Des felt the warmth of her feathers, the heartbeat of the trembling bird. He tried to do what was asked but the bird wriggled and he knew he was hurting her. ‘I can’t,’ he
cried. ‘I don’t know how.’
‘Oh, give it here, you pansy.’ Desmond didn’t want to hand it over but he knew he must. In a second, the hen lay dead, its neck stretched, floppy. ‘Give it to Ma to pluck
and draw and make sure you watch her. Next time it will all be your job.’
‘Do we have to stay here?’ he asked Jessie that night when it was bedtime. ‘I don’t like Uncle Bob, he shouts. I don’t like this place, either. It
smells and the tin roof makes noises. I want to go home.’
‘I know, love, but we can’t go back, it’d cost too much. When Bob’s plaster comes off, he won’t be so crotchety. It’s the heat and dust and the flies.
We’re not used to it yet. Now try not to have an accident tonight, it only makes things worse,’ she whispered as she tucked him in with a kiss.
He tried to stay awake, not to fall fast asleep, but in the darkness and heat he felt the warm trickle seeping through his pyjamas. It was too late. He ripped off his sheet and hid it under the
bed. He felt the tears coming and he didn’t know what to do. Perhaps if he wasn’t there, Jessie would smile more. If he walked down the track that led to town, he might find his way to
Adelaide and Big Jim. He hated being stuck in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps if he ran away now, Bob wouldn’t be able to come chasing after him.
Jessie wasn’t Jessie any more. She didn’t bounce, her curls lay flat on her head, and her face was covered in brown freckles. Her clothes were dusty and she wore a pinny and a frown
all the time. They didn’t fit in well. The ways of sheep were strange to her, she being more used to cattle on her own farm in Scotland.
Slowly, Bob began to hobble around with a stick and drive the truck with one leg. Once a week they went into town and Jessie insisted she went to church now and then. That was when the good
clothes came out of the trunk: Desmond’s jacket and shirt, her pretty frock and straw hat. His sandals were polished.
When they both dressed up he thought of the
Stirling Castle
and Big Jim and all the fun they’d had then. It made him think about running away. One Sunday he sat through the
service, thinking only that he had a chance right then. Jessie would be better off without him. There was a railroad stop going north and south. He had no luggage, but he did have the pound note
for a ticket and Jim’s address he knew off by heart. It would be sad to leave Jessie but she’d come looking for him and then she’d stay and they’d all be happy together. The
Kanes would be glad to see the back of him. There was nothing for him at the farm but smelly chores.
The summer heat was almost over and everyone was busy with sorting sheep. He wouldn’t be missed. ‘I’m going to the Men’s room,’ he told Jessie, trying not to give
himself away. He wanted to cling to her but he daren’t, so he shot off down the Main Street to the station halt. He dodged an old man sitting whittling wood outside the station and tried to
look as if he was waiting for a train to arrive. If anyone asked, he was waiting for visitors. He sat and waited but nothing came either way. The man whittling wood kept staring at him.
‘When’s the next train south?’ Desmond asked him eventually.
‘Tomorrow, nothing today, sport. It’s Sunday.’
Des stood up, feeling foolish. Now he’d have to go back or hide out all night. He’d have to make up some tale. As he left the station it was his bad luck that Bob was hobbling out of
the hotel bar and spotted him.
‘What the hell are you doing in this part of town?’
‘Says he’s waiting for the train south.’ The old man laughed. ‘Reckon you’ve got a runaway there, Bob.’
‘Like hell I have. Get back up the street.’ Bob marched him up the street in view of everyone, grabbing his arm so he burned the skin. ‘You little runt, just wait till I get
you home, making a fool of me like that.’
‘What’s he done now?’ Jessie was waiting by the truck.
‘He’s going to learn a lesson he’ll never forget when I get him home. And if you know what’s good for him, you’ll keep your trap shut or it’ll be the worse
for both of you.’
‘I’m sorry, don’t move . . .’ Jessie was putting ointment on his strap wounds. The weals on his back and legs were stinging, raw from the beating. He
lay on his tummy, trying to be brave. The punishment was bad enough, but Bob made Jessie watch it too. Then he demanded the clippers and went for his hair. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this
since he came. You make a sissy out of this boy.’
‘He can’t help having curly hair,’ Jessie pleaded.
