JOE AND NELLY A World War Two ghost story
CHAPTER 13

On Saturday morning, Uncle Bill packed his kit bag and announced that it was time for him to go. In the past week, he had been back to the house only once or twice to eat and sleep, so they hadn’t seen an awful lot of him. Nobody seemed to know where he had been or what he had been up to, although Granddad and Uncle Tom both breathed a sigh of relief when he came back to collect his things and say his goodbyes. There was a lot of whispering in the back yard between Granddad and his brothers. Joe couldn’t hear what they were saying but he had an idea what it might be about.

Nan didn’t smile the whole time Uncle Bill was there that morning. Her face was frozen into a grim mask and when she hugged him and kissed him on the cheek, Joe spotted her wiping away a tear and overheard her say, ‘Take care, look after yourself - and bring him home safely.’

On the doorstep, Uncle Bill clapped Joe on the shoulder and, while shaking his hand, slipped into his palm several packets of Wrigley’s chewing gum and some small bars of chocolate, which vanished immediately into his pockets. He grinned as his great uncle threw his kit bag into the boot and ducked his head to climb into the front seat of the Morris Eight, which he had to return to his friend’s garage before catching the train to Dover. Joe would have liked another ride in it, to see the white cliffs and have some more stories to share with Nelly, but there was nobody who could drive it back and, anyway, it was too late. The last thing he saw was Uncle Bill’s hand waving out of the window before the shiny red car disappeared around the corner in a dirty cloud of exhaust fumes.

Joe sloped off to the back yard, where he sat on the little wall that surrounded Nan’s few flowers and lettuces, and kicked his feet against the bricks. He slid off the Wrigley’s outer wrapping, removed the silver paper and chewed hard on the stick of gum. The clean spearmint flavour and the rhythm of his chewing helped him to concentrate; he tried to remember anything that he had overheard from the serious conversation that took place between Granddad and his brothers, but there was nothing important that he could recall. Was it possible that they were talking about Dad? Had Uncle Bill found out something?

It was only a few days until Nelly’s burial service at a local church, so Joe decided to slip out of the house to spend the afternoon with her, digging for treasure. They still hadn’t found the biscuit tin and time was running out. Below his feet, lined up against the little wall, were gardening tools, which Nan had forgotten to put away. Joe took a trowel for himself and a small garden fork for Nelly to make digging easier; he was an idiot for not taking them when he and Nelly found the first marbles. He tucked the tools under his arm and opened the back gate, hoping that no one had seen him. But he had the feeling that Granddad had been watching him the whole time from behind the kitchen curtain. Since the accident in the hole, Granddad had taken to shadowing Joe when he walked down the street, to a spot from where he could see that he was safe. Joe pretended that he didn’t know he was there.

He pounded along the pavement and dashed past Nelly, who was sitting on the steps as usual. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he squatted down in a clump of wilting dandelions several feet from the steps and aimed furious stabs at the hard, dry earth, throwing dirt in a wide arc behind him. Nelly crouched next to him and joined in. She dug in silence for about five minutes, her face darkened by a frown, and then she downed tools.

‘Why won’t you wave at your Granddad?’ Nelly asked Joe. ‘If I had a Granddad who looked out for me, I would wave at him. I would want to wave at him all the time.’

Joe gashed the earth with his trowel and pretended not to hear.

‘I think you should wave.’ Nelly wiped her hands on her frock and put them on her hips. She reminded Joe of a cross Nan. ‘If you won’t, I will.’

She stumbled over a mound of rubble, back to the steps, lifted her hand and waved at Granddad. Joe watched. What would happen if Granddad responded? His mouth dropped open when Granddad lifted his hand and waved back.

‘Do you think he can see you?’ Joe asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Nelly, her voice small and trembling. ‘I wish he could. I think he’s pretending, to show you that he knows I’m here.’

Joe’s heart missed a beat as it dawned on him just how tragic Nelly’s situation was. He felt blessed. He’d had an adventure with Janet and Peter in Wales. He had Nan and Granddad to look after him. He saw Mum every night and he had, after all, received a letter from Dad. So what if all his friends were still evacuated? Nelly hadn’t seen her parents since the Blitz. Now she knew they were dead – and that she was too. He’d thought his friendship would be enough to make her happy even though she was a ghost. He threw down the trowel and joined her at the steps, moving his hand to and fro, exaggerating the movements until Granddad nodded, turned and walked away. When Joe looked back at Nelly, she was still waving, a smile and dusty tear stains on her face.

Together they resumed digging and searching in the bomb site until nearly tea time, with no more breaks. When it was time for Joe to go home, they had found nothing, not even a marble.

As soon as he walked in, Nan stepped out from behind the front door, put her hands on his shoulders and marched him down the hall to the kitchen. He had to stand still while she brushed the dust out of his hair and gave his face a good scrub. He grimaced and winced – he wasn’t a child – and when she rinsed and wrung out the flannel, he insisted that he could wash his own hands, thank you, and wasn’t even interested in blowing bubbles with the soap. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he felt much better once he was cleaned up and waiting on the stairs for Mum.

After supper, when everyone else was listening to the news on the wireless, Joe and Mum went upstairs to cool down on their bed, with the window open and the curtains moving slightly in the smallest of breezes. Mum opened Swallows and Amazons ready to read. She had read a chapter a night since Granddad brought it home and it had been a welcome diversion for them both.

‘Mum,’ Joe said. ‘Do you think that ghosts can be lonely?’

‘Is this about Nelly?’ Mum put her arm around him and pulled him close to her. ‘Nan and Granddad have told me everything. We’re all concerned about you and what will happen when Nelly is gone for good. She’s been a true friend to you and has taken your mind off your own worries. You were lonely when you first came home, after working and playing with Peter and Janet every day in Wales. You lost your home, your friends, your toys and books, and you miss Dad.’

‘Mum, do you think Nelly was lonely before I came home? Was she there all that time on her own?’

‘No, Joe. I think she came back when you did.’

Joe felt his heart expand in his chest. He smiled at his mum and the way that she understood him. If only Dad would come home, then everything would be all right.