Secrets and Shadows (10 page)

‘A dreadful event,’ Mr Pawlek said sympathetically. ‘And a clear
violation of Ireland’s neutrality.’

If he really
was
German, then he was a cool customer, Barry decided. He was nervous that Grace might push too far with more comments or questions, and it was a relief when Grandma tapped Mr Pawlek on the arm and pointed out Grace’s mother in the queue for the papers. The two women had met through Grace’s granddad, and had hit it off well.

‘Let me introduce you to Mrs Ryan, Grace’s mother,’ said Grandma, obviously pleased to be the one doing the introductions.

‘Please do,’ answered Mr Pawlek, following Grandma as she made for the newspaper queue.

Barry dropped a few steps behind and turned to Grace. ‘Don’t overdo the questions!’ he whispered. ‘We don’t want him on guard,’

‘OK.’

‘So, what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Am I mad?’

Grace shook her head. ‘No. I’d say you’re probably right.’

‘You really think so?’

‘Yeah. There’s something about him. But like you said, we have to get proof.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that.’

‘And?’

Barry smiled. ‘I have a plan…’

G
race cycled hard, rising out of the saddle to increase her speed. It was important not to lose sight of their quarry, as she and Barry tailed Mr Pawlek through the Phoenix Park. The trees in the People’s Gardens were bathed in warm, early evening sunshine but Grace barely noticed as she concentrated on keeping up with Barry.

A day had passed since she had been introduced to Mr Pawlek after Mass, and now they were following Barry’s plan of tailing the drill teacher after working hours, to see who he might meet or what he might do.

Although Mr Pawlek lived in a house on the far side of Manor Street from Kinsella’s cake shop, there was a rear entrance that backed onto Norseman Place, and Barry had said that Mr Pawlek regularly came out that gate in the evening on his bicycle.

Grace didn’t have a bicycle of her own like Barry, but she had borrowed Uncle Freddie’s bike, which he rarely used at night. She had been worried that Freddie might not lend it, but when she had asked him he had been engrossed in a newspaper report on the war – the Nazis had launched a huge invasion of the Soviet Union yesterday – and her distracted uncle had readily agreed. Ma had warned her sternly to be careful on Freddie’s bicycle, but
Granddad had winked at her as she was leaving and had slipped her a penny.

She was looking forward to buying sweets with it for herself and Barry after their mission, but for now her mind was on keeping the right distance between them and Mr Pawlek. It was important not to get too near, in case he might spot them behind him, and they had been especially careful when waiting for Mr Pawlek to exit the rear gate of his garden. It was equally important, however, not to lose their quarry, and at times they had had to pedal hard to keep up with the very fit drill teacher.

They cycled across the main road of the Phoenix Park, past the big statue of Lord Gough on his horse. Despite the importance of the job in hand Grace still smiled to herself, as she often did when she saw the statue of Lord Gough. When she had been very small and her father was alive, her oldest brother, Sean, who now lived in Boston, had told her that the man riding the horse was their da. With the innocence of a toddler Grace had believed him, and for years the family had referred to it as Da’s statue. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips, but tonight for some reason Grace felt a little sad too. If only Da were still alive he would be able to help Ma find a new house for them to live in, and they wouldn’t be charity cases, dependent on the generosity of Granddad and Freddie. But nothing was going to bring Da back now, and with her two sisters married and her brothers living in Boston and Glasgow it was just herself and Ma, and they would have to fend for themselves.

‘Speed up, Grace, he’s pulling away!’ called Barry from over his shoulder.

‘OK!’ she answered, aware that she had let her mind drift. She closed the gap with Barry, then saw Mr Pawlek in the distance as he descended the incline past the Wellington monument towards the base of the hill at the Magazine Fort.

Grace felt a little tired, having done a full day in school followed by a couple of hours in the cake shop, but she was excited too to be following a man who might be a spy, and she cycled hard, determined to keep up with Barry.

They saw that Mr Pawlek was heading towards the Corkscrew Road that wound around the southern boundary of the park. Grace knew this area from picnics with Ma, and she realised that a problem was looming. Barry had said that they mustn’t wear anything eye-catching, and that by keeping well behind their prey they should remain unnoticed. The Corkscrew Road, however, twisted back around on itself, so that even if they kept their present distance behind Mr Pawlek, he would be cycling towards them on the opposite side of several narrow valleys.