‘It’s coming off. “Click go the shears, boys, click, click, click,” ’ Bob sang, clipping his scalp as he pulled chunks and snipped them so close to his head Desmond
felt the stabbing sharp edges. He shaved his hair clean off. Des watched the black hair dropping in coils onto the floor. There was blood running down his forehead but he was too shocked to make a
sound. He wanted to scream out but he was too afraid to move and make the pain worse. With every snip something inside him shrivelled up. He stared at the stone wall and the fireplace, hearing the
sizzle of the hair on the fire.
‘Oh, Bob, please stop. He’s only a little laddie. What’s got into you . . .? Don’t take it out on the boy.’ His mother was trying to calm him down.
‘Shut up, Ma. He has to know who’s boss in this house, the sooner the better I’ll make a farmer out of him yet.’ Jessie was crying, gathering up the hair with her brush.
‘Stop snivelling. You only make it worse for him, taking his side.’ Bob said, looking pleased at his handiwork.
I hate you, Des thought, and I’m never going to speak to you again.
From now on it was going to be all-out war between them. He would never give into tears while Bob was around. Next time, he’d get right away and he’d make sure he took Jessie with
him. She deserved better than Bob Kane, and Desmond knew just who that might be.
Callie fell through the door of Primrose McAllister’s flat in Sinclair Road. Primrose gathered her into her arms with relief. ‘At last! I’m so glad to see you
home. I thought we’d never see you again . . . Your mother rang, so I was expecting you. She’s so worried. Oh, poor you, you don’t deserve all this. Come on, sit down. I’ve
got a bottle of wine. It’s so wonderful to have you back.’
Callie collapsed on the sofa, back among familiar surroundings. So much had happened since she’d lived here and yet the place was just the same: the shabby furniture, the pictures on the
wall. She wanted to curl up and sleep for a hundred years.
‘I’ve got to do something,’ she said.
‘Not tonight you don’t. You’re going nowhere. I’d no idea . . . Get this down you.’ Primmy shoved a tumbler of sweet wine into her hand. ‘Knock this back. It
was just the best news to know you’re safe. We heard rumours that some of the overseas girls . . .’ she hesitated, seeing the look on Callie’s face. ‘They didn’t make
it home. I know where you’ve been. Stuff gets out, official secrets or not. I gather the outfit has been disbanded now, but I’m so, so sorry about Desmond. Don’t worry,
he’ll be safe enough where he is.’
‘I have to bring him home. How could Phee do such a thing to us?’
‘I’m not making excuses but she’s had a stroke and it can change people, Daddy says.’
‘I’m going out on the first ship.’ Callie gulped the wine. ‘As soon as I find out where they’ve gone.’
‘I think you should rest first and get yourself ready. You’ve had a terrible experience. Be kind to yourself,’ Primmy said gently, sitting down beside her.
‘The only thing that kept me alive was the thought that I’d come back to Desmond,’ Callie replied fiercely. Primmy must understand the urgency of everything. ‘I
can’t wait to see his face when I turn up. He’s bound not to remember me, but children don’t forget their mothers, do they?’ She was looking to her friend for
reassurance.
‘Don’t expect too much too soon. One of my friends at work, her husband came back from a Jap POW camp last year and her little girl wouldn’t have anything to do with him.
“Who’s that man in your bed? I don’t want him there!” she cried every time he came near her. Poor man was distraught.’
‘That won’t happen to me. Desmond’s bound to remember me.’
‘It’s been an awfully long time to a child, Callie. I’d hate you to be—’
Callie put her hands to her ears. ‘Why are you being so negative? I’ll get all my papers in order, make sure I get a war pension, sort out a place to live and all that kind of
detail. I’m not coming back without him.’
‘You must make your peace with Phee. Promise me. I know she feels terrible, and she’s not well.’
‘I’ll never forgive her for what she did.’
‘She’s your mother, she did her best.’
‘She was never the motherly sort. You can’t change nature. When we return, time enough to sort her out then.’ All Callie was feeling was a burning rage towards her mother
now.
Primrose saw that Callie was running only on nervous energy and she brought out a wodge of cheese and some crackers. ‘All that’s left of my ration,’ she apologized.
‘I’m not hungry. Pass the bottle over. This is good stuff.’ The wine was warming her stomach and relaxing her panic.
‘Ralph procured it for some favour or other. You’ve not met him yet. We met at work.’ Primrose blushed. ‘He’s the best thing that came out of the war for me.
We’re getting married so make sure you’re back for my wedding. I hope you’ll stay here and not rush off tomorrow.’
