Secrets and Shadows (11 page)

G
race nervously lowered her teacup and tried to get up the courage to ask Ma the question that had been on her mind all through dinner. Yesterday she had finished school for the summer, and when she had been working in the cake shop this afternoon Miss Kinsella had offered her extra working hours over the coming months. Miss Kinsella obviously meant well, but Grace didn’t want the extra work. Instead, she had been planning to ask Ma if she could attend the sports camp with Barry for a couple of weeks.

The fact that Ma worked hard in the shirt factory made Grace feel guilty about asking for money for the summer camp. But she told herself again that it was just for two weeks. Besides, she could still work at weekends, and after that she could work as many hours as Miss Kinsella gave her. And although she couldn’t say it to Ma, it was important to take the opportunity to get close to Mr Pawlek, if she and Barry were to find out if he really was a spy.

Grace pushed aside her cup, took a breath and then spoke up. ‘Ma, I …I wanted to ask you something.’

Her mother had been listening patiently as Uncle Freddie gave a mini lecture on the progress of the Nazis in their recent invasion of the Soviet Union. Now, though, she turned away from him and
looked enquiringly at Grace. ‘What is it, love?’

‘I was wondering…I was hoping maybe I could go to the sports camp with Barry.’

Ma looked a little troubled. ‘I don’t know, Grace. How much would that cost?’

‘It’s three shillings a week. But I could pay some of that with the money I earn in the cake shop.’

‘But you wouldn’t
be
in the shop if you were at sports camp. And Granddad said Miss Kinsella is going to offer you extra hours.’

Granddad – who might have been a sympathetic ally – wasn’t eating with them, having gone off to a card night. ‘She offered me extra hours this afternoon,’ said Grace, ‘I was just going to tell you.’

‘I hope you took them,’ said Freddie.

Grace felt like telling him that this was between herself and Ma, but instead she responded to her mother. ‘I thanked her for offering, and I told her I’d check with you first. You see I could still work on Saturdays, and when the camp is over I’d work all the hours she offers me. Please, Ma, can I?’

‘Come on, now, Grace,’ said Freddie firmly. ‘You shouldn’t put your mother on the spot like that.’

Grace suspected that he was taking this strict line to impress Ma, and she felt a surge of anger.

‘You’re not my father!’ she said.

‘Don’t cheek your Uncle Freddie,’ said Ma immediately.

‘But he shouldn’t be–’

‘Don’t argue with me, Grace,’ said Ma, calmly but firmly. ‘You’re
a guest here and you won’t cheek your uncle under his own roof. Now, apologise, please.’

Grace could see that Freddie hadn’t been expecting her to take him on, and she realised that even if she apologised he had still gotten the message loud and clear.

‘Sorry,’ she said politely, but with just enough reluctance to let him know that she was only saying it because she had to.

Freddie nodded stiffly in acknowledgement.

Grace looked at Ma and saw that her mother had taken no pleasure in chastising her. If anything she sensed that Ma was upset by denying her the two weeks of sports camp. And suddenly, despite wanting to help Barry solve the mystery with Mr Pawlek, Grace felt really bad. Ma worked long hours, she tried to keep everyone happy, and she watched every penny, saving for the day when she could afford to rent a place of their own.

‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ said Grace, this time sincerely. ‘Look, I don’t have to do the camp. I’ll tell Miss Kinsella I’m taking the extra hours.’

Ma looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe…maybe there’s a compromise. Could you do some of the extra shifts, but go to the sports camp part-time?’

‘Yeah, I’d say I could!’ said Grace, her spirits rising. ‘I can ask Mr Pawlek.’

‘If you were doing it part-time then the fee would be less,’ said Ma. ‘And if you were still working extra hours that might cover it.’

‘Miss Kinsella mightn’t agree to that,’ said Freddie.

‘She’s agreeable on most things, and I get on well with her,’ said Grace, trying not to sound annoyed at Freddie for raising an objection.

‘And she’s a great friend of Granddad’s’, said Ma. ‘I’d say she’ll oblige you if Mr Pawlek will. So if you want to check it out with him, love?’

‘Thanks, Ma, that’s great!’

‘When will you ask him?’

‘Tonight!’ said Grace, pleased at the turn of events, and thrilled to have an excuse for calling on a possible spy.

