Page 74 of Neighbors at War

‘He will,’ Peggy said. ‘It’s not as if we can mention little Bobby, when there’s not supposed to be a child living here.’

Helen was relieved Richard would receive something. ‘Thank you so much, Tony. It’s very kind of you to do this for me.’

He shook his head and took the piece of paper from her as soon as she tore it out of the pad. He slipped it into his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll burn this as soon as I’m done with it.’ He indicated the scraps of paper with discarded messages that she had torn out of the pad. ‘Those should go in the fire. You don’t want anyone finding them if they decide to inspect this place again.’

He was right. She bent to retrieve the pieces she had dropped onto the floor and threw them into the small fire, watching them flare up and burn into ash. ‘Now I just need to wait and hope Richard replies.’

‘This has been such a lovely birthday,’ Peggy said, leaning back in her seat. I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon. We must keep hoping for the best, it’s the only way we’re going to survive this mess.’

She was right, and Helen decided that from now on she would do her best to be positive.

Chapter Forty-Six

RICHARD

June 1943

It had been months and still no news from Helen. He was almost certain she would have tried to reply and he wondered what could have happened to stop her. He hated imagining her and Bobby being stuck on the island with no hope of escape. If only there was something he could do about it. Maybe he could try and find out if raids were being planned and volunteer to go. Almost as soon as he had the thought, he realised it was impossible. What chance did he have of finding out about anything secret? He wasn’t in a position to know much at all, he reasoned miserably.

If only he knew they were still alive. He had heard about deportations from the island the previous year and it terrified him to think that Helen and Bobby might now be held in a squalid German camp. Just knowing they were somewhere on the island would be better than nothing.

He was on leave, staying at his mother’s home for the first time in months. It felt strange being back here in the neat,1930s terraced house, with paper crosses stuck onto the windows and blackout blinds put up each evening.

It was his final day before returning to his ship and Richard was in the kitchen peeling the couple of potatoes his mother had managed to buy for their supper when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ his mother shouted, immediately going to the front door.

‘Who is it, Mum?’ he asked. Sensing something had happened, he stopped what he was doing and waited for her to reply.

Her footsteps came towards the kitchen. She stood at the door holding up an envelope with the Red Cross emblem on it. His heart raced as he dared hope it might be from Helen. ‘Is that for me?’

She frowned and held it out to him. ‘It is. But it’s from a Tony Le Gresley. Unusual name.’

His excitement instantly evaporated. Not from Helen then. The disappointment felt like a punch to his gut. ‘Tony Le Gresley?’ He had never heard of him.

‘Who is he, son?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ He opened the envelope and read.

Our friends next-door well. Send best. Missing loved ones and waiting for news. Hoping all fine. Please respond soonest to Ida Hamel. Your schoolfriend, Tony

He read the words several times. It didn’t make any sense. Who was this guy and why was he pretending to be an old schoolfriend? Who was Ida Hamel? Could the telegram have been mixed up with someone else’s?

He reread it another few times. Then it dawned on him. ‘The message is in a kind of code.’ He laughed, excited and relieved.

‘Why would it be in code?’ his mother asked, picking up a tea towel and drying a plate.

‘Because they have to be careful on the island.’ When she shook her head in confusion, he added. ‘The Germans, Mum?’

‘I see.’

He wasn’t sure she did, but the explanation satisfied her.

Richard sat at the small kitchen table and studied the message trying to work out exactly what it was meant to convey. ‘Our friends’, he presumed, must be Helen and Bobby. Ida Hamel? He thought he recognised the name. Maybe he had heard Helen mentioning the Hamels in the past? He supposed she might have done if they were her aunt Sylvia’s next-door neighbours. Next door. That was it: he needed to address his reply to Ida Hamel who lived next door.

But which side? Did the Hamels live at number 1 or number 3? Richard rubbed his throbbing temples lightly. He had no way of knowing and would have to take a chance, hoping that whoever delivered the telegram would hand it to the addressee regardless of whether he used the correct house number or not. If she didn’t reply then he would address his next telegram to the house on the other side of number 2.

Richard’s heart seemed to skip a beat as it dawned on him what must have happened. ‘This chap has contacted me on Helen’s behalf,’ he said, needing to say it out loud. He felt rather than saw his mother stiffen, but was in no mood to hear what she thought of his situation with the woman he loved. ‘That must have been what’s happened.’