The Messenger Bird Page 11

  Deadline. Dead end.

  Music started thumping through the wall from Hannah’s room. My pillow was all lumpy and I pulled out the chunky file from under it.

  COVENTRY BLITZ: THE MOONLIGHT SONATA RAID

  Might we have missed something in it last night? Might there be something to help with the drawing on the griffin after all? I pulled off the elastic band and turned the pages fast.

  November fourteenth. That weird coincidence. Dad getting charged. Had that been Lily’s deadline as well, to break Enigma codes and save her dad? Her story had really got to me, the way it was somehow wound up tight inside my dad’s. Lily in prison, branded a traitor – me trying to stop that happening to him.

  There was the newspaper clipping with a couple of black and white photos, the smoking shell of a cathedral with its roof gone; a street full of rubble and caved-in houses with the caption underneath: Last night came the worst bombing Coventry has ever seen. The photo of barrage balloons flying over the city, and a big anti-aircraft gun pointing at the sky.

  I thought about Coventry burning, Lily’s dad, the hunch I had that he’d lived there. If I could just find that out for sure. It might somehow lead me to the breakthrough I needed with Lily’s trail.

  It came to me suddenly. The old address book! The one with the red velvety cover in the hall cabinet. The guest book had dated right back – the address book might too. And if Lily had stayed in the house a while, her home address might be in there as well, mightn’t it?

  I scrambled out of bed, pulled on some clothes and slipped downstairs. From the kitchen came the sounds of cutlery banging together; the smells of mushrooms cooked in butter, of bacon getting crispier.

  I went into the hall. TELL NOBODY said the poster sternly as I pulled open the drawer and took the book out. It felt weird, thinking everyone in it was probably dead. A list of dead people, in tidy alphabetical order. I leafed quickly through to “K”.

  Lily Elizabeth Kenley

  And underneath… My skin prickled. I couldn’t believe it. There it was.

  13 Cathedral Street, Coventry

  And something else.

  Next of kin: Albert James Kenley (Father)

  (See address above.)

  I gripped the book. Lily’s dad was living in Coventry – this proved it! The only family she had left. Bletchley knew a huge raid was coming, and Lily must have known too.

  Why didn’t Lily just phone him up, then – plead with her dad to leave the city just in case? Percy’s voice rattled through my head. What – down tools on a bit of hearsay? There was a war on!

  No, Lily had to find out whether Coventry was definitely the target or not. Was that why she’d stolen the Enigma Machine, why she’d been found with secret papers? Not a traitor at all, just someone trying to save her dad. My throat went tight. The same way I was trying to save mine.

  Had my dad known all this stuff, I wondered, or had he just found and followed Lily’s trail, not knowing her real story?

  I looked impatiently at my watch. When would Sasha and Josh get here? I had to tell them what I’d found out. Knowing more about Lily might give us a lead for the griffin clue. Did she break the codes in time? The question echoed round my head: Did she save her dad?

  I remembered another photo from the Coventry file: one of a man in a tin hat with a fire hose in front of a massive blaze. Mum’s words came back: Lily’s dad was posted as a fireman or something.

  I fingered the address book again.

  A list of the dead.

  A thought shot through me.

  What about the Internet? That could have a list of all the Coventry victims.

  I went into the front room and edged open a corner of curtain. The drive was white with snow. I looked up and down the empty lane.

  I got out my laptop and started it up. I typed coventry blitz victims into Google and my fingers felt clammy as I slid them over the touch pad, clicking on what I needed.

  There were lots of names, too many names, like the long lists of soldiers on our village war memorial. I scrolled down until I got to the one name I’d dreaded finding there.

  Kenley, Albert James

  I sat there, all numb and floating, like I wasn’t properly in my body any more.

  Fire warden. Died while saving others from a collapsing house.

  It was like something inside me came crashing down. Lily hadn’t cracked the code. She hadn’t saved her dad.

  What if I couldn’t crack the code? What if I couldn’t save mine?

  I looked at the piano stool with its lion’s feet made of dark, polished wood, its padded velvet seat, all wrinkled and buckled. I remembered what Auntie Hilda had told Mum, about Lily sitting there, playing the same piece over and over.