Barry had been wrestling with his conscience when Grace called for him. He had followed the newspaper reports of Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union and part of him was pleased that millions of Russians would now be fighting against the Nazis. It meant that his father and the rest of the British forces would no longer be battling on alone. But he also knew that thousands of people would die because of the Nazi invasion, and he couldn’t decide if it was right or wrong to be pleased.

Grace, however, didn’t agonise over things, and when she called in and they discussed it, her answer had been simple. If the Russians played their part in fighting Hitler, then so much the better – and he shouldn’t be such a worrier. Then she had told him her good news. Barry was delighted that Grace’s mother was letting
her go to sports camp, and he hoped that Mr Pawlek would agree to Grace attending part-time.

As they made their way through the hazy sunlight of the summer evening towards the teacher’s house, Barry felt his pulses starting to race a little. The more contact he could generate with Mr Pawlek, the more chance there was of discovering if he really was a spy. It was tricky, though, because the last thing he wanted was to make Pawlek suspicious. He remembered the morning when they had all met after Mass, and how Grace had deliberately referred to the German bombing of the North Strand. She had done it to see how the teacher would react, but she would need to tread carefully today.

‘When we get to his house, Grace, watch your step,’ he said. ‘OK?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘We want to suss him out. But don’t push
too
hard with questions; we don’t want him on guard.’

‘I’ll be careful. But he’s not going to
tell
us he’s a spy – we have to take some risks.’

‘I know. But first we have to get close to him. All right?’

‘OK.’

They turned the corner into Manor Street, then walked towards where Manor Street became Stoneybatter. Opposite the entrance to Stanhope Street convent, Grace’s new school, was a terrace of houses with neat front gardens. The two friends opened the garden gate, then made their way to the front door of the teacher’s house.

‘It’s a big enough place for him to be living in all by himself,’ said Grace.

‘Yeah, I suppose it is,’ agreed Barry.

‘Must cost a fair bit to rent. Are drill teachers paid that well?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘If they’re not, and he can still afford it, that’s another reason he might be a spy – they’d be given money.’

It was a good point, Barry thought, but he raised his hand anxiously. ‘Keep your voice down.’

‘It’s OK, the windows are all closed,’ answered Grace as they ascended the steps leading to the hall door.

‘Well,’ said Barry. ‘Ready?’

‘Yeah.’

Barry lifted the knocker and knocked twice. He made himself breathe deeply, not wanting to appear anxious. He heard a sound in the distance, then footsteps approaching.

‘Bingo!’ said Grace with a grin.

In spite of his nervousness Barry smiled back at her, then he turned to the hall door as it swung open.

‘Hello, Mr Pawlek,’ said Barry, ‘I hope we’re not bothering you.’

The teacher looked surprised to see them, but he recovered quickly. ‘Barry, Grace. What can I do for you?’

‘I hope you might be able to do me a favour, Mr Pawlek,’ said Grace. ‘I’d love to join your sports camp.’

‘Good. You’ll be very welcome.’

‘But the thing is, I have to work extra hours in the cake shop
now that school is finished.’

‘Ah.’

‘So I was wondering if maybe I could come to the sports camp at the times when it doesn’t clash with the shop?’

‘Well, that’s not how it’s normally done…’ said Mr Pawlek.

‘I know, but I’d really love to be part of it,’ said Grace.

Mr Pawlek looked at her, his pale blue eyes appraising, then Barry felt encouraged when the teacher smiled.

‘Very well, if you’re that eager, we’ll fit you in.’

‘That’s great,’ said Barry.

‘Yeah, thanks very much, Mr Pawlek,’ said Grace. ‘And eh…my ma was wondering about the cost…’

‘We’ll make it
pro rata.
’

‘What’s that?’ asked Grace.

‘If you come half the time you pay half the price, if you come three-quarters, you pay three-quarters. Is that fair?’

‘Yes, very fair. Thanks for fitting me in.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘I’m really looking forward to the sports, sir,’ said Barry, hoping that if they got the teacher chatting he might invite them inside. To his disappointment, Mr Pawlek nodded pleasantly but in a manner that suggested he was finishing up.

‘Yes, I’m sure we’ll all enjoy it,’ he said. ‘Barry will give you the dates, Grace, he has the paperwork. I look forward to seeing you whenever you can make it. Good evening.’

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Barry.

‘Good evening, Mr Pawlek, and thanks again,’ said Grace.

