My Friend the Enemy (21 page)

Mr Bennett managed to kick his incendiary right out to the front gate. It arced up into the air, trailing smoke, and landed with a thump and a spatter of sparks. Before Mr Bennett could follow it, I went as close as I dared and began digging soil and throwing it over the burning tube. Smoke plumed around me, the smell of fireworks and petrol filling the air. Mr Bennett came over, making sure I was all right, but the fire was out now, and I was banging the dirt down hard on the incendiary to make sure it was out for good.

Mr Bennett nodded at me, then turned to Mam, who came to his side clutching the broom. ‘Stirrup pump?' he said, taking it from her.

‘No.'

‘Use the bucket, then.' He pointed.

While Mam went to the pump and began filling the bucket with water, Mr Bennett took the broom and started flicking the other incendiaries away from the house and I chased after them, throwing soil over them. Mam followed that up with a good dousing from the bucket.

By now, the netty had started to burn, flames licking under the door, the smoke thickening.

‘Must be inside,' I said. ‘Gone through the roof.'

‘Stay back,' Mr Bennett said as he approached it, hand in front of his face as the heat increased. He kept low and pulled open the door. Immediately, the flames leapt up, and thick black smoke belched out, pushing Mr Bennett back.

Mam stood wide-eyed, staring as the netty went up in flames.

Mr Bennett pulled the bucket from her grasp and rushed to the water-pump, frantically working the handle. I ran into the house, through the kitchen and into the scullery. I snatched up the biggest pan to hand and hurried back outside.

Mam was working the pump now, so Mr Bennett and I took turns to fill up and we ran backwards and forwards, throwing water onto the fire. Coming back for my third refill, though, I heard Mam shout, ‘Peter!'

I looked up in surprise.

‘You're on fire!'

I glanced down and realised that in all the excitement, I hadn't noticed my dressing-gown tie had come unfastened. It had worked itself loose and was trailing on the ground behind me – at least, it
had
been trailing on the
ground. Now it was almost all gone, burning like a fuse, the flame working its way right up to the tail of my dressing gown, and that had now started to burn.

Before I could react, before Mam could even react, Mr Bennett took one step towards me and threw his bucket of water at my legs. The cold water hit me like a shockwave, soaking everything below my waist, and I stood for a moment looking down at myself, then up at Mam and Mr Bennett.

And then Mr Bennett began to laugh. He laughed loud, throwing back his head, and I couldn't help joining in, but Mam didn't find it too funny. She came over and hugged me tight and I could feel her shaking, so I stopped laughing and hugged her back.

‘I'm fine,' I said. ‘Let's get this fire put out.'

Then Mam went back to the pump as Mr Bennett and I returned to our fire duties.

*

By the time all the fires were out, the sirens were sounding the all-clear in the village.

‘Better check right round,' Mr Bennett said, striding off into the darkness.

‘Well, you're comin' inside to get changed,' Mam said to me. ‘You'll catch your death otherwise.' She put her hand on my back and marched me inside, taking me upstairs and fishing out some dry pyjamas.

‘Eee, look at the state of us,' she said, putting the fresh pyjamas on the end of the bed. ‘Black and covered in soot. We both prob'ly stink, too. On bath day.' She looked at me for a long time like she was thinking about something,
then she smiled and kissed me on the forehead. ‘We're safe, though,' she said. ‘That's what matters.'

She left me to get changed, and when I went downstairs, Mr Bennett was just coming in the kitchen door.

‘All clear, I reckon,' he said. ‘I've checked right round the house and nothing's burning.'

‘I can't see any fires in the village,' Mam said, going to the door and looking out in the direction of the coast. ‘D'you think we should go and see if anyone needs any help?'

‘We definitely should,' I said, thinking about Kim. ‘We should go now and—'

‘I think you've done enough for one night,' said Mr Bennett.

‘But I want to make sure Kim's all right.' I looked at Mam.

