We Must Be Brave. Frances Liardet
came in. We gave each other blank, drained stares. The constable shifted in his chair. ‘I’ve got to get back before dark,’ he said through the din.
‘Come into the kitchen, Constable.’
We left Elizabeth kneeling beside the screaming child. As the door closed I saw her place the flat of one gentle hand on Pamela’s stomach. Her face, Elizabeth’s face, was a mask of sorrow.
In the kitchen Constable Flack handed me a child’s ration book. ‘This was found in her mother’s handbag,’ he told me. ‘You must make sure it goes with her.’
I gasped. ‘When will she leave?’
‘Sit down, Mrs Parr.’
I did so. We listened to the screams in the sitting room. If she didn’t stop, I’d have to go back in there. But just then Pamela gave a choking sigh, and Elizabeth’s voice came to us, muffled. ‘There, there,’ she was saying. ‘There, there.’
Constable Flack cleared his throat. ‘We don’t know what’s become of Mr Pickering. He scarpered long before the war, it seems. Nobody in Plymouth has ever seen hide or hair of hubby.’
‘Pamela hasn’t mentioned him …’ My breath fluttered out through my nostrils. ‘What were they doing in Southampton?’
He shrugged. ‘We’ve got no way of knowing. She said nothing to the hotel staff.’
I picked up the ration book, stared at it in a sort of stupor.
‘You’ll get a pint of milk for the little one. And please obtain a child’s respirator. Hers couldn’t be found. Register her at your shops here in Upton. However short her stay.’
A pint of milk for Pamela. ‘She mentioned an aunt in South Africa.’
‘Oh, yes.’ The constable nodded. ‘A Mrs Marjorie Lord of Cape Town. The Plymouth officers found some letters, none more recent than ten year ago. Seems the sisters weren’t corresponding at the time of Mrs Pickering’s death.’
‘She certainly talked about her sister to Pamela.’
The constable rubbed his chin. ‘The Plymouth boys have it in hand, but it’ll be a good while before we hear from Mrs Lord. Any rate, you’re stuck with the little girl until Southampton sorts itself out. Telegraph, electricity, telephones, all properly snarled up. Plus there’s the stragglers from the raid. One lot were out in a field, in a storm drain. A storm drain.’ He stood up. ‘Don’t worry unduly, Mrs Parr. We’ll find her somewhere suitable. A nice family who’d take her on. Pack her in like another little sardine.’
‘We’ll have to tell her soon. It’s worse not to.’
‘I expect so.’
I stared up at him, and then rose to my feet.
‘Constable Flack, we’re not unsuitable ourselves, you know. We’ve got three boys from Southampton already. We’d be happy to pack her in, as you say.’
In the silence which followed I heard the front door open, and then Selwyn’s light voice. ‘Hello?’ I could tell from his expectant tone that he’d seen the constable’s bicycle.
I raised my voice. ‘We’re in the kitchen.’
‘Ah.’ Selwyn came in. ‘Good afternoon, Constable. Have you unearthed any family?’
‘This is Constable Flack, darling. Suky’s half-brother.’ I gripped the back of the chair. ‘I was just telling him we’re perfectly prepared to take Pamela under our wing for a while.’
‘Just until we manage to place her, sir.’ Constable Flack fitted his helmet onto his head.
‘She’s got an aunt in South Africa,’ I told Selwyn. ‘Her father’s long gone. There’s no one else.’
‘I was informing Mrs Parr that we’ll do our best to find her a berth –’ Constable Flack delved in his tunic pocket and produced bicycle clips ‘– while we try to get a hold of the aunt. Or, if we’re lucky, this darned elusive Mr Pickering.’
‘Pickering. Pimpernel. Very good.’ Selwyn grinned, twitching the buttons out of the buttonholes of his coat with a brisk thumb and forefinger. Most people used both hands to unbutton their coats, but he didn’t.
‘Quite a job it’ll be, with half the men overseas.’ Constable Flack was sombre. ‘And these blokes who scarper, they’re generally a bad lot. No responsibility or fatherly feeling.’ He dwelled for a second or two on these feckless men. ‘If they had an ounce of decency,’ he concluded, ‘they wouldn’t have gone in the first place.’
‘Some sort of fostering arrangement, then. That would be a capital solution.’ Selwyn sighed. ‘Poor little mite.’ He and the constable left the room, and I heard the front door open once more. Selwyn murmured something, and there was a scrape of boots on the path. Then a loud ticking as Constable Flack freewheeled down to the gate. Only then did I make for the door. I brushed past Selwyn in the hall.
‘What the dickens—’
‘Just something about the ration book,’ I stammered. ‘I forgot to ask him.’
I dashed down the path to see the constable’s bicycle gathering speed. ‘Constable.’ I started running. ‘Constable Flack!’ He slowed, and I caught up with him.
‘Everything all right, Mrs Parr?’
‘Do remember that we could have Pamela. That’s what I was saying. We’re suitable.’
‘It’s not for me to decide. Mr Parr seemed very agreeable to the idea of a family taking her.’ He squinted at me. I was standing against the declining sun.
‘Mr Parr hasn’t had two seconds to consider the matter.’
The constable gave a couple of slow nods. ‘Telephone Waltham police in the morning. Ask for Sergeant Moore. He deals with these matters.’ He ran his finger under his chinstrap. ‘I must get on.’
‘Thank you, Constable.’
‘Sergeant Moore,’ he repeated, and pedalled away down the lane.
The boys came home late. They’d been playing football on the green. I told them that soon I would take them to Upton Hall, and if they gave the oaken floorboards the most brilliant shine, they would then be allowed to polish the suit of armour. They nodded solemnly, awed not by the task but by the sight of Pamela. ‘She’s still here, then.’ Donald folded his arms against the newcomer.
Jack smirked. ‘Her clothes are funny.’
‘Never mind them,’ Hawley told her. ‘Do you like rissoles? They’re fried-up veg rolls with gravy.’
Pamela shook her head, her chin trembling.
I took her hand. ‘Boys, why don’t you play cards in your bedroom? In a little while you can help Elizabeth with the vegetables.’ The two younger ones tramped up the stairs, Hawley lagging on the bottom step.
‘Hawley, try not to worry—’ I began, because I knew that no one had telephoned from Southampton.
‘Mr Parr told us the lines are still down.’ He smiled at me. ‘It’s all right.’ He turned to climb the stairs.
I gave Pamela some bread and milk. She ate slowly, pausing to say, ‘I like this food,’ and then, ‘But I don’t like you.’
‘I’m not surprised. It must seem strange being in our house. I must seem strange.’
‘No.’ Her eyes glowed with anger. ‘You seem nasty. Why are you making me a coat? I’ve got one already. It’s in the hotel.’ Then the anguish rose again, too large for her body, needing to be expelled in gusts of crying. ‘I don’t think Mummy’s coming. I think she won’t ever come to get me.’
No, she