The drill teacher nodded in farewell and shut the door, then Barry and Grace made for the gate.

‘What do you think?’ asked Barry.

‘It’s brilliant he let me join.’

‘Yeah, he was nice about it.’

‘Dead nice,’ said Grace as they stepped out onto the street and started for home in the evening sunshine. ‘But I still think you’re right and that he’s a spy.’

‘Yeah?’

‘He never asked us in. I bet he had stuff out he didn’t want us to see.’

‘Could be.’

‘Any normal person would invite a visitor in,’ said Grace.

‘In Ireland they probably would – and in Liverpool,’ said Barry. ‘But maybe they’ve different customs in Poland.’

‘Or
Germany
.’

‘Maybe.

‘And that thing
pro rata.
Were they German words’?

‘No, that’s Latin,’ said Barry, ‘I did it in school.’

‘Oh.’

‘You know, it’s kind of weird, Grace. When I saw him in Cobh, I really felt there was something suspicious. But then he’s dead nice, like he was now about the money.’

‘He was decent all right. But acting really nice – wouldn’t that be clever if you
were
a spy? You’re sound, so everybody likes you
and tells you things?’

‘Yeah.’

Grace looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve seen films with my ma about spies. And do you know what they always have?’

‘What?’

‘A radio transmitter. I bet he has one hidden in that house.’

‘Gosh,’ said Barry, excited by the idea. ‘If we found that, we’d have our proof.’

‘Maybe we could get in when he’s not around?’

‘Breaking in is a crime. We could be arrested.’

‘Spying for the Nazis is a crime.’

It was true, Barry reflected. He remembered the night of the devastating air raid on his hometown and how he had sworn that some day he would find a way to fight back.
This was his chance.
Because if Mr Pawlek was a Nazi agent, he couldn’t let him away with it.

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘So whatever has to be done, let’s do it.’

G
race screamed as she plunged down into the sea. The water was as warm as it ever got in early July, but squealing because of the temperature was part of the fun of swimming in the Irish Sea.

It was Grace’s first day at the sports camp and already she knew that she was going to love it. Barry had introduced her to Charlie Dawson and some of Charlie’s friends, and she had also met several girls that she knew from her new school in Stanhope Street. Everyone had been relaxed and friendly, and Mr Pawlek had led them on a cycle from Stoneybatter to Dollymount strand. They had found a nice spot in the sand dunes where they would later have a picnic lunch, and then Mr Pawlek had brought them down to the water for a swim.

She was really glad that Ma had allowed her to join part-time, despite Freddie having tried to show off by raising his objection. She knew that Ma was only being friendly to Freddie – like she was with everyone – but Freddie was too silly to see that and was still trying to impress her. Why couldn’t he be like Granddad was with Miss Kinsella, just good friends?

But she wasn’t going to worry about any of that right now. Firstly, because cycling and swimming in the sun was so much fun, and secondly, because she had a plan, and she was going to put it
into action very soon. She swam towards where Barry was larking about with Charlie.

‘Freezing, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘It’s not so bad once you get down,’ said Grace, ‘but I think I’m going to go in.’

‘What’s wrong?’ said Barry.

Grace stood up and held her side. ‘I’m after getting a cramp.’

‘Better go in all right, Grace,’ said Charlie. ‘I heard a boy got a cramp at the Hole-in-the-Wall, and he was carried away in the current.’

‘Thanks, Charlie!’ said Grace.

‘I’m only saying.’

‘Do you want me to go back to the dunes with you?’ asked Barry, playing his part.

‘No, you stay here,’ answered Grace with a wink, when Charlie wasn’t looking.

‘Should we tell Mr Pawlek?’ asked Charlie.

‘I’m sure Grace doesn’t want a big fuss,’ said Barry quickly.

‘Definitely not,’ agreed Grace, ‘it’s just a cramp. I’ll see you later.’

Grace looked around and spotted Mr Pawlek throwing a water polo ball with some of the other boys. She moved off quickly while he was distracted. She waded in through the small waves that were lapping the beach. Without breaking stride she picked up her towel and wrapped it around herself, then made her way across the dried seaweed and on into the dunes. The sun was hot in a clear blue sky and once she left the beach behind the breeze
dropped off and she felt warmer. She reached the small valley in the sand dunes where they had left their bags, and swiftly towelled herself dry.