‘Barry!’ she called. ‘If he stays on this road we’ll have to pull back.’

‘Why?’

‘It snakes back on itself and he’ll see us.’

‘If we pull back too far we’ll lose him.’

‘Then we’ll follow him another time. We can’t be spotted.’

Barry looked uncertain, then suddenly Mr Pawlek solved the
problem for them. In the distance Grace saw him swinging his leg over the saddle of his bike and cruising to a stop at a park bench on the stretch of road before the sharp bends.

‘Hop off quick!’ said Barry.

Grace braked at once, and they quickly dismounted.

‘Down into the grass!’ said Barry. They pulled over onto the grass verge and lowered the bicycles, then dropped down onto the high grass, the air about them alive with birdsong. Barry took a pair of children’s binoculars from the carrier of his bicycle.

‘Baggsy first go on the binoculars!’ said Grace. Barry hesitated, and Grace put her hand out as though confident that he would hand them over. ‘I baggsied them,’ she said. ‘And I’ll give them back to you in a minute. Promise.’

‘OK,’ said Barry reluctantly as he passed them over. ‘And I mean a minute.’

Grace remained lying low but poked the binoculars out through the stalks of sweet-smelling grass, with the lenses up to her eyes. The binoculars weren’t very strong, and she had to focus them to get a good image, but they still allowed her to see Mr Pawlek quite clearly as he sat on the bench.

‘What’s he doing?’ asked Barry.

‘Nothing. He’s just sitting there like he’s taking in the view.’

‘Any sign of him leaving stuff? Or collecting anything from under the seat?’

Grace felt excited and hoped that the drill teacher might leave or collect a parcel.

‘Well?’ prompted Barry impatiently.

‘No, he’s just sitting there with his hands on his lap.’

‘Maybe he’s waiting for someone.’

Grace moved the binoculars in an arc, sweeping the surrounding area. ‘No sign of anyone coming near him,’ she said.

‘Here, give us a look,’ said Barry.

Grace handed over the binoculars, taking care not to let them glint in the sun. She had seen a film in the Fairview Grand with Ma where the Apaches captured a cavalry scout who had given away his position by letting the sun reflect on the lens of his binoculars, and she was determined not to make the same mistake. Instead, she enjoyed the sensation of being hidden while they stalked Mr Pawlek.

Of course it could all be a mistake, and perhaps he really was just a Polish drill teacher. But if he was a spy they had to stop him. Barry said that even in a neutral country like Ireland a German spy could be gathering all sorts of information. According to Barry, the Nazis would be interested in weather reports for naval operations and bombing raids, and the location of ports, airfields, and power plants. Even gossip about morale and conditions in Britain – where countless Irish people had relatives – would be valuable to his superiors in Berlin.

‘Anything happening?’ she asked.

‘No,’ said Barry. ‘But spy-catchers have to be patient. I read about it in a book.’

‘Right.’

‘So no matter how long it takes, we wait here till he makes his next move. OK?’

‘Absolutely’ answered Grace, then she settled down comfortably in her hiding place, listening to the song of the birds, but ready for whatever might happen.

It was the traditional last-day-of-school song, and Barry and his classmates sang it with gusto during break time in the noisy school yard. The smell from the soap factory hung in the air, but Barry was used to it by now. As they sang, Charlie Dawson danced about playfully, as though conducting a choir. Most of the boys laughed at Charlie’s antics, but Shay McGrath responded angrily when Charlie bumped into him.

‘Watch where you’re going, Dawson!’ he snapped, grabbing Charlie by the front of his shirt.

‘Sorry, Shay, I was just–’

‘Just what? Just being thick, weren’t you?’

‘No, I…’

‘Watch what you’re doin’,’ the bigger boy said, still holding
Charlie by his shirtfront and drawing him closer. ‘Or I’ll burst your face!’

‘OK, OK,’ replied Charlie nervously.

