Chapter 22

Helen hated the cold weather. The shorter, miserable days seemed to make everything gloomier. It was bitterly cold and had been snowing on and off for a few days. Each time she ventured outside she needed to cover her mouth with her scarf and by the time she got into the building she could barely feel her toes, fingers or cheeks.

It didn't help that Aunt Sylvia had been unwell since Boxing Day and had needed to spend a few unhappy days in her bed. Today was the first day she felt well enough to look after Bobby while Helen went to work.

Helen was lost in thought, rubbing her frozen hands together to try and warm them, when Leutnant Müller greeted her in the corridor as she neared the kitchen door. She repressed a groan. She had thankfully seen little of him since the meat incident and wished she had been a minute earlier and missed him.

‘Guten Morgen, Frau Bowman.'

‘Good morning,' she replied, having no intention of using his language to acknowledge him. He seemed a kind enough man, but there was still something a little creepy about him and she was careful not to be anything other than socially polite to him.

The kitchen door opened and Cook frowned, reading the situation instantly. ‘What are you doing skulking out there, young lady?' she snapped at Helen. ‘You have work to do.' She acknowledged the officer. ‘Good morning.'

He nodded at her greeting, his cheeks reddening as he turned and walked away. Helen was shocked at Mrs Jeune's tone and ran into the kitchen, hurriedly removing her outer wear before she was told off again.

‘Don't fret none,' Cook said in her usual tone. ‘I only said that to get rid of him.'

Helen relaxed, almost dropping the apron she was about to put on. ‘That's a relief. Thank you for rescuing me.'

‘You can make us both a cuppa to pay me back. I've been here for an hour already and I'm parched. Have a look over on the table there,' she said, pointing to a Red Cross telegram. ‘Received that yesterday, I did. It was sent a couple of months ago from my sister, so it's taken its time getting here, but it's better than nothing.'

Helen went over to the table and picked up the precious piece of paper with the red emblem. ‘You must be delighted to have heard from them again.'

‘I am. It's a relief to know she and the grandkids are all fine. It's in reply to one that I sent her.'

The older woman washed and dried her hands and sat at the table while Helen made their drinks. ‘You heard from your folks in England yet?'

Helen shook her head. She still hadn't replied to Richard and felt guilty about it, but couldn't think what to say. She wished she knew if her parents were safe and well. She swallowed the lump in her throat. How had their Christmas been? Had her brother been given leave to spend time with them over the festivities?

She wondered if Aunt Sylvia could have tried to send word to the family without telling her. It was something she might possibly do, but Helen would only know for certain if she asked her. She wasn't ready to broach the subject yet, though.

‘Sorry, Helen,' she heard Cook say. ‘I didn't mean to say anything insensitive.'

‘You didn't.'

‘You sure? Your face is telling me otherwise.'

Helen realised she must have been frowning. ‘I'm fine. A little tired, maybe. My aunt's been a bit under the weather for a few days.' When Mrs Jeune frowned, too, Helen added, ‘She insists she's fine today and she does appear to be much better. So much so in fact that she insisted on babysitting for me.'

She decided to change the subject. She didn't like to bother others with her troubles and certainly didn't want to bring down Cook's mood. She pointed to the telegram.

‘Are you going to send a reply straight away?' she asked.

Mrs Jeune talked about her sister, and her concerns for her niece and the grandchildren. ‘I worry sometimes that I won't live to see them again and give them hugs.' The woman's eyes filled with tears.

‘I'm sure you will,' Helen said, trying to sound positive.

‘Did you see any of those leaflets the RAF dropped on the island last week?' Dulcie asked, joining them in the kitchen.

Helen shook her head. ‘I heard about them but haven't seen any.'

‘My dad was outside in the garden when he spotted one under the hedge. It was written in French.'

‘I'm told they all were,' Cook said.

‘Maybe. My dad speaks French and said he thinks they were meant for the Jerries, but dropping them shows us we haven't been completely forgotten.'

‘That's something, I suppose.' Curious about the leaflets, Helen asked, ‘Did your father happen to say what the message was about?'

‘He did.' Dulcie gave the question some thought. ‘It was something like, "when our planes come over, take cover".'

‘I'm not sure I like the sound of that,' Mrs Jeune said, frowning.

Neither did Helen. What if she wasn't somewhere where there was cover? And what if her aunt and Bobby weren't able to get somewhere safe? She shuddered.

‘At least,' Cook was saying, ‘we'll feel a little less isolated from the rest of the world, having the RAF fly over and drop leaflets.'

Helen supposed she was right and felt slightly better at the thought.

* * *

The snow showers eventually stopped after a few days but instead of temperatures rising they continued to drop, turning the melting snow to ice and the pavements very slippery.