She was shielded from view here, but her mouth had gone dry and her stomach was tight with tension. Ignoring her nerves, she crossed to Mr Pawlek’s bag and unzipped it. She didn’t know what she might find, but she and Barry had hatched this plan to check out the contents of the teacher’s bag. If their hunch was right, the bag might contain something suspicious like coded lists of names, or drawings of military installations, or even a gun.

Grace sifted through the bag, taking care not to disturb its contents too much. She saw Mr Pawlek’s dry clothes, wrapped sandwiches, barley sugar sweets, fruit and a soft drink. She continued rooting and found calamine lotion – presumably in case anyone got sunburned – and sticking plasters and a couple of bandages. There was no sign of a gun, but her hand did reach something solid over at the side of the bag. Grace gently pulled it out and saw that it was a small camera in a hard case. Her pulses raced a little faster as she realised that this might be useful. Supposing the pictures of the naval base in Cobh were on this roll of film? Or some other military site? That would certainly suggest that Mr Pawlek was up to no good.

If she took the camera and got the film developed they might have some hard evidence. But then again, if the film consisted of innocent photographs, she would have made herself a thief for nothing. And Mr Pawlek might suspect her, as the only person
who had been alone in the dunes when his camera went missing.
Was it worth the risk of taking it?

She hesitated, not sure what to do, then on impulse she put the camera back. Her fingers groped further into the bag and came to something soft that felt like leather. Grace withdrew it and saw that it was a wallet. Part of her felt guilty for snooping into someone else’s private affairs, but if Mr Pawlek was an enemy agent she couldn’t allow herself to be that prim and proper.

Her heart was pounding now, but she went ahead and opened the wallet. There were four Irish pound notes in it, and behind a clear window was a photograph of Mr Pawlek with a good-looking woman with blonde hair.
His German girlfriend?
There was also his ration book, a library card for Capel Street library, and assorted coins in a side pouch. There was a folded list of all the children attending the sports camp, their names written in small, neat handwriting. There were separate lists of boys and girls, and notes regarding which activities would take place each day.
An organised man, like you’d expect from a spy.
But there were no letters in German, no lists of contacts, no suspicious drawings.

Grace had a sudden thought and she slipped her fingers into the pouch of the wallet to remove the photograph, hoping that something might be written on the back.
Berlin 1938,
maybe, or
Love Always, Gretel.

She felt her excitement mounting, then she had the photograph extracted and she turned it over. It was completely blank. Grace felt disappointed. She carefully replaced the picture and checked
the remaining pockets of the wallet. She found several stamps and a brochure for a series of piano recitals of classical music. She put the wallet back in the bag, then felt around the base and sides of the kitbag, seeking any irregularity that might suggest a secret hiding place. She was still feeling her way along the side of the bag when she was startled by a call of ‘Grace!’

It was Barry. Grace’s heart thumped even more loudly, knowing that the cry from Barry was a warning. She immediately replaced Mr Pawlek’s bag where she had picked it up and, keeping low, scurried across the sand dunes to where her own bag lay. She had just sat down when Mr Pawlek strode in between the dunes, followed by Barry. They were both wet from swimming but had towels wrapped around their shoulders.

‘Grace,’ said Mr Pawlek. ‘I’m told you weren’t well?’

Grace rose and tried to keep her voice normal, even though her heart was racing madly from the near miss and her face felt flushed. ‘It was nothing much,’ she said. ‘Just a cramp, but I didn’t think I should swim.’

‘That was sensible,’ said Mr Pawlek. ‘Is your stomach upset?’

‘Not really. I’ll be fine.’

‘Let me get you a barley sugar sweet,’ suggested Mr Pawlek, and he crossed to where Grace had replaced his bag. He hesitated for a second, and Grace swallowed hard.
Had she put the bag back exactly where he had left it?
She wasn’t certain and she felt tiny beads of perspiration forming on her forehead.

‘If I get a cramp can I have one too, sir?’ said Barry playfully.

Grace knew that Barry had picked up on her unease and that he was trying to distract the teacher.

Mr Pawlek opened his bag, taking out the barley sugar sweets. ‘Why don’t we all have one?’ he said.

He smiled. Grace wasn’t sure if it was just her guilty imagination but she felt that the smile didn’t quite extend to his eyes.
Had he noticed something with the bag? She wasn’t sure.

The teacher handed out the sweets, his gaze fixed on Grace for a moment. Maybe he was only looking at her to be sure she was all right, she reassured herself.