‘She'll be fine,' she said. ‘The village is safe.'

I stood at the door and looked out towards the village, wishing I could see right to Kim's house. I put my hand to my brow as if it would help me look into the dark better. Then I scrunched up my eyes and peered in the direction of the woods, wondering how Erik was feeling right now.

‘There's no fires,' Mam said. ‘It's all right. You can check first thing in the mornin'.' She led me back inside and closed the door.

Mam made tea for her and Mr Bennett and I had hot milk. We'd drunk all the fresh, so it was powdered and didn't taste right. I sipped it, though, not wanting to waste it.

We all sat quietly, thinking about everything that had
just happened. I watched them, seeing how they sat side by side, close, but not too close. They kept looking at each other as if there was something they wanted to say.

‘Lucky you were here,' Mam said eventually, looking at Mr Bennett. ‘Dunno what we'd have done otherwise. Prob'ly the house would've burnt to the ground.'

‘Wasn't all me,' he said. ‘Peter did a good job, too. You should be proud of him.'

‘I am,' she replied.

Watching Mr Bennett across the table now, I couldn't remember all the reasons I'd disliked him so much. Instead, I could think of a lot of new reasons to like him. He made Mam feel safe and he did so much to look after her and me. Most of all, though, I thought he was very brave. And I believed he had saved my life with that bucket of water.

‘Mr Bennett?' I said, forcing him to look away from Mam.

‘I think you've earned the right to call me Jack,' he said. ‘Anyone who can stand beside me and fight fires like that can call me by my first name.' He leant forward. ‘You'd make a fine soldier.'

I felt myself swell with pride.

‘I'd rather he didn't,' Mam said.

‘Is it true you were in Dunkirk?' I asked.

‘Peter.' Mam stopped me, but Mr Bennett held up a hand.

‘It's all right,' he said. ‘Yes, I was there.'

‘What was it like?'

He took a deep breath and didn't say anything for quite
a while. I was beginning to think he wasn't going to answer when he said, ‘It was bad, Peter. Very bad. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.'

‘Not even on a Nazi?'

He thought about that, staring down at the table top, then he shook his head. ‘No, maybe not even on them . . .'

‘Me da' was there,' I said.

‘I know.'

‘But he went back to war.'

‘And you think that isn't fair, don't you?' said Mr Bennett.

I shrugged.

Mr Bennett got up from the seat next to Mam and came to sit beside me. ‘This is very difficult to explain,' he said. ‘Part of me wishes I'd gone back. A
big
part of me. I wanted to fight, see? And when I think about all those men who went back, lots of them my friends, I often wish I was with them. I wonder why it is that
I
came home. But on the other hand, I know I'm lucky, and I'm glad to be here.'

‘Did you get wounded?'

‘Peter, I think that's enough,' Mam said, but Mr Bennett ignored her.

‘Yes I did, Peter. I
was
wounded. And now I'm not fit for active service.'

‘Where did you get wounded? Is that why you got a scar?'

‘Lots of places,' he said. ‘It was bomb shrapnel.'

‘So what happened?'

‘Well, we were in a bit of a sorry state. Tired, hungry,
beaten and trying to get away from the Germans. We just wanted to get home. I was with a group of soldiers heading back to the beach when we heard the Stuka dive-bombers coming. You can imagine a little bit what that's like, right?'

I thought about the noises we'd just heard that night. The whistles and thumps; the explosions. I nodded. ‘Aye.'

‘Well, there wasn't a shelter like there is here, so we jumped into a ditch. Just a muddy ditch at the side of the road that didn't protect us much from the blast. I was luckier than the others.'

He didn't need to explain that to me. I imagined him lying in the muddy ditch, surrounded by dead soldiers.

‘I had shrapnel in my face, my legs. A very big piece in my ankle.' He gave me a smile; the kind grown-ups make when they're not really happy and nothing is really funny. ‘And now I'm home.'

