War Orphans by Lizzie Lane Page B

What if he didn’t recover? What would she do then?
    She thought of the dead flowers on the allotment at the front of the shed. Here and there an odd bloom was still flowering bravely, though not very many. One or two flowers would be nice to place on his grave, if she had to.
    Susan called out to her as she raced away from school. ‘Hey! Wait for me.’
    But Joanna couldn’t wait. She ran faster, keen to get away from Susan’s chatter and the possibility she might ask questions and tag along with her. She spotted a familiar figure playing conkers outside the entrance to the boys’ school.
    ‘Can’t stop, Paul,’ she shouted as she ran past him as fast as her legs could carry her.
    She was vaguely aware of his puzzled frown before he returned to knocking out his opponent. But still she couldn’t stop. Not even for him.
    By the time she got to the allotment a thick fog had descended turning what greenery remained from the long hot summer to a chill dull grey. The air was still. Even the crows in the bare branches of the trees were silent. Sheds containing gardeningtools loomed out of the mists like lopsided sentry boxes guarding nothing more than rows of vegetables and gooseberry bushes.
    She tripped over an upended bucket used to force rhubarb to grow. The handkerchief containing the bits of meat fell out of her pocket, the contents scattering on the ground.
    ‘Oh no!’
    The earth was soft beneath her knees. It was all about the meat and keeping it clean and wholesome for the puppy to eat – if he was still alive. Diligently, her breath steaming from her mouth, she picked up every last piece of meat and gristle retied her handkerchief – more securely this time. Cupping it with both hands, she hurried for the shed.
    Due to her efforts the day before, the hook lifted more easily.
    Thanks to the fog, the interior of the shed was darker today. The cobwebbed window didn’t help. She vowed it would be her next job once she had fed the puppy. The puppy came first.
    It occurred to her to leave the door open for the sake of extra light from outside, but she didn’t dare. One of those horrible people who killed pets might be out there. Or even somebody out late to dig the damp ground. She couldn’t risk being seen. She couldn’t risk the puppy’s life.
    There was no sign of movement. Her chest tightened.
    ‘Here, boy,’ she called softly. ‘See what I’ve got for you.’
    She untied the handkerchief, laid it flat on the ground and peered into the box where she’d placed the puppy the evening before. The layers of sacks were still there inside the wooden seed box, the puppy was not.
    Alarm clutched at Joanna’s heart. Had the man who owned the shed and worked the allotment come back and discovered him and handed him to those who would kill him?
    Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d lost Lottie. Finding the puppy had given her something to hope for. It would be so unfair if he was gone too.
    Despair and anger mixed in equal proportions. She had nothing and nobody else, only her father and he’d gone off to fight in the war.
    The pottery dish used to place beneath a plant pot to retain water was still there. She remembered filling it to the brim. The pain in her heart shifted. There was less water now. Had the puppy found it?
    She looked around the shed, seeing dim shapes leaning against the wooden walls, the hoes and other implements hanging from hooks and piled on the shelves. Nothing had changed since yesterday.
    Her attention strayed to the dark and dingy corner of the shed to a pile of sacks and a bucket. Something moved.
    He was still here! Her spirits soared. She went down on her knees, a small piece of fatty meat quivering between her finger and thumb.
    ‘Here, boy. Here.’
    She stayed on her hands and knees, her attention riveted on the furthest end of the shed.
    ‘Come on. See what I’ve got for you.’
    Nothing happened for a moment, but suddenly, sensing the smell of food, the black spot that was his