  Cobwebs crackled as I lifted the piano seat and sifted through the dusty music books. It was near the bottom of the pile, all battered with its spine hanging off.

  MOONLIGHT SONATA BY LUDWIG VAN BEETHOVEN

  I think I’d already expected it when I found Lily’s name pencilled in the front. This was the piece she’d played, over and over, as if she somehow hoped the music would help her break the codes.

  “Morning, love.”

  Mum came up behind me and gave me a hug. She smelled of cooking bacon, and flowers from the special perfume Dad bought her last Christmas, and I stayed there, breathing her in.

  She was smiling, but her face looked pale and tired. I was worried she’d ask me about the piano book, but she didn’t even look at it.

  “I thought the smell of a full English would get you out of bed! Happy birthday, love.”

  I didn’t want it to be my birthday. I didn’t want to have to be happy. I wanted Sasha and Josh to get here and I wanted to solve the moon and star clue as fast as possible! And I wanted to know what to say to Dad if he phoned! But I said thanks and gave her a smile back and tried to pretend.

  Hannah came down dressed in black leggings and a long black pullover that went past her knees. “Happy birthday,” she said, tossing a perfectly wrapped round present the exact size of a football that bounced before I caught it. “Will keep you guessing for days, baby brother.”

  I pulled off the coloured paper. It was a football, but not just any old football. I held it in two hands. It was one signed by all the England team, black leather pentagons with a name in black pen on each white hexagon. They weren’t cheap. Josh and I had seen one in the posh sports shop in town. Hannah had probably spent a lot more than one Saturday’s wages on it.

  I wanted to hug her and say it was the best present I’d ever had, but I just stood there staring at the football like an idiot. “Thanks,” I managed to say at last. “It’s … it’s really nice.”

  We’ll have a kick-around later, Nat, Dad said in my head.

  Hannah shrugged and shoved her headphones in her ears.

  “This is from Dad.” Mum went to the Welsh dresser and got out the thick silver envelope I’d seen hidden there. “He wrote the card a few days ago, before…” Mum’s voice trailed off.

  I stared at the front of the envelope, at the Happy Birthday, Nat and the way the silver paper flashed all the rainbow colours in the light. I peeled it open as slowly as I could and eased the card out. It was one of those ones you make yourself, with cut corners for slipping a photo in, and Dad had put a photo of the four of us, sitting together laughing. I looked at what he’d written inside.

  To my dearest NAT, The very best son any DAD could HOPE for. With all my LOVE for ALWAYS and ever, Dad XXX

  NAT DAD HOPE LOVE ALWAYS. I held the edges of the card tight.

  I thought about people listening in like we were here as entertainment. My skin crawled and went hot. I imagined them sitting with their feet up, with their headphones and their extra large tubs of popcorn, waiting for my phone call with Dad, waiting for me to slip up. If only I could ask him about the drawing on the griffin! If only he could tell me straight where the trail was leading!

  I pushed Dad’s card inside the front
pocket of my fleece and closed the zip tight.

  “See what else is in the envelope then,” said Mum, her voice catching.

  I slipped my fingers back inside the silver envelope and pulled out two tickets. Football tickets for the semi-final match next Saturday. Special box seats. Two tickets; one for me and one for Dad. I felt them tremble between my fingers. Next Saturday seemed a lifetime away.

  “This is from me.” Mum quickly pushed another present into my hand and I pulled at the wrapping, glad to have something to rip apart and screw up. Socks, chocolate, some gift vouchers for the game shop. “Not very imaginative, I’m afraid. Right!” she said brightly, digging a hanky from her yellow work bag hanging from the chair and quickly dabbing her eyes with it. “I’d better check the eggs and bacon. As your dad would say, there’s nothing like the sound of bubbling fat!”

  Nothing like the sound of bubbling fat, eh, Nat?

  Me and Hannah sat in silence, me racking my brains over the clue, her texting on her phone. The arrow along the moonbeam … pointing to a star…

  “Set the table!” Mum called round the kitchen door, launching a tablecloth at me.