‘Did you kill any Nazis?' I asked. ‘When you were in France?'

‘Yes, I did.'

‘But not all Germans are Nazis, are they?'

‘Hm?'

‘Not all Germans are Nazis,' I said again. ‘They don't
all
want to fight us, do they? At least, that's what Kim says.'

‘Well, Kim might be right,' he said.

I nodded and looked over at the thick curtains covering the window and I thought about Erik, my German friend.

A DIFFERENT KIND OF DESTRUCTION

T
he next morning, I was anxious to get out and make sure Kim was all right. Putting out the fires and talking to Mr Bennett had distracted me for a while, but as soon as there was nothing else to think about, she'd popped back into my mind and stayed there all night.

When I got to the top of the hill, I could see her jogging across the field. And way beyond that, near the village, but on this side of the road, a crowd had gathered on the edge of the field. The people were staring across in the direction of the Black Bull pub, just along the inlet where the burn trickled out into the sea. There were
soldiers there – some busying about, others standing in front of the crowd, as if trying to keep them back.

On the other side, there was only one soldier guarding the wrecked plane. It wasn't one of the soldiers I'd spoken to yesterday.

Kim was out of breath when she reached me, as if she'd been running as hard as she could. She was in shorts, as usual, and she had a bandage wrapped around her leg where the bayonet had scraped her.

‘We got a letter,' she said between breaths.

‘What?'

‘From Josh. We got a letter saying he's all right.'

‘When?'

‘Yesterday. Well, the letter was from my mum, but
they
got a letter a few days ago.'

‘That's brilliant,' I said, but I couldn't help a twinge of jealousy.

‘See. I told you they'd be all right if we looked after Erik. I told you.'

‘Aye, you did.' I was happy for Kim, but her getting a letter just made me think of Dad.

‘He's still in Africa – we don't know where exactly – but he's fine. Isn't that good?'

‘Aye,' I said. ‘It really is.'

Kim stopped and looked at me as her breath came back. The happy expression fell from her face. ‘You'll get one soon,' she said. ‘I just know you will.'

I forced a smile and nodded, and we sat down to stare out at the village, not speaking.

‘That was quite something last night, wasn't it?' she
said after a while.

‘We got firebombed.' I was glad for the change of subject.

‘There were some in the village too. Bombs coming really close.'

‘We had to put 'em out,' I told her. ‘And the netty caught fire.'

‘Burn your bum?' she asked.

‘Nearly. Me dressing gown was on fire. Jack had to put it out and—'

‘Jack?'

‘Mr Bennett,' I said. ‘He was in the shelter with us 'n' everything.'

‘He was at your house?'

‘Aye.' The way she said it reminded me I never did find out why he was there. But somehow it didn't seem to matter so much any more. I felt closer to him now. He looked after Mam. He'd asked me to call him Jack. We'd put fires out together. And he'd even told me his war story.

‘So what's going on over there?' I asked. ‘Why's everyone standing about?'

‘Unexploded bomb from last night.'

‘There was one that close to the village?'

‘Right next to the pub,' she said. ‘Lucky it didn't go off.' She shook her head. ‘Were you scared?'

‘Last night? No.'

‘Me neither,' she said and we looked at each other for a long moment, both of us knowing the truth.

‘Well,' I admitted. ‘Maybe a bit.'

Kim tightened her lips and nodded. ‘Yeah. Me too.'

Everyone
was afraid when the sky was filled with the screams of falling bombs and the terrifying thud of their explosions. Any one of us could be killed, and anybody who said they weren't scared was pretending.

‘I tried to get a look at it but they're keeping everyone away,' Kim said. ‘I heard someone say all the houses are going to be evacuated.'

‘
All
of 'em?'

She nodded and we were quiet for a while, watching the silent crowd in the distance.

‘Erik showed me a photo yesterday,' I said. ‘Of his mam and da' and his brother Konrad.'

