Time to Say Goodbye (27 page)

‘No, I think not,’ Imogen said firmly. ‘I think we should all go back to the village. Then if he’s okay we can do the clean-up of the Lookout later.’

Rita had begun to say that she needed no advice from Imogen, thank you very much, when Woody swayed and dropped to the earth, frightening all of them, Imogen was sure, though Rita tried to pretend indifference.

Josh immediately took charge. ‘I’m not at all sure whether we should move him, with a head wound I mean,’ he said uneasily. ‘But I think we have to; we can’t leave him here. Come on, troops!’

In fact even as they heaved Woody to his feet he came round, and though glad of their support he managed to walk all the way to the village, where the doctor took a look at his head, patted him on the cheek and said in rallying tones: ‘You’ll live, my lad. Tripped and fell, did you? Well, take more water with it next time!’

Woody laughed dutifully, but when they left the surgery and found Rita hanging about outside he vetoed any idea of returning to their original plan to clean up the Lookout. ‘If you don’t mind I’ll just walk very slowly back to the farm and have a lie down,’ he said. And then, with a return of his usual spirit: ‘And don’t you glare at me, young Rita, because if it wasn’t for you my head wouldn’t be banging like a trip hammer, and I’d be first up that perishing tree.’

Imogen looked warningly at Rita. She had noticed how sharp-tongued her friend had become, and wondered whether it had something to do with the damage to Rita’s mother’s house. She had consulted Auntie on a day when Rita was not around, and Auntie had told her that she did not think that was the cause. ‘She’s the oldest of you; if you were back in the city she’d probably be leaving school at Christmas,’ she explained. ‘She’s neither fish, flesh nor good red herring; not a child any longer but not a woman yet either.’ She glanced almost shyly at Imogen. ‘I can remember when I was her age how it felt to be neither one thing nor t’other; part woman, capable of having a child, and part child . . . dear me, I’m not explaining very well. Perhaps you can’t understand until it happens to you . . . can you understand, love?’

Imogen had wrinkled her nose. ‘It sounds perfectly horrible,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘And I’m not that much younger than Rita. But I do understand what you mean, because I think I may be young for my age. For instance, Rita spends her pocket money now on ladies’ magazines and reads every word, whereas Debby and I still get the
Beano
and
Dandy
, and laugh like drains at all the funny bits.’

‘Well, there you are then,’ Auntie had said comfortably. ‘And I’m glad you and Debby are still children, though very sensible ones.’

But now, standing on the pavement outside the doctor’s small surgery, it seemed that Imogen’s warning glance had not been necessary. With one of the abrupt changes of mood which had become almost commonplace, Rita smiled at Woody and held out her hand. ‘I’m really sorry I whacked you with the broom,’ she said penitently. ‘I didn’t mean to, honest to God I didn’t. And you’re right, you can’t possibly climb up to the platform whilst your head is still swimming. I’ll go and see that all’s well there, then join you at the farm.’ She turned to Imogen. ‘You go with him. I can manage alone.’

‘Tell you what, Woody and I will go back to the farm whilst you lot go to the Lookout,’ Josh suggested. ‘With you and Imogen on the job you’ll have it shipshape in no time. And you can take Rufus, because I know Auntie doesn’t like you going off alone.’

This was agreed, and as soon as they reached the Lookout Debby settled herself comfortably at the foot of the tree, an arm round Rufus’s shaggy neck, whilst the other two began the climb.

They reached the platform which, in truth, was only a couple of planks nailed between two stout branches, and found, as Woody had predicted, that the leaves had piled up in the autumn gales along with a great many broken twigs, and even small branches. Imogen leaned over the side and shouted to Debby to get away from the bole, and then she and Rita began to clear the debris. Naturally enough a good deal of this fell on the branches below, and in order to make the climb safe the girls had to clear such things as ancient birds’ nests and even an empty meal sack on the way down. They had almost finished their task and were thinking hopefully of their satchels at the foot of the tree and the sandwiches and lemonade therein when Rita grabbed Imogen’s arm and pointed away to their right, where the forest became even deeper and more tangled. ‘See that huge old yew, or whatever it is?’ she asked. ‘What’s that thing hanging in the upper branches?’ She giggled. ‘It looks like an enormous chrysalis . . . gosh, I hope it isn’t a bomb, because if so it’s an unexploded one, and I suppose we ought to inform the authorities. What do you think?’