‘What game are we playing after lunch, sir?’ asked Barry.

‘Volleyball.’

‘Great.’

Barry and Mr Pawlek chatted about the sports planned for later, and Grace sucked her barley sugar sweet, her pulses finally slowing down. On balance she felt that she had gotten away with searching the bag, but in checking out the drill teacher she would have to be careful in future. She glanced at his powerfully built physique, avoiding his alert blue eyes. One wrong move with this man, she thought nervously, could easily lead to disaster.

Grandma Peg blessed herself from the holy water font in the hall, then turned to Barry. ‘I’m just going down to the Friary for the Third Order meeting. I’ll see you later, love.’

‘OK, Grandma.’

‘Any special intention you want me to pray for?’

‘Yeah. That we win the Sweepstake – and Hitler gets a really bad toothache!’

‘You’re an awful little pagan, so you are!’ said Grandma, but she was laughing despite herself.

‘Just as well I have you to pray for me then,’ said Barry with a grin. His grandmother was more pious than his own parents, and for years she had been in a popular religious group called the Third Order that was devoted to St Francis, and that met in the Friary in Church Street.

‘Seriously, is there anything you want me to pray for?’

‘That Mum and Dad are safe,’ answered Barry. ‘And that Uncle George is OK in the prison camp.’

‘They’re all on my list already, but I’ll pray for them again today.’

‘Good,’ said Barry.

‘And don’t worry, love. Saint Francis has never let me down yet.’

‘No,’ said Barry, wishing he was as confident about it as Grandma Peg. He prayed every day for his parents’ safety, and he knew that Grandma said a decade of the rosary in her bedroom every night for Dad, her only son. But although Barry was comforted by the thought of all the prayers offered for Dad, it had struck him that there must be good people in Germany too. And if they were religious and prayed for their sons, what happened then? If Dad’s ship was fighting a German U-boat, who was God supposed to protect? It wasn’t a question he felt he could ask Grandma, but it
gnawed at him a little all the same.

The other thing he couldn’t tell Grandma about was his worry regarding Mr Pawlek. Grandma thought the drill teacher was ‘an absolute gentleman’, her greatest compliment, and she would dismiss his suspicions as youthful nonsense.

It was a pity that Grace had found nothing incriminating in Mr Pawlek’s kitbag a couple of days previously in the sand dunes. But the fact that all of the bag’s contents looked innocent proved nothing – except that Mr Pawlek was careful if he
was
a spy.

‘Ah, here’s the post,’ said Grandma as the letter box snapped open and shut and a couple of envelopes fell down into the hall. Grandma moved to retrieve them. ‘One from Cork, that will be Bernie,’ she said.

Barry looked hopefully at the other envelope as Grandma slipped the letter from her sister into her bag.

‘I’ll save that for later,’ she said. ‘And this is for you, Barry. English stamp and your mother’s handwriting.’

‘Great!’ said Barry taking the letter from her. He waved goodbye to his grandmother as she went out the door, then made for the kitchen and sat down at the table to savour the letter.

He was really looking forward to seeing Mum again and he opened the envelope, hoping to hear if she could take her holidays in early July. To his delight, the news was good, and Mum said that she was hopeful of being in Dublin sooner rather than later. She filled him in as usual on all the local news, and made him laugh with her colourful description of a day trip to Hilbre Island,
and of how she and her friend Janet from work had nearly been caught out by the tide. She passed on greetings from his friends on the road, and to Barry’s relief confirmed that the
Luftwaffe
raids on Liverpool had stopped for the moment. Best of all, she had received a letter from Dad, who was well, and who was learning to play the ukulele – on which he promised to play George Formby’s hit ‘Leaning on a Lamppost’ when he next got home!

Barry felt a funny mixture of happiness at being drawn again into the world of his parents, yet sadness that all three of them were so far apart. Still, Mum would be here soon, he told himself, and if Mr Pawlek
was
actually spying for the Nazis then Mum would soon sort him out.

First, though, he had to get some solid evidence. Mum loved him and backed him in most things, but she also claimed he had a vivid imagination. He could well imagine her laughing off his story that a foreign teacher was a German spy. So hard proof was what he needed. And even though it was risky, tomorrow night he was going to try to get it. He put down the letter, his thoughts racing as he rehearsed in his mind how he hoped to do it.