  Hannah sat by the fire, dumping on wood and prodding the flames while I cleared the front room table of junk and smoothed the cloth over it. I set out the cutlery and the plates and the salt and vinegar and the ketchup bottle, and the bottle of brown sauce that only Dad liked. Then I realized I’d laid a place for Dad without thinking and I was about to take the extras away but I saw Hannah watching me from where she was crouched by the fire and she shook her head slightly and said, “Leave them there, Nathan.”

  Mum came out of the kitchen carrying a stack of serving dishes between a pair of oven gloves, smiling her too-bright smile.

  “Heck, Mother,” said Hannah. “You’re even wearing lipstick!”

  “I thought we should celebrate Nathan’s birthday properly,” said Mum, blowing her fringe out of her face and glancing at the extra place. She dumped the serving dishes on the table and went back to get more stuff.

  There were runny fried eggs and scrambled eggs and mushrooms with black pepper and baked beans and crispy fried bread, and thick sausages with their sides splitting, and big glasses of orange juice with bits in, and fried tomatoes with their seeds spilling out.

  “Does it look all right?” Mum asked as she sat down.

  I managed a smile. Mum was trying so hard, I wanted to hug her. But the last thing I wanted to do was sit and have brunch.

  We started to eat, listening to Mum talking about her hospital ward, and the number of extra broken bones there’d been in the icy weather, and how she’d have to go into work for a Sunday shift later, and about the rising price of petrol… Anything, so long as it wasn’t about Dad.

  I looked at the empty place again. Did all this feel right without him? The bacon suddenly wasn’t quite as tasty as it had seemed at the start. I saw Hannah picking at her plate, the food only half-finished. I struggled to get the mouthfuls down.

  Mum got seconds from the kitchen and started piling it on our plates. A ridiculous number of sausages, big dollops of mushrooms. Hannah waved a hand over her plate. “Ease off, Mother! These leggings have a limit to how much they can stretch.”

  Mum sat back down with the serving spoon, turning her wedding ring round and round. She stared at the wall where three bright blue butterflies were pinned inside a glass frame. Our fire spat and smoked, feeble. Dad would have had the fire roaring up the chimney in no time.

  The phone rang, breaking the tension and then pulling it tight. I nearly choked on my orange juice. Mum leapt up and answered and stood by the door with the receiver. “Mr Edwards? Hello… Yes… You’re joking? Really? How did you manage to get them to agree to that? Really? But just Nathan? I understand.”

  She held the phone out to me, her eyes shining. “Nathan, it’s your dad!”

  Dad. I gaped at her, then scrambled up from my place. Mr Edwards had really managed to sort it. A birthday call from Dad. I felt a smile explode across my face. Then I was suddenly really scared. Scared because the corrupt members of staff would be listening in, scared I’d make a blunder and give the game away. I should have thought this through better first. Practised exactly what to say.

  “Don’t you want to speak to him first?” I stammered.

  Mum took a step towards me with the receiver. “He’s only got permission to speak to you.” I saw the pain in her face. Hannah’s too. But I also saw the way they were looking at me, urging me on, desperate to know how Dad was. “Come on, love.”

  I took the phone. Mum and Hannah had their eyes fixed on me. “Dad?” I whispered.

  “Happy birthday, Nat.”

  Just hearing his voice sent a shiver through me. All the things I wanted to tell him, but couldn’t, churned through my head. I’m almost at the end of Lily’s trail, Dad. They’d moved the griffins, did you know that? But we managed to find the next clue anyway. I don’t understand it yet, but I’m working on it…

  “How are you?” I struggled.

  “I’m fine. Just want to be home. Thirteen at last, Nathan!”

  My brain was suddenly on red alert. Dad was calling me Nathan. Dad never called me Nathan.

  “Did you like the card? Your mum wrote it.”

  No she didn’t, I thought, you did, but Dad’s voice was rattling on, like he had to squash loads of words in and there was no space to interrupt him. Like in our conversation by the bonfire. What was he trying to tell me this time?