Imogen peered in the direction Rita had indicated, but at first could see nothing, for the trees were in luxuriant leaf. But after a moment she thought she could see a sort of thickening and nodded her head when Rita said: ‘Well? I don’t believe it is a bomb – they’re pretty dark, aren’t they? This thing is quite light-coloured. I wonder if it’s visible from the ground?’

‘Dunno,’ Imogen said vaguely. ‘But I’m awfully hungry, so let’s get down and eat our sandwiches. Then we can take a closer look at the bundle, or bomb, or whatever it is.’

Rita agreed, but when the two girls reached the ground they realised they could no longer see the yew tree and would have to fight their way towards it through the tangled undergrowth. ‘And we probably won’t be able to see the bundle even then,’ Rita said ruefully. ‘How the undergrowth has grown up since we were here last!’ She glanced at the sun, high overhead. ‘Anyway let’s have our lunch before we do anything else. If we can’t spot whatever it is, I suppose I’ll have to go up to the platform and shout directions to you, but you’ll have to be jolly careful because if it is a bomb it might go off if a bird landed on it. Agreed?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Debby said aggrievedly, having listened to the conversation without understanding a word. ‘If you can see a bomb from the platform we ought to go away from the horrible thing, not towards it. But I don’t understand . . . bombs hit the ground. How can you see something on the ground better when you’re high up in the air?’

‘It’s something hanging in one of the trees, Debby,’ Rita said in a tone of exaggerated patience. ‘We don’t really think it’s a bomb. It looks more like a bundle of canvas, or something like that. You remember the storm a few weeks back? If someone was camping out in the woods I suppose their tent might easily be blown into a tree. Perhaps it’s just that.’

As they talked the girls had been getting out their food, and now they settled down to the serious business of eating. Only when they were folding up the paper which had contained their picnic did the talk revert to the bundle in the tree. Then the three of them got to their feet, settled their satchels on their backs and began to make their way in what they hoped was the right direction. It was a difficult and unpleasant walk, for they had to more or less hack their way through young saplings, waist-high grass, and a great swag of ivy which must have been torn off a tree and now dangled across what had once been a path. It was made even more difficult by the fact that they could not look both up and down at the same time, and when at last Rita gave a triumphant shout Imogen was too tired to feel anything but relief. She peered up, at first unable to see anything against the dazzling blue of the sky, then realised that what she was looking at must be the object for which they searched. And now, seeing what she had taken for a mere thickening of the branches clearly for the first time, Imogen was in no doubt as to what it was. ‘It’s a parachute, and it looks as though it’s wrapped round something,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Could it be a man? Only I don’t remember a plane crashing or coming down on fire last night, do you?’ Both the other girls shook their heads, but Rufus, who had been staring up into the tree, gave a short sharp bark and, rearing up on his hind legs, began to paw at the trunk, glancing at the girls as though to say that if they didn’t try to climb it, he would.

The girls looked at one another, then Imogen seized a branch which grew conveniently a couple of feet above her head. ‘Good job it’s a yew; they’re always the easiest to climb because their branches grow out sideways and make a sort of step ladder,’ she said. She heaved herself up, then turned to look down at the girls below. ‘Suppose – suppose it’s wrapped round a corpse?’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘If it’s the body of some poor pilot I’ll probably faint and fall out of the tree.’

Rita laughed. ‘And then there’ll be two corpses,’ she said drily. ‘If you’re that scared you’d better let me go up.’

She made as if to hoist herself up into the branches, but Debby squeaked and grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t leave me here with only Rufus for company,’ she said. ‘Oh, oh, oh!’

‘Oh, Debby, what’s up
now
?’ Rita said crossly. ‘I wasn’t going to climb up whilst Imogen is still climbing, because she’ll kick bits of bark and rubbish into my face. But why did you yelp?’

‘It moved – I saw it move – it’s got a sort of boot thing and it moved, I tell you,’ Debby said hysterically. ‘Oh, I don’t like it; I wish we’d never come. Suppose – suppose . . .’

But high up in the old yew tree Imogen was looking into the scarred and terrible face of a young man – she assumed he was young – wearing a flying helmet and a leather jacket. She thought he must be dead, trussed up like a hen for market, but when some movement of hers caused him to swing towards her he gave a groan, proving, at least, that he was not yet a corpse.

