My Friend the Enemy Read Online Free Page B

and a blue shirt, open at the neck. She had grey socks, one pulled up and the other ruffled close to her ankle. The only real difference between the way we were dressed was that I was wearing a pair of old wellies and she was wearing shoes. I had some shoes at home, but I wasn’t allowed to wear them. Mam was saving them for best, even though they had holes in them. She got them from Mrs Drake because her son, Matthew, was a few years older than me and had grown out of them. Mam swapped them for some old dress material, then she cut out some stiff card and pushed it into the bottom of the shoes to cover the holes. It wouldn’t keep the water out if it rained, she said, but they’d be good enough for best. In the meantime I could wear my wellies, and when they got holes in them, we’d mend them. I’d given my bike up for the collection, to be turned into bullets or guns or something, but we’d kept the inner tubes and they were perfect for repairing wellington boots.
    Mind you, she might have been dressed like me, but she definitely didn’t sound like me. She didn’t have the same accent – the same one everyone I knew had. She sounded more like the voices I heard on the wireless, or maybe like Mr Bennett. She made the words seem bigger somehow. More important. The way she said them made her sound clever, and I liked that a lot. It made me think she was special.
    â€˜I used to lie in bed and hear them go over,’ she said. ‘Last year, it was like they were coming every night. And then Big Bertha would start up. That’s the gun. At least, my mum and dad always call it Big Bertha.’
    No one I knew said ‘mum’.
    â€˜Isn’t your da’ fightin’ the war?’ I asked. ‘Mine is.’
    â€˜My brother is – he’s in the RAF – but my dad’s a doctor at the hospital in Newcastle. He wasn’t allowed to go to war because he’s too important.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜And, of course, then I’d hear the bombs. After the planes, I mean. It’s much quieter here. This is the most excitement I’ve seen since I got here.’
    I stared at her, the activity at the foot of the hill almost forgotten.
    â€˜I’m from Newcastle,’ she said, ‘in case you hadn’t guessed.’
    â€˜An evacuee?’
    â€˜Kind of. I came here to stay with my aunt because Dad thought I’d be safer, but really I’m just bored. Nothing ever happens here at all, does it? Until now, anyway.’ She brushed a wisp of hair from her face and looked at me.‘Well? Are you going to say something?’
    â€˜Er. Aye. I’m Peter.’
    â€˜I’m Kim.’ She put out her hand and I thought that was very strange. No girl had ever done that before. Even so, I put out my own and we shook. Her hand was very soft and warm and a little bit sweaty in the palm.
    I watched her face, seeing the way her nose turned up slightly at the end. It made her look a bit like a drawing I’d seen in a book about Peter Pan.
    She seemed to be studying me, too, then she raised her eyebrows and looked down at our hands joined together. It was as if something clicked into place, reminding us where we were, and I took my hand back, looking around to see if anyone was watching.
    â€˜This is pretty exciting, don’t you think?’ Kim said.
    â€˜Aye.’
    â€˜I bet you don’t get many crashes here.’
    â€˜No. Not many.’
    â€˜So what’s the most exciting thing you’ve seen? Apart from this?’
    I thought for a moment. ‘Prob’ly when the soldiers first came.’
    â€˜Doesn’t sound very exciting.’
    â€˜Well, it was. They took over Bennett Hall and put up these giant tents and an assault course. They built pillboxes out on the links, too. They’re like these little concrete houses with slits in ’em for machine guns and—’
    â€˜I know what a pillbox