  “I hope the heating’s working OK, and by the way, if your mum needs to fill up the car, tell her to use the petrol from BP, Nathan.”

  BP? He said BP!

  “What do you think of the tickets? The ruddy quarterfinal, eh?”

  Not quarterfinal. Semi-final.

  “Take the whole thing when you go to the match, the whole book, Nathan. There’s some vouchers for half-time snacks in there and things. Take Josh if I’m not back by then. Or Sasha. You shouldn’t waste them. I think it’s important that you go there, Nathan. Have I been in the papers?”

  The question jarred through me. “Yes,” I said quietly and I heard Dad pause. “So the press have the story already,” he said more slowly. “Soon they’ll have the whole story, Nathan.”

  I’ll get to the end, Dad. Just like I promised. I’ll find the evidence.

  “Look after your mum, son, and your sister.”

  “I will.” My tongue felt all fat. I need you, Dad. I love you, but “Thanks for the birthday card,” was the only stupid thing I could think of to say.

  “Hope you like the message in the card, Nathan,” said Dad. He sounded three kisses down the phone and then there was a click and Mr Edwards was on the other end asking to talk to Mum again, and that was it. Time up.

  Dad was gone.

  13

  Making a Wish

  Dad never ever calls me Nathan. My brain buzzed as I thought back through what he’d said, forcing myself to remember every detail. Thirteen at last, Nathan … use the petrol from BP, Nathan … use the whole book, Nathan … it’s important that you go there, Nathan…

  Hannah was giving me funny looks, but I ignored her.

  Soon they’ll have the whole story, Nathan…

  Hope you like the message in the card, Nathan…

  Saying Mum wrote my card when she didn’t. Saying it was the ruddy quarterfinals when it was the semis. He’d sworn at me again. And what about those sloppy kisses down the phone? He knew I hated stuff like that. That sealed it. He was definitely, definitely talking in code. There must be a hidden message in what he was saying. The question was, what?

  Mum carried on talking to Mr Edwards, and I heard snatches of her conversation from the kitchen. “CCTV footage? … What car park? … A cash handover?”

  “How was he, then?” asked Hannah. “What did he say?”

  “Not much,” I said. “He had hardly any time.”

  “But how did he sound?” she insisted. “Did he seem OK?�
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  “Yes,” I said. It sounded so bland. “He seemed OK.”

  Hannah looked at the wall, and then she spoke quietly. “What if he’s guilty, Nathan?” she said.

  I stared at her. I thought about that gang from school. “Has somebody said something to you?”

  Her mouth was a grim line. “Let’s just say at times like this, you really do learn who your friends are.”

  Suddenly I felt so sorry for my sister. She didn’t know anything about Lily’s trail. If only I could tell her there was hope, make her feel better. It was cruel not involving her.

  But that thing she’d said, about Dad being guilty. I felt my face scrunch up like wrapping paper. “Dad can’t have done anything wrong!”

  “What if he did?” Hannah said. Her eyes blazed. “He might not have meant to, not at first. But who wouldn’t be tempted by the right kind of money? Maybe he did steal files and sell them to the highest bidder!”

  Anger and doubt rose up inside me. “My dad wouldn’t!” I spat at her. “Our dad. He wouldn’t do something like that! He’s innocent!”

  “Until proven guilty!” Hannah had her hand up. “Stop talking about it now.” Hannah picked up her fork and pressed it into the table. “Don’t you dare say a word to Mum about what I said, either, not a word! She’s at cracking-up point as it is!”

  I sat there biting my lip, trying to think about something else, nothing, anything, so I wouldn’t have to think about what Hannah had said; admit to what I’d thought myself.

  An ember glowed in the pile of ash in the fireplace and upturned horseshoes glinted from the brickwork. The clock ticked, and the pipes clicked and tapped like someone trying to tell me things in code. Dad and Lily watched me from the mantelpiece, and the carrier pigeon stared with its one glass eye.

  Whispers trickled through my head: What if he is guilty? Guilty. Guilty. I scowled. “He’s innocent,” I muttered.

  What I had to do was concentrate on Dad’s phone call; on what he’d really been trying to tell me.