Imogen summoned up all her courage and spoke to the inert figure. ‘It’s all right, we’ve found you, you’ll soon be safe,’ she said. She leaned over, looking down at the three faces looking up at her. ‘It’s all right. It’s a man and he’s alive, though he’s quite badly hurt,’ she shouted. ‘Rita, if you can come up and give me a hand perhaps we could untangle him from his chute. He seems to have got wrapped up in it somehow. It’s no use simply cutting away his harness because that’s all that’s holding him up, and he’d just crash through the branches and . . . oh . . .’ She breathed a sigh of relief as Rita joined her on the branch. ‘I think we ought to fetch help and not touch him in case we do more damage.’ She jerked a thumb at the booted leg dangling close against the trunk of the tree at a very odd angle. ‘I should think that leg is broken, probably more than once. He’s unconscious, but I think he’s been here for quite a while; we’re probably only just in time.’

‘Mm-hm,’ Rita said. She turned and began to climb down the tree, and when she and Imogen were both on terra firma once more she looked hard at the other girl. ‘He’s a Nazi; I s’pose you realise that,’ she said. ‘By the look of him he’s nearly dead anyway. I think the best thing to do would be to say nothing and do nothing either. He’s our enemy, don’t forget. It’s what a German girl would do if she found Laurie or Dave in deep woodland, completely helpless. Why, don’t you remember what Ricky told us? That their pilots are ordered to shoot any RAF chaps floating to earth on a parachute? And even if you’re stupid enough to want to save the life of an enemy, how are you going to find him again? No one comes through this part of the wood.’

Debby had been watching, mouth open, as Rita spoke, but now she broke in. ‘Do I gather that the man up there is a member of the Luftwaffe? But what’s that got to do with anything? He’s a man, fighting for his country . . . oh, Rita, how could you possibly leave anyone, anyone at all, to die such a dreadful death?’

Imogen noticed Rita’s cheeks flush. ‘But if we tell Auntie – or anyone else for that matter – they’ll guess about the Lookout, and that will be the end of that. We shan’t be allowed near the beech wood ever again.

‘And remember, if it hadn’t been for me spotting him he’d have been dead long before anyone happened to find him,’ Rita said. ‘Why, for all we know he might have dropped the bombs which destroyed the city. You two are soft. We’ve all got reason to hate the Nazis – look what they did to Jill . . .’

Debby spoke up once more. ‘I think you’re just being silly, trying to get a rise out of us,’ she said quietly. ‘My family have suffered more than most at the hands of the Nazis but that doesn’t mean that all Germans are bad, any more than all English are good. So let’s stop being stupid and get this fellow help. You two go back to the village and explain what you’ve found and Rufus and I will stay at the foot of the tree to mark the spot, because it really is awfully difficult to find in this thick undergrowth. The moment we hear you approaching I’ll start shouting to guide you to the yew tree, and I dare say Rufus will join in. I don’t need to ask you to hurry, because I’m sure you will. Tell them to bring a ladder, because grown-ups don’t climb trees. And as for losing the Lookout, we’ll meet that threat when we come to it.’

‘Thanks, Debby,’ Imogen said gratefully. She knew how the other girl hated being alone. ‘We’ll be back as soon as we can.’

Chapter Nine

DEBBY WATCHED IMOGEN
and Rita disappear, keeping her arm round Rufus just in case he decided to go with them, but instead he reached up and licked her cheek as if to say ‘Don’t worry, I’m staying with you.’ Debby was so touched that she kissed him back, and then settled down. She calculated that it would be at least half an hour before rescue could arrive, probably considerably longer, and began to wait with what patience she could muster. To pass the time she imagined Woody in the farm kitchen regaling Mrs Pilgrim with stories of how he came by the enormous bump on his head. Debby smiled to herself. If there was any justice, Rita should be worrying over what Mrs Pilgrim would say, for that lady had a tongue as sharp as Rita’s own at times. However, Debby knew that Woody would not dream of telling tales. He had invented a fall to explain away the bruise to the doctor and would doubtless stick to the same story for the Pilgrims.

Sitting with her back to the old yew and glancing to where her companions had disappeared, she saw a fallen log, and was just admiring the crop of tiny scarlet-capped toadstools which grew mossy and bright in its shelter when Rufus yipped and glanced upwards. Debby followed his gaze and saw a tiny movement again from the figure so tightly swaddled in his parachute. She stood up, feeling her heart begin to hammer in her breast. Suppose he was dying, wanting to know that he was not alone? Debby looked doubtfully at the tree. She had watched Imogen scaling the branches as easily as though it had been a staircase and she knew that Rita had done the same. But I am afraid of heights, Debby reminded herself. I can’t, I really can’t, climb that tree. And if I did, if I managed somehow to get all the way up to where that man is dangling, what could I possibly do for him?