Opposite Sides (12 page)

Hans wanted to be
accepted by the others. He wanted a chance to prove that he could
be friends with them. If only he did not have all the other
pressures to contend with as well. Now that he had ended up at the
Turner house, supervised and monitored every minute of the day and
night, cricket with Robert and the cricket boys might give him the
opportunity to escape for a few hours. It might work and was worth
considering.

His thoughts were
interrupted by Miss Turner’s voice instructing Mary to take his
bags upstairs. Servants of any sort were difficult to find these
days, especially men, for after 1918 young men were in short
supply. Many young women had found jobs in factories, jobs that
before the war had been jobs only the men ever did. The girls did
not want to be servants or maids any more.

Mary had been
in service for twelve years now, ever since her father had thrown
her out claiming that his meagre pay did not stretch to feeding all
his large family, especially a daughter of working age. Now she was
a mature twenty-six year old and had been with the Turner household
for just on ten years, long enough to have been considered part of
the family. Her main duties were cleaning and organising the
collection and return of the weekly wash. Ellen, on the other hand,
was far younger; only fifteen and three quarters and still inclined
to giggle for no obvious reason at all. Her mother had insisted she
become a domestic as such a position would not only provide her
daughter with a steady income but keep her out of harm’s way and
out of any temptations out in the modern world so as soon as Ellen
had left school, she had gone into service, first as a kitchen maid
and then she had graduated to being the cook’s assistant. In a year
and a half she had learnt enough to be able to prepare simple
dishes and present them adequately for a small household. She had
helped her own mother in the kitchen since she was ten and now,
still very young, was able to dish up plain food that was not only
acceptable but tasty as well. She still needed to improve and when
she arrived at Miss Turner’s, she had been provided with a copy
of
Mrs Beeton’s
Cookbook
.
As well
as kitchen duties, Ellen was sometimes called to help Mary make the
beds as the expense of another full-paid household maid would have
stretched the college finances too much.

It was Mary who showed
Hans into the front room downstairs. Hans watched as Mary quietly
pulled the door closed, leaving him standing in the middle of the
room wondering what to do next.

He milled aimlessly
around, looking at the ceiling, then the pelmets and thick heavy
curtains and a collection of small red poppies that had been pushed
into a narrow vase across the room from where he was
standing.

“
Hans Resmel,
I never thought I’d see
you
here.”

The voice, which had
originated from near the fire-place, was mocking. He abruptly
turned round. It was Janine Turner. She had let her hair down and
he noticed that it fell way past her shoulders. He knew that she
had not forgiven him for her broken leg and the inconvenience it
was causing and he noted, also, that this time she was using
crutches. When inside, she found the large wheelchair far too
cumbersome to use with the stairs and narrow hallways that linked
the numerous rooms.

He pretended not to have
noticed her and looked intently out of the window, deep into the
garden with its shrubbery boarded by multi-coloured cottage
annuals, together with a splash of deep red and scarlet garden
poppies. He half expected Jan to say more; but she didn’t and when
he turned round again, she had gone.

I must stop
day-dreaming
, he thought, unsure now
whether he’d even seen her.

His reflections moved
from the garden poppies to the artificial ones in the room. Then
his eyes drifted around the walls. For the first time, he noticed
how dark the room was and how high the wooden ceiling was. The
wallpaper was also gloomy and for a minute he was unaware that
photographs were hung in a row along the picture rail on the far
side of the room. Slowly he edged towards them and looked up. They
appeared to be family members . . . firstly, young and older women,
dressed in black with white lace frilled collars, stiff like
mannequines with severe wax-like faces. It must have been taken at
least fifty years ago.

He moved along further
until his eyes rested on a more recent photograph showing a small
group of soldiers posing together in what looked like a muddy,
pitted field. Hans stood only a short distance away from it and
immersed himself in the picture. He then noticed that the soldiers
were wearing different uniforms.

“
You find
that interesting?” He heard the dull thud of her crutches move
across the floor. Jan had returned into the room to collect some
papers she had earlier put down.

“
This
photograph; it was taken during the Great War. They’re soldiers.”
He turned and looked directly at Jan.

“
I know. They
are.” She brushed her hair back over her shoulders. “My aunt told
me it was taken in 1914.” She answered him in a matter-of-fact,
unemotional tone. “The men on the front right are British. Those
there are the Boche. You can tell them from the funny spiky lids
they’re wearing.” She turned on her crutch and faced him, triumph
on her face at having him at a disadvantage. “Don’t you think they
look silly?”

She watched him closely
to see what his reaction would be but his face remained as
unreceptive as the faces in the photograph.

“
What? The
spikes on the helmets?” he asked.

“
No. Not just
them. The soldiers.”

“
Which ones?
The German . . . or . . . the English?”

“
The
Fritzies!”

She cleared her voice in
triumph and, putting more weight on one crutch, adjusted her
glasses in much the same way as her aunt was seen to do. She
eagle-eyed him, waiting for his reaction. He hated the word
‘Fritzies’ but this time he was determined to ignore the
insult.

Suddenly, he spun round
back to the wall. Something in the photo intrigued him. His
eyebrows shot up. He felt a thousand hammers pound his temples. It
seemed like minutes, yet only a few brief seconds had really
passed.

Slowly, very slowly he
turned round on his heels. His fists were clenched and his face
muscles had become taut and hard. Jan’s mouth dropped open and
horror filled her eyes. His lips had lost their form and colour and
were now tight and white. His eyes had become cat-like, glassy and
cold as if they were made from ice. Then, she saw that the small
muscles in his face began to twitch slightly under the
strain.

