Shoes for Anthony (20 page)

‘Look at us, Em,' said Bopa, jerking her thumbs towards her two new charges. ‘Soldiers coming out our ears. Tea's on. Fancy a cup?'

‘Not half,' said Mam, patting her hair upwards. ‘Don't worry,' she whispered towards Piotr. ‘You're still my favourite.'

I looked up at Piotr and rolled my eyes. He let out a loud laugh. ‘This is how it will be. Nobody can compete with Americans. They're too glamorous.'

‘They're not heroes, though,' I said, ‘not proper ones, like you.'

‘Not yet,' said Piotr, looking down at me. ‘Now, then. I have request. I would like you help me return to your den. Take me up your mountain.'

I frowned. ‘But your ankle,' I said, ‘it's not better enough …'

‘With the stick and your help, I'll be fine,' said Piotr, placing his free hand on my shoulder. ‘Besides, I have reason for wanting to go. I lost something very precious to me, my father's watch. And I am certain it fell out of my pocket. Would you like to help me find it?'

‘I would,' I said, nodding. ‘If it's not there, it might be still up by the plane? We took loads of stuff out of it. Don't remember seeing a watch, mind. But perhaps one of the other lads took it. It'll be in the mountain treasure box if they did.'

Piotr smiled. ‘Thank you,' he said, his hand still firmly on my shoulder. ‘Boys are like magpies. Always drawn to something shiny.'

‘You can lean on me 'n' all,' I said, smiling. ‘If you feel tired, like.'

I led Piotr up across the tinder path and on to the trail that wound around our mountain. The weather was particularly fine, a buttermilk sky high above us, with a warm southwesterly blowing through the heather. I made Piotr sit as often as I could, taking trouble to point out the mountain flowers. ‘This is sphagnum,' I said, picking some moss from the base of a rock and shoving it into my pocket. ‘It heals wounds. Stops bleeding. We had to pick a load for the war, like.' I picked some more and held it out for him to see.

Piotr took it in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. ‘How clever and unexpected,' he said. ‘I like odd remedies. Be sure to always have some in your pocket, Anthony. You never know when it'll come in handy. When we were fighting and had smelly feet, we rubbed vodka into them. Cured the stink. Although, to be honest, when you're fighting, it's probably better to drink it.'

I shielded my eyes from the sun and cast a long glance upwards. The red kite was circling, about a mile to our left. ‘See that bird,' I said, pointing. ‘It's proper rare. Red kite. You only get them in the valley.'

Piotr stared up, following my finger. ‘Beautiful. Out hunting, like us. Birds of prey are so efficient. A vulture can smell something dying from mile away. Brilliant opportunists. Scavengers always find way to survive.'

‘She likes hovering over the bracken on the lower slope,' I said, eyes still fixed upwards. ‘It's where the little mammals hide.'

The red kite dived down. We waited to see her rise again but she didn't reappear. ‘Looks like she's found something. Eating it, I expect.'

Piotr stood. ‘Come,' he said, placing his hand on my shoulder. ‘Let's carry on.'

The boys had been in the den, that was clear. Another heap of plundered stuff was stacked towards the back. There was a screwdriver lying on the floor and next to it, a panel of dials. Somehow, they'd managed to pull out the plane's steering gear. ‘Little magpies,' said Piotr, as he rifled through it. ‘I can't believe how much they've managed to take.'

‘Can you see your watch?' I asked, picking up what looked like a small suitcase. I went to open it, but it was locked. I placed it on the bench and, taking the screwdriver, tried to pick at the hinge.

‘No, not yet,' said Piotr, his back to me. ‘Your boys have been thorough. I'll give them that. They've got enough here to build their own plane.'

He stood, and turned to face me. ‘What have you got there?' he asked, taking a step towards me.

‘Dunno,' I said, trying to wedge the screwdriver into a small gap so I could lever the hinge open. ‘Suitcase. It's heavy. Must be stuff in it.'

‘Here,' said Piotr, holding his hand out for the screwdriver. ‘Let me try.'

I passed him the screwdriver and sat on my haunches, watching as he placed the tip into the centre of the lock. With one sharp punch downwards, it gave a small crack and the suitcase popped open. I leant forwards and peered in. It was equipment of some sort, knobs, dials, a meter with a needle in it, bright orange tubes wrapped in copper coils and a pair of headphones. ‘Crikey,' I said, giving a knob a twiddle. ‘What's that, d'you reckon?'