‘Konrad?'

‘Aye. He's fourteen. And Erik's nineteen. He wrote it on some paper I took.'

Kim turned to look at me. ‘I never thought much about him having a family . . . I bet they're worried sick.'

‘Like we are. Well, like
I
am.'

‘I'm still worried about Josh,' Kim said. ‘He's still away. And the letter was from a few weeks ago, they take ages to get here, you know.'

‘I know.'

‘You're not cross, are you?'

‘About what?'

‘I don't know. About me not being here yesterday. About me getting a letter.'

I thought for a moment, then shook my head. ‘Not really. Just jealous, I s'pose. I'm sorry if—'

‘That's all right,' Kim said putting an arm around my shoulder. It was the kind of thing any good friend might
do, but it felt different when Kim did it. Special and comforting.

‘I'm really glad for you,' I said. ‘Really I am.'

And then she did something that took me by surprise as much as it had done the first time she did it; she leant over and kissed me on the cheek. Except this time I didn't wipe it away.

‘What was that for?' I asked, my heart beating just a little bit faster.

‘For . . . I don't know. For being my best friend. For being glad for me.' She shrugged. ‘And for being Peter Dixon,' she said as she stood up. ‘Come on, let's go see Erik.'

On our way down to the woods, I remembered that Kim hadn't heard all my news. ‘They came into the woods again yesterday,' I said.

‘Who?'

‘Soldiers. That Sergeant Wilkes.' I told her about what had happened and she listened with her mouth falling open.

‘Sounds like you've been having much more fun than me,' she said. ‘Hiding from soldiers, putting out fire bombs. Aunt Hillary was trying to teach me to knit, which was absolutely ghastly. She made such a fuss when I got in.'

‘What did you tell 'er?'

‘That I caught my leg on some barbed wire.'

‘And she believed it?'

‘She said what on earth was I doing climbing over barbed wire in the first place? Barbed wire was there to
keep things out, not for children to climb over.'

‘Oh.'

‘And she said Mum and Dad sent me here to keep safe from bombs, not so I could go around cutting myself on rusty old pieces of barbed wire.'

‘What did you say?' I asked.

‘I told her it wasn't rusty.'

‘She didn't stop you from comin' out again, though?'

‘Obviously not.' She spread out her hands.

I looked at her leg. ‘Does it hurt?'

‘Nope. I could've killed my aunt, though. She made me wear a dress while she washed my shorts. I'm glad you didn't have to see that.'

‘So am I.'

It was good to have Kim back by my side when we sneaked into the woods. She'd only been away for one afternoon, but it hadn't felt right without her. And so much had happened yesterday, it felt like it had been days ago.

When we were safe among the trees, I found us each a good stick and together we swiped the heads off the nettles.

‘Take that, Trevor Ridley,' Kim said, crashing her stick into a thicket of thistles. ‘Have that, you smelly pig.'

I laughed, careful to keep it quiet, and joined in. ‘And you, Bob Cummings; outta my way.'

We hacked our way through a thousand bullies, swirling and twirling as we sent ripped pieces of leaves flying into the air. We swiped and chopped so that our sticks dripped green, and we giggled to one another until
Kim said she might even wet herself, which made us giggle even louder despite the fear that the soldiers might come.

By the time we came across the burn, we were high with excitement. Kim was lifted by news of her brother, the thrill of the bombing raid, and I was glad we were together again, but all the exhilaration fell away when we came to the place where Dad's shed stood. Because there we saw a very different kind of destruction.

*

The pheasant runs were all smashed. There had been six of them, all in neat rows, and even though they were overgrown with weeds, the cages had been fine apart from the one we'd used. But now they were all broken. All Dad's work smashed to pieces. Someone had pulled off the wire, throwing it into the banks of nettles, and the wooden frames had been snapped as if they'd been stamped on and then cracked against the trees. I'd felt rotten when I broke the one we used for Erik's splint, but this was horrible. It was as if someone had come into my house and broken all my belongings.

