22 Britannia Road by Amanda Hodgkinson Page B

happening?’
    ‘The Germans took Warsaw three weeks ago. They came across the borders from Pomerania, East Prussia, Bohemia, Moravia and Slovakia. We weren’t prepared at all. Now the Russians want a piece of the action too …’
    ‘We’ve been betrayed. Poland’s been pissed on from both sides.’ The boy rolled his eyes when he spoke, showing the whites, like a horse about to take flight.
    Janusz looked at their stubbled faces, saw the tiredness in their eyes. He couldn’t understand how things had moved so quickly. The older man must have seen the confusion on Janusz’s face. He spoke slowly and carefully, explaining what was happening. Warsaw had surrendered to the Germans. The Russians had first entered Poland as allies and had quickly become occupiers, too quickly for anybody to understand. Now the country was being divided up between the two of them.
    ‘Bruno Berkson,’ said the older man, holding out his hand. ‘And this is Franek. Franek Zielinski. We were part of the defence on the eastern border. When the Russians came, our officers told us not to attack. We laid down our guns and the Russians took everything, our weapons, tanks, food. They took it all. Franek and I escaped when they were marching us to a prison camp. We’ve been on the run ever since. Hiding in woods and barns. If you could give us something to eat we’ll be on our way.’
    Janusz put down the spade, dusted mud off his trousers. ‘And Warsaw? What do you know about Warsaw? My wife is there …’
    ‘From what we’ve heard, the city’s in ruins.’
    Franek sniffed. ‘And full of szkops . Overrun by Germans.’
    Janusz turned to Bruno. Already he preferred the older man to this boy with his hurried speech and uncoordinated limbs.
    ‘But how did it all happen so quickly? What date is it?’
    ‘October 8th,’ said Franek. ‘My mother’s birthday. I wanted to send her a postcard, but Bruno says we’ll have to do it when we get to France.’ He nodded at the freshly turned earth behind them. ‘What are you doing up there? What’re you digging for?’
    Janusz looked at the old woman’s grave. He had no wish to tell them the truth.
    ‘I was burying a dead dog. If you’re hungry you’d better come this way. I can find you something to eat.’
    He led them to the cottage, thinking about what they’d said. Had he really spent over a month here? He glanced back at the mound of earth. A mass of flies still buzzed above it. How he hated those insects. If it was already October, the coming Polish winter would soon kill them, and he’d be glad. The old woman would be able to rest in peace. Then she might finally stop haunting his dreams.
    ‘Come in,’ he said to the men, holding the door open. As they entered he realized he was glad they were there. He’d been alone too long.

 
    Ipswich
    Aurek has his own room. His mother told him it was just for him, and he wonders what he’s going to do with it. He doesn’t understand why he can’t share with her, why she has to sleep in another room where he is not allowed. He pulls his sheets into a ball, drags his eiderdown up to the headboard of his rickety iron bed and makes a nest. He’d rather sleep under the trees. He misses the feel of the shelter he and his mother squeezed into for so long.
    With his knuckled spine pressed hard against the wall, sheets twisted around him, his eyes follow the upward tilt of hundreds of small grey aeroplanes flying in formation across the bumpy walls. There is a dark wardrobe he won’t open in case a man with an axe is hiding in it, and a bookshelf with heavy-looking English books stacked on it. The one thing he likes is the picture on the wall; a black-and-white print of puppies crowded into a basket with ribbons around their necks. That’s the image to concentrate on when the night comes and the wardrobe starts mocking him for sleeping alone.
    He climbs out of the muddle of bedclothes, takes a leap past the wardrobe, and is up on the