‘Radio,' said Piotr, flicking a few switches. ‘Doesn't look as if it's working. I expect it broke in crash.'

‘Can you fix it?' I said, tapping a larger black knob that was attached to a metal arm.

‘Not sure,' said Piotr, taking one of the coils and examining it. ‘It'll need a working receiver and a power supply unit. Looks like it's carrying spares. Perhaps I could? We can try.' He smiled down at me. I smiled back.

I'd never spent this much time with a man, a grown-up one, certainly not one who paid any attention to what I said. Youngest sons don't get minded. That's what Alwyn always said. I looked up to Father, and always did what he told me as best I could, but we weren't friends. At least, I didn't think of him that way. But with Piotr, it was different. He was like Ade or Fez or Bozo.

‘Do you think you can stay here, like?' I said, watching as he fiddled with a screw at the back of the panel. ‘Live here, I mean. In the village.'

‘Live here?' answered Piotr, his face tense with concentration. ‘I don't think so. Captain Willis said I'll be transferred to Polish headquarters in Scotland. I don't know when. With all preparations for France, I expect I'm quite low down list.'

‘Does that mean you'll live with us for longer, then?' I asked. ‘Till the end of the war, like?'

‘I don't know about till end of war,' said Piotr, pulling out a tangled wire. ‘If they're pushing into France, then who knows? I might be sent there. War isn't over for me yet, Ant.'

I picked up a small stick and swirled it into the dry earth between my feet. My chin fell into the crook of my left elbow, my thoughts tumbling away. ‘It'll be dangerous in France, won't it, Piotr?' I said, my voice soft and low.

Piotr shot me a glance. ‘That it will. The Germans will be waiting. They are strong, well fortified, organised.'

‘But they're not as brave as you,' I said.

‘I'm not brave,' said Piotr. ‘I try to survive. Like the vulture. There,' he added, holding up a small crystal, ‘I think that was problem. The crystal was dislodged. If I put it back in, we might have working radio.'

I leant forward to watch as Piotr slotted the crystal back into place. He twisted a few wires back together, and replaced a few screws. Shooting me a small wink, he sat back, crossed his fingers and flicked a switch on the bottom right of the unit. There was a small crackle.

‘Look!' I said, pointing at the dial. ‘Did you see the needle move?'

‘I did!' laughed Piotr. ‘Looks like we've fixed it.'

‘You fixed it,' I corrected.

‘And you found it. Your den now has working radio. Not bad for gang of small boys, eh? Here, try headphones.'

I slipped the headphones over my head. The earpieces were hard and uncomfortable, but I could just make out a distant fuzz of noise. ‘It's like a buzzing,' I said, ‘but far away.'

‘You can increase volume there,' said Piotr, tapping another dial. He gave it a small twist to the right.

My eyes widened. ‘I can hear it!' I said. ‘I mean the buzzing, that is. How do you listen to people talking?'

‘Big dial on left is for tuning into frequencies. You'll need to be gentle and precise. It's careful operation.'

I held the headphone tighter to the side of my head and turned the frequency dial. Noises faded in and out, things I couldn't quite put my finger on, and then suddenly, ‘… rain, moving in from the east …'

‘It's the weather!' I declared. ‘I can hear the weather forecast!'

‘Good boy,' said Piotr, standing up. ‘You can play with it as much as you like. Now, then, back to my lost watch …'

‘There's a small box,' I said, slipping the headphones off, ‘an old cigar box Fez brought from home. We use it for special stuff. If the boys found a watch, that's where they would put it.' I pointed under the bench towards it. ‘Can you reach it? It's just b'there.'

Piotr bent down and picked it up, flicking off some dry earth across its top with the back of his hand. He flipped open the lid and stared in.

‘Is it in there?' I said, stepping towards him.

He shook his head and reached into the box. ‘No, but I'm not sure you should keep this up here,' he said, pulling out a revolver. ‘Bullets, too. Anthony, listen to me. War isn't game. If you or any of the others hurt yourself with this, I would never forgive myself. Please, allow me to keep safe for you? It's still yours. But let me look after it.'