‘What's happened?' Kim stood and stared.

It was bad enough that the runs had been destroyed, but the worst thing was what they had done to Dad's shed. The door was open and the inside had been ransacked. There were tools all over the floor where someone had tipped the toolbox upside down, and there were some outside in the dirt. The paraffin heater was on its side, and the stool had been thrown into the nettles where the runs were. It looked almost as if a German
bomb had landed on the area and blown Dad's things all over the place. But there was no scorching here. There wasn't the smell of explosives.

‘What happened?' Kim said again.

‘Trevor Ridley,' I said, feeling hot tears in my eyes. ‘I just know it.' They'd been near here yesterday, and must have come inside for a closer look after I'd gone. I couldn't think of anyone else who would do something like this. So he'd come back for his revenge, after all.

‘Fat lot of good it did hittin' 'im,' I said, fighting back the tears. I didn't want Kim to see them. ‘Just got 'im more angry.'

But even though they had destroyed all those things that meant so much to me, that quickly went from my mind. The shed could be tidied, the runs could be rebuilt. Even the thought that they might have found the gun seemed unimportant, because what I was most worried about was Erik. Our friend Erik. He'd been here the whole time. First with this, then with the bombs falling.

I ran to the place behind the shed, dropping to the ground and crawling through the small gap in the undergrowth.

‘Erik?'

Erik was sitting with his back to the sycamore trunk, pressed to it as hard as he could, holding his arm straight out in front of him. And in his hand, he was holding a gun. The gun I had found at the plane crash.

I stopped suddenly and Kim bumped into me as she scurried into the den right behind me.

‘What?' she said. ‘What's wrong?'

For a long moment, Erik stared at me, holding the gun straight out so the barrel was pointing directly at my face.

The gun was no longer dirty and clogged with mud. The barrel was dark and hollow and ready for a bullet to be fired along it. Somehow I just knew it would work. He must have found where I'd hidden it, and spent his time making it ready in case he needed it.

I looked up from the end of the barrel and saw Erik's face. I saw the way he twitched because he was afraid, and I imagined how he must have felt, cowering in hiding, listening to the noise of the boys wrecking the pens. He would have pictured them as soldiers, just a few feet away, ready to kill him.

‘It's all right,' I said, moving further in, giving Kim room to come alongside me. ‘It's all right.'

Erik swallowed hard and lowered the gun. He nodded and put it on the ground in front of him, placing it carefully. He held both hands out to show me he meant no harm.

‘It's all right,' I said again.

Erik said something in German and I was frustrated that I couldn't understand what he was saying and that he couldn't understand me. All we could do was look at each other and show that we meant no harm.

Erik's breathing was heavy as he calmed down. He sucked great swooshes of air through his nose and blew them out in a rush, so we sat and waited for him to relax. And when his breathing was normal again, he put down the pistol and showed me the palms of his hands.

‘Erik,' he said. ‘Peter. Kim. Friend.'

‘Aye,' I said. ‘Friends.'

‘He must've been terrified,' Kim said. ‘He must've heard them out there and wondered what was going on.'

‘Trevor Ridley,' I said. ‘I'll kill 'im.'

Erik took out a piece of scrap paper and the pencil. We waited while he drew a picture of a plane. His hands were still trembling and it wasn't a very good picture; he wasn't much of an artist and the lines were shaky. Then he drew some box-like houses underneath and made lines come down from the aeroplane. He drew an explosion of grey lines over one of the houses and put a question mark beside it.

‘He wants to know if anything got blown up,' Kim said.

We both shook our heads and Erik sighed deeply, closing his eyes. Then he nodded and put up his thumb. ‘
Gut
.'

‘I got you some clothes,' I said, opening my satchel. It was bulging and I'd had to fasten the strap on the very last hole. ‘There's a bit of chicken, too. From last night's tea.'