gaze was bleary with sleep, then it sharpened into recollection of their plight.

He sat up, staring at Max. ‘What'll we do?'he said huskily. ‘I'm damned if I'm going to stumble up to the nearest Nationalist soldier and try to surrender. They'll shoot first and ask questions afterwards.'
He yawned cavernously. ‘Ah, God, I could eat a horse!'

‘You probably have … eaten horse, I mean,'Max said drily. ‘Certainly they say folk have been eating rats, and it's a while since I saw a cat or a dog on the streets. But food isn't important …'

‘It is to me,'Michael muttered. ‘It's bloody important. I'm telling you, Max, everyone has to eat to survive, and survival is very much on my mind right now.'

Max grinned. ‘I agree, and in order to survive, we've got to get out of this city pretty damn quick. It's a good thing our uniforms have become little more than rags. No one looking at you would suspect for one moment that you were an officer in the International Brigade. And since we both speak fairly good colloquial Spanish, my plan is this. We make our way through Spain to the Pyrenees, cross the mountains and reach France. From there it should be relatively easy to contact the British authorities, who will surely help us on our way to a Channel port. What do you think? Have you a better idea?'

Michael shook his head. ‘I think you're right, and it's our only chance of avoiding arrest by the Nationalists,'he said resignedly. ‘But to an extent, I think we shall have to play it by ear, take chances when they're offered. Agreed?'

His brother nodded and rose to his feet. ‘Agreed,'he said. ‘And now we'd best get started.'

* * *

‘It's mid-June and the Republican army surrendered in April, so surely the Galeras ought to be back by now,' Agatha Preece said, clearly speaking with all the casualness she could muster. ‘Some of the International Brigade are back already, so I've heard. If only communications weren't so poor!'

It was a bright Sunday afternoon and Agatha and Hetty had come up to Prince's Park to feed the ducks and stroll amongst the well-tended flower beds, but it had been obvious to Hetty from the moment they had met that Agatha had only one thing on her mind – Professor Max Galera, and his brother.

Now, Hetty gave what comfort she could. ‘It's a big country, Spain, and from what you've told me the Galeras won't be able to hop on a train or even walk openly up to a frontier. Of course it will take time to make their way on foot, but as soon as it's safe to do so I'm sure the professor will write and let you know what's going on.'

‘Yes, I'm sure you're right,'Agatha said, her tone clearly doubting the words her lips were speaking. ‘But Franco's a monster, Hetty. He's killed his own people by the hundred – the thousand – so why should he hesitate to kill a couple of Englishmen who are alone and penniless in his country?'

‘Why should he do something which isn't in his best interests?'Hetty countered. ‘From what I've read in the papers, he's got troubles enough at home. And don't forget Hitler. He's still saying that the ally he most wants is Great Britain, so if Franco behaved badly towards Englishmen in Spain Hitler might force him
to apologise. Franco wouldn't want to be humiliated like that in front of his followers. I've not read
Mein Kampf
, but a friend of mine told me that Hitler believes the Germans and the English are natural allies, whereas the Spanish are different. We're Aryans, whatever that is, whilst Spaniards are Latins, if I've got it right. And remember, the professor isn't exactly a nobody, is he? If he's captured – which I'm sure he won't be – he'll know how best to contact the British embassy and get himself sent home. Just you relax a bit, Agatha, and one day, hopefully quite soon before you drive us all mad, there'll come a knock on your door and the prof will seize you in his arms and all your troubles will be over.'

Agatha gave a watery laugh. ‘You ridiculous child! No one will seize anyone in their arms, particularly not myself,' she said. ‘And if there's an embassy in Spain still standing I'll be very surprised. Or did you mean the one in Paris?

‘Well, when he gets to any embassy he'll be able to write you a letter,' Hetty said. ‘Don't worry so, Agatha! Mr Galera's resourceful and intelligent. He'll get home all right.'

‘I just hope he does so before we're all at war,'Agatha said gloomily. ‘We can't let Germany continue to invade any country in Europe that swine Hitler fancies. Mark my words, Hetty, it'll be France next, and then what chance will the professor have to get back to England?'

‘Oh, don't even think it, Agatha,'Hetty said. ‘France isn't a tiny country; they've got an army and a navy,
and an air force as well. They aren't going to sit down and let the Huns overrun them. Now for goodness' sake stop raising imaginary worries, when there are real ones in plenty.'She looked around her at the wide stretches of grass and lake, the bright flowers, the people strolling quietly along the paths. If her friend was right, and she feared she was, England was as much at risk as Agatha's professor.

‘I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm poor company this afternoon,'Agatha said stiffly. ‘I'll change the subject. I see the tea room is open; shall we treat ourselves to a pot of tea and a scone?'

‘Yes, that would be lovely,'Hetty said, but hard though she tried to prise her mind away from the Galeras, it refused to obey her commands. She and Agatha had spent hours with maps and atlases spread out before them, trying to guess where the brothers were. Now, she saw in her imagination great towering mountains, white-topped with unthawed snow, and two tiny figures, clad in rags, plodding ever upwards. Yes, they must be in the Pyrenees by now, she told herself. And once they reach France …

Max was the first to see the cave, which was not surprising, because he had once known these mountains well. Others who had crossed the Pyrenees had done so with a guide, but he and Michael had both spent time here before the war had started and remembered the path they had to follow well enough. To be sure, the going had been hard, but at least in these mountainous regions there were no Nationalist
strongholds. Max imagined that General Franco had not considered the tiny, poverty-stricken villages to be worth annexing, so though the land was poor and crops consequently sparse, they had been met not with refusals to help, but with offers of such food as the villagers could spare, and with advice on which mountain passes they should take.