I shifted where I stood. ‘It's Ade's, really,' I said. He must have hidden it here after I gave it back to him. ‘I can't give away what's not mine. Please, Piotr. If we leave it here for now, then I can ask him. See if he minds, like.'

Piotr fixed me with a steady gaze then blinked. ‘All right,' he said. ‘But I'll take bullets. At least then I know you can't hurt yourself. Deal?'

He held out his hand to shake.

‘Deal,' I replied, placing my hand in his.

‘I don't think my watch is in here,' said Piotr, pocketing the bullets and replacing the cigar box. ‘I think it might be lost for ever …'

‘We could have a walk about. It might be under the bracken.'

‘We need the red kite,' said Piotr, making his way to the entrance. ‘Picking out small treasures from great heights.'

He stood and stared out across the valley, leaning onto his stick and raising a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun. I came and stood next to him. Before the Americans came, it was all rolling green, but now it was a different sort of green: wagons, huts, troops. The valley was a mass of activity.

‘Three thousand Americans, Captain Willis said,' I muttered. I picked a long blade of grass at its stem and swished it through the air.

Piotr looked down at me. ‘Did you ever think you'd see American troops up your mountain?'

I shook my head. ‘Didn't think we'd have a Polish hero, neither. Or a load of crashed Germans. Nothing ever happens round here, and now it's all happened at once.'

Piotr cast a look over his shoulder towards the ledge that dropped down onto the den. He paused for a moment, frowned and then walked towards its lip. ‘I fell down this, that night,' he said, scanning the rim.

‘I already looked there,' I said, stripping the long grass of its outer blades.

‘Hang on,' said Piotr, bending down and reaching into a patch of bracken. ‘Well, I never,' he added, straightening. ‘Look. I've found it.'

He let a fob watch fall by its chain from his hand.

‘You're like the red kite!' I said, excitedly.

‘You must be lucky charm, Anthony,' said Piotr, grinning as he palmed the watch. ‘Come on, then, let's make our way back.'

‘Please can I go, Father?' said Bethan, hands practically clamped in supplication. ‘Mam, ask him for me. Everyone's going. There's going to be an American band playing. And I'll be with Alwyn and Emrys. They'll make sure nothing bad happens to me.'

Saturday night was Dance Night, and with the Americans billeted all through the valley, there was a sense of something tantalising in the air. Normally, everyone would head off to a dance at the local Labour Club, but tonight was different: there was a special Forces Dance down in Porthcawl.

‘I'm not worried about anything bad happening to you, Bethan,' said Alwyn, lighting a cigarette. ‘I'd be more worried about the trouble you'll be causing.'

‘Shut up, Alwyn,' retorted Bethan, her eyes flashing. ‘You're the one most likely to be causing trouble. Especially when you see Gwennie Morgan dancing with a Yank.'

Alwyn scowled and took a long draw on his cigarette.

‘Let her go, Davey,' interjected Mam, poking at the fire to get some life into it. ‘Besides, it would be nice for Piotr to go. Have a bit of fun. They can all go.'

‘What about his ankle, Mam?' I said. ‘I know he can stand on it, but never dancin'.'

‘He's right,' said Piotr, nodding towards me. ‘I don't think I'm up to foxtrot yet. I can go if I've got someone to keep eye on me. Is Anthony allowed to go to dances? Or is he too young?'

My eyes lit up. I'd never been to a fancy do. Not properly. We used to hang round the Labour Club when a dance was on, but we never ventured in. We'd stand on the outside wall and peer in through the window. It wasn't that we weren't allowed; it was because we weren't wanted. Dances were for courting, not being laughed at.

‘Please, Father,' said Bethan again. ‘If Ant's going, I'll spend most my time keeping an eye on him.'

Father raised an eyebrow. He was strict when it came to Bethan, her being his only daughter, but the odds were stacked against him. Every girl in the valley would be going.

‘All right,' he said, with a heavy sigh. ‘You can all go. But I don't want anyone getting carried away. Excitement is one thing, but you don't need to lose your dignity. And if Anthony's going, someone smarten him up a bit. He looks like he's been spat out of a bog.'

I glanced down at myself. My wellingtons were covered in dried mud and slime, my shorts were ingrained with dirt and my jumper was fleabitten and threadbare. I didn't have anything smart to wear. ‘I can wash my wellies in the sink,' I offered.