McGrath suddenly released Charlie’s shirt, pushed him away and then walked off.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Barry

‘He just wants someone to take it out on,’ answered Charlie, ruefully rearranging his shirt.

‘Take what out on?’

‘Didn’t you hear? His father was out of work for months, so he’s leaving to work in Birmingham.’

Barry could hardly believe his ears. ‘What! After all McGrath’s rubbish about Ireland for the Irish, and England being the enemy!’

‘I’d say he heard all that from his da. And now his da’s going to England – so it makes him look a bit stupid.’

‘A bit stupid?’ said Barry. ‘He’s a complete hypocrite!’

‘That’s McGrath for you.’

‘And then he takes it out on you.’

Charlie shrugged resignedly. ‘I’ll just keep out of his way.’

‘No,’ said Barry, ‘he needs to be set straight.’

‘I wouldn’t go near him right now.’

‘No, Charlie, now is the right time. Back in a minute,’ said Barry, then he set off across the schoolyard to where he could see McGrath with his friends Nolan and Byrne, the two boys who had picked on Barry and helped to cover him in ashes. Neither boy had ever crossed him again after the intervention by Johnny
Keogh, and Barry wasn’t afraid of them now as he approached McGrath.

‘I want a word with you,’ he said.

McGrath turned and looked at him sullenly. ‘I don’t want a word with you.’

‘Really? You didn’t mind having lots of words before. Words about England, and how I should go back there. How England is Ireland’s enemy, and English people shouldn’t be in Ireland; we should clear off. So, will you still hate the English when they’re putting food on your table?’

McGrath wouldn’t meet his gaze and said nothing.

‘Funny how your father changed his tune when it suited him.’

‘Leave my father out of it,’ said McGrath, and for once his voice was lacking in aggression and sounded almost emotional.

Despite himself, Barry couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit sorry for the other boy. Knowing what it was like to miss an absent father, he could imagine what McGrath was feeling. But then he thought of all the misery that McGrath had caused by his bullying. He reminded himself that McGrath’s gang had almost cost Grace her job when they had taken the money from the cake shop, and how only moments ago McGrath had picked on his friend, Charlie.

‘You know what’s gas?’ said Barry. ‘Your father will probably get on fine. Because loads of English people like the Irish. And loads of Irish people get on fine with the English. It’s only thicks like you who cause trouble. And talking of trouble, stay away from Charlie Dawson if you know what’s good for you.’

Barry knew he was taking a chance here, and he was far from sure that Johnny Keogh’s protection could be extended to his friend as well as himself. He issued the warning in a confident tone, however, hoping that McGrath wouldn’t be willing to take a chance on crossing Keogh.

McGrath made no reply, and Barry decided to go for broke. ‘You won’t be warned again,’ he said. ‘So lay off Charlie.’

McGrath looked like he was trying to find an answer that might save face, but Barry turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the class bully looking frustrated. Barry was delighted to have gotten the better of McGrath for once, and he continued back across the yard, noticing that Mr Pawlek had joined the rest of the boys from his class.

‘Ah, Barry,’ said the drill teacher. ‘I’ve just been giving the boys details of the sports camp,’ he said, handing Barry a sheet of paper with dates and time written on it. ‘The first trip is next Monday morning, swimming at Dollymount Strand.’

‘Thanks, sir, I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’ll bet you are,’ answered Mr Pawlek, his pale blue eyes meeting Barry’s.

Barry felt uncomfortable, but told himself it was his imagination.
The teacher surely couldn’t know about his suspicions – could he?
No, Barry told himself, he and Grace had been really careful to stay out of his sight when they had followed him to the Phoenix Park on Monday evening.

That night had actually turned out to be a bit disappointing,
in that Mr Pawlek hadn’t met anyone, and didn’t appear to have used the park bench as a drop-off point either to leave or pick up anything.

Still, there was something about the way Mr Pawlek looked at him now. It was almost as though he were weighing him up, and it put Barry on guard. The teacher was smart, and strong and fit. Barry still wasn’t sure that he was a spy, but if he was one, he would be a formidable enemy.

I’m going to have to be careful,
he told himself as he held Mr Pawlek’s gaze and smiled casually back at him.
I’m going to have to be very careful.