“
What did you
say? What did you mean by that?” His voice was loud and
excited.

“
Nothing!”
She covered the lenses of her spectacles with her fingers but he
could see she was still watching him.

“
Then, if it
was nothing why did you say that?”

“
I’ve heard
some of the boys say that,” Jan answered removing her hands and
biting on her bottom lip.

Hans observed her a while
and then said,

“
You stupid,
beastly girl!”

She found her lack of
mobility around the house annoying, not having enough room to
easily manoeuvre through the doorways and having to struggle with
her crutches up and down the stairs. At this point she wanted to
hurt him as he had hurt her. In her mind she wanted to see him
squirm like the worm in a bird’s beak.

“
I’m not
stupid and those are beasts!” she screamed at him.

“
Who?”

“
The Hun.
Everyone was told to beware of the Hun!”

“
Stupid
goose!” he hissed. “You wouldn’t remember. You were too young for
all that!” Jan poked her tongue at him. “Bitch!”

He’d heard others using
that word. He was a little uncertain as to its meaning but it
sounded as if this was the opportune time to say it; and it sounded
satisfying.

“
How dare you
use language like that in
my
house, Mr Resmel! Go to your own room, at
once!”

Neither of them had
noticed that Miss Turner had even come into the room. As Hans was
making his departure, he heard Miss Turner turn on Jan. He let the
door swing gently towards a close and stood eavesdropping on their
conversation.

“
Janine
Turner.” The schoolmistress always called her niece by her full
name whenever she was annoyed with her. “What was all that outburst
about? What did you do to make him so angry?”

“
Nothing,
aunt. He’s crazy. He’s out of his mind. I, I didn’t do
anything.”

She did not want to admit
that she had tried to badger him. She did not want to share the
blame.

“
Some thing
has upset him, Janine,” Miss Turner commented, the gap between her
eyebrows narrowing, expressing her displeasure with the flippant
answer.

“
Boys always
take things the wrong way.”

“
You said
something to upset him. What did you say?”

Jan knew that look on her
aunt’s face. She could not deceive her any longer.

“
He was in
here looking around . . . looking at the photos. That’s all. I did
nothing, Aunt, really. I just told him who they were, that’s all.
His eyes went all glassy. Oh, it was horrible. I didn’t know what
he would do and then, he called me a . . .”

Jan stopped short. She
made sure she did not incriminate herself.

“
Janine,
that’s enough! I don’t want you repeating what he said. We
do
not
use such
language in this house. You know the rules!”

“
I don’t know
why
we
have to
have
him
in
our
house!” She banged one of her crutches hard onto the floor.
“He is a Fritzy! Everyone calls him that!” Jan had never shouted
like this at her aunt before. Her behaviour had become quite
erratic.

“
Janine, that
will do! I do not want you ever to behave like this again. Saying
such wicked things. Mr Resmel is our guest. Remember that, young
lady. And, for your information, his grandmother came from around
these parts so he is almost as English as you or I. Something you
would do to remember.”

“
But all the
others keep saying . . .” Jan’s voice was continuing to rise in
octave as her protest continued to gather momentum.

“
I am not
interested in what others say, Janine!” Miss Turner cut Jan off.
“And neither should you. Lies and gossip. We had enough of all that
during the war. I don’t want it entering my house. Do you
understand?” Miss Turner glared at her niece until the girl bowed
her head and looked at the floor. “And in future I expect you to be
much more civil towards him. Mister Resmel is a long way from home
and think how it would be like for you living with a different
family? And in a different country?”

“
I don’t
know,” Jan mumbled. In reality she had not thought about it at
all.

“
Resmel needs
your support; not your hostility.” Miss Turner’s voice quietened as
she tried to defuse the emotion her young niece was feeling at this
moment.

“
Why’s he
here? In our house?”

“
Because I
have allowed him to be. This is
my
house, Janine and I make the rules. You will just
have to learn to button that mouth of yours and cope. He is staying
here and that’s that so stop your silly behaviour. Hating him for
your accident will not change a thing. There are things you do not
understand but when you’re older . . . ”

At that point, Hans
quietly closed the door and went upstairs to his room.

He was sorting out some
clothing to hang in the wardrobe when a knock on the door disrupted
his task. He had had to find something to occupy himself, so that
his mind would not brood over what had just taken place.

“
May I
enter?” Miss Turner stood in the doorway. Hans was most surprised
that she had even asked for his permission. “What was all that
about, that outburst of yours?” Her voice did not seem as hard as
when she was in the college. When Hans did not reply, she wanted to
know what had happened between Jan and himself.

Hans found his throat
tighten. He could not speak and looked at her with pain still
evident in his gaze. She realised he was very upset.“You two need
to sort out your differences. You are going to be here for a long
time.” Her voice was much softer than he had heard before. The
voice of authority had gone and in its place was the genuine
feeling of one who cared. “We will leave that outburst for now.”
Her face softened and her posture was far less powerful. She had
become a woman and the matron of the college had been put aside.
“If you do have any problems, you must come and tell me. Janine’s
had the house to herself until now and, well, teenage girls can
allow their emotions to make them upset over little trifles. As for
the Brymers . . . they have moved out of the county and are living
in Essex. Mr Brymer was considering a new job, anyway, so you are
not to blame for their departure. He found another position at a
larger school where they can pay him more than we can. I’m afraid
that is how things stand today. They will not be coming back here
and the cottage will remain empty until the school board decides
what is to be done. Now, finish what you’re doing and come down to
eat. Mary’s just about to serve supper. You would like some browned
pasties, wouldn’t you?”