Helen couldn't wait for spring to arrive and bring some warmth with it. Maybe some decent weather might help cheer them all up. She hadn't been home long when Babs came to see them. She and her aunt were sitting, each with a blanket around them, next to the cold, empty grate. Her aunt knitted and Helen watched Bobby playing with his wooden train and his teddy. They were too fed up to bother talking.

‘I just wanted to ask if you heard that the RAF bombed Guernsey harbour earlier.' Babs refused a seat, excitement in her voice as she told them the reason for her visit. ‘I have to get back. Mum wants me to go up to the attic and see if we've missed anything we've stored up there that might be useful.'

‘Like what?' Helen asked, unsure what this could have to do with her and her aunt.

‘We're tired of being cold and are hoping to find anything made of wood. Old picture frames none of us want any more, that sort of thing.'

‘To burn them?' Aunt Sylvia lowered her knitting onto her lap and stared thoughtfully at Babs.

‘That's right. We've run out of almost everything else. I was worried about keeping something to use for firewood next winter, but Mum insisted that without heat she doubted she would last until then.'

Helen knew Ida must be desperate to burden the girls with something so worrying. Seeing how thoughtful Sylvia seemed, Helen worried that she might be thinking about her own worsening health. ‘What about the bombing though, Babs?' she asked, wanting to change the subject.

Babs bit her lower lip before replying. ‘There was a terrible kerfuffle. I wanted to let you know about the RAF, just in case you hadn't heard.'

‘I hope no one was hurt in the bombing,' Sylvia said.

‘Mum said the same thing, but we don't know. At least it shows us, as with those leaflets, that we haven't been entirely forgotten here.'

‘Poor Guernsey.' Sylvia picked up where she had left off with her knitting. ‘This awful war is interminable.'

‘It is,' Helen agreed feeling sombre.

For someone who was supposed to be hurrying home, Babs didn't seem as if she was in any rush to leave. Helen sensed something was troubling her and was about to ask what, when her friend spoke. ‘I'd better go before Mum sends Peggy to fetch me. I'm not looking forward to going up into that attic again,' she scowled. ‘It's full of dust and creepy-crawlies, and it's dark. Not to mention horribly cold.'

Helen tried to find something encouraging to say. ‘But if you do find a few useful things it will be worth it.'

Babs pulled a face. ‘I suppose you're right. Bye, then.' She hesitated before leaving the room and, wanting to check she was all right, Helen followed her into the hallway.

‘Is something wrong?' Helen whispered, checking over her shoulder that they were alone.

Babs thought for a second then shook her head.

Helen didn't like to pry. ‘You can tell me anything, I hope you know that, Babs. I promise I wouldn't tell a soul.'

Babs seemed to contemplate something. ‘It's Tony,' she said staring down at her hands. ‘He's been arrested.'

Helen covered her mouth to stifle her shock. ‘That's terrible. How's Peggy?'

‘Distraught.' She sniffed. ‘I went into her room without knocking earlier and found her sobbing. It was awful, Helen. I sat next to her on her bed and asked her what was wrong. She didn't want to tell me and I don't know what he's supposed to have done. She made me promise to keep it to myself.' She looked up at Helen again and winced.

‘It's fine. I promise I'll keep it to myself.'

‘Thank you. I just wish I could do something to help but she insists there's nothing.'

Helen hugged her. ‘Just being there for her is probably a great help.'

‘I hope so.'

‘You'd better get going,' Helen said, quietly relieved to have comforted Babs, if only a little.

When Babs had left, Helen thought about Peggy and how frightened she must be to know her boyfriend was in jail. What would happen to him? she wondered anxiously.

‘Is everything all right, Helen?'

Hearing her aunt's voice, Helen returned to the living room. ‘I was thinking I should go up into your attic and see if can find anything useful.'

Her aunt lowered her knitting. ‘I've been trying to recall what's up there. The ladder attached to the trapdoor in the ceiling is rickety and I haven't dared use it for over a decade.' She gave Helen an unsure look. ‘I'm not sure I'm happy with you going up there. Who knows what state everything will be in by now?'

Helen wasn't worried. She promised to take care with every step. ‘There must be something and if you've lived without what's up there for this long, you probably don't need much of it now. It's worth a look.'

‘I suppose you're right,' Sylvia said after a brief hesitation. ‘You want to go up there straight away, don't you?'

‘You know me well.' Helen laughed, relieved she hadn't had any objection from her aunt. ‘I want to light a fire tonight if we possibly can.'

‘No, dear. You've had a long day today and you're tired. That's when accidents happen,' her aunt argued. ‘It can wait until tomorrow when it's your day off.'

Her aunt had made up her mind, and Helen didn't try to change it.