‘I’m going to see my lawyers and see what funds I have. I need to buy a house. I’ve got some unfinished business to do with you know what. They want me to sign an affidavit
about my treatment in Belgium. They’ve captured some of the guards. I owe it to my friends who were betrayed and all that.’ Callie shook her head wearily.
‘Can you talk about it?’
‘Never . . . Don’t ask, please. It’s locked up now and I’ve lost the key. That sort of stuff can never be shared. I don’t want to think about any of it. It
won’t help get Desmond back where he belongs. That’s all that matters to me now. I’m just waiting for an address from Jessie Dixon’s family. I know she and Desmond were on
the passenger list for
Stirling Castle.
As soon as I have that, I’ll be writing and demanding to know his whereabouts.’
‘Don’t rush it, Callie. Send them postcards, things to remind him of you, pictures of Dalradnor.’
‘I’m never going back there.’ Callie snapped, resenting all Primmy’s caution.
‘Why not? It was his home and yours. You love it there. Don’t be so black and white. You’ll have to build a bridge between you both. You chose to leave it all behind when you
volunteered. You knew what you were doing – or did you?’
‘I thought you were my friend,’ Callie cried, not wanting to hear such arguments. ‘You’re as bad as Phee, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.’
Primmy hugged her. ‘I am your friend. I’m on your side. What’s the use of friendship if we can’t be honest with each other? Tell the truth in love and all that, I was
taught. I’m just trying to help. It’s all very complicated and emotional for all of you.’
Callie shook her off. ‘I’m not listening to this rubbish.’ She rose up but the room swam around her. The wine had gone to her knees as well as her head and she fell back onto
the sofa.
‘Come on, up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire. Time to sleep off all this upset,’ Primmy suggested, taking the glasses and empty bottle to the sink. ‘We have to plan your
campaign step by step. First, Jess and Desmond must know you are alive and well. She must realize you intend to collect him from her. So you need to have a home ready for him here, somewhere you
feel you’d both fit in, and that won’t be easy now. Then you should give Jessie time to prepare Desmond for your news and visit. He’s not a baby now but a young boy with ideas of
his own. Tread carefully, Callie, and all will be well. Are you listening?’ Primmy turned, shaking her head. Callie was snoring, fast asleep. The wine had done the trick.
‘Has the runt lost his tongue?’ Bob sat at the table, trying to goad Desmond into responding as he chomped on his stew. ‘Is he stupid?’
Since the beating months ago, Des had never said a word to Bob, not one. If he asked him anything, he grunted and nodded. He obeyed him and took the occasional clip behind the ears and taunts in
silence. He liked to see the puzzled look on Bob’s face. It was war between them now and Jessie was taking his side when she could, covering up for his silence with excuses.
‘He needs to go to school,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s not right to keep a boy from his lessons.’ She always knew how to get round Bob with a smile. ‘You and I
wouldn’t have met if you hadn’t passed your exams.’
‘You teach him then, if you’re so keen. Get him some books.’
Jessie needed no second bidding. The lessons were the highlight of his weekday, when they sat together, poring over reading books and doing sums and making shopping lists for him to add up.
There was an old piano in the parlour, out of tune but that didn’t stop Jessie playing it, and they sang Scottish songs: ‘Loch Lomond’, ‘Roamin’ in the
Gloamin’’, ‘I belong to Glasgow’
.
That always made Jessie cry and Ma Kane used to come in with her mending and join in.
One Saturday night, they rolled up the carpet rug to practise Scottish reels for the church dance, but before long Bob stormed in as they were singing the music. ‘So the boy can sing when
he wants to.’ Everyone stopped silent at his entrance. ‘Go on, don’t mind me, let’s hear the mute sing for his supper. Don’t think I don’t know what you get up
to behind my back. Sing or else . . .’ He pointed Jessie to the piano. ‘This is all your doing.’
‘Son, they’re only having fun. Leave them be!’ Ma Kane pleaded, but he slapped her down.
‘Shut up. If a man can’t be master in his own house . . . Sing, you bloody pommy, sing.’
Jessie sat at the piano, not moving. Des stood by her side, his mouth shut tight in defiance, his throat dry with fear, But it was when he saw Bob lift the fire poker that he knew real panic. He
turned to Jessie and nodded. She started to play ‘Loch Lomond’ and he tried to get the words out but they shrivelled in his mouth and hardly a sound emerged. ‘ “By yon
bonnie banks . . .”,’ was all he could croak.