Line edit — wartime fiction extract

The house was tucked away behind the trees, but even from the boat stealing them past, they had seen that the ruins were empty. tThey walked around it,– warily at first,– as the rain pattered down. It had peaked gables and a brown slatted roof, and all the windows were without glass, some withoutwere even without even frames. As they came around the side, through the thick grass and between the birch that had sprung up and pressed against the walls, they found stone steps that led up to a missing door,. andI inside there was a landslide of rubble where part of the back wall had completely fallen in. Through the paine-less windows other branches reached in like stretching arms;. and, wWhere the roof had collapsed, grass had taken root along the top of the walls and there were nettles lined in neat rows.

ThereOf the were two rooms downstairs but, only one still withhad a a roof. Inside, the cement rendering was falling away, exhibiting the brickwork beneath. thatIt looked pink and sore, as if the rendering, now broken away, had been protecting it like a scab; cobwebs hung in congealing drips against the two window frames cobwebs hung in congealing drips.

‘We ought to make a fire,’, said Owen. ‘For the child.’ He pointed at the grate.

Janek nodded.

The floor was strewn with concrete dust and crushed bricks, and in amongst them were bits of wood, nails, and other signs of human life. Janek kicked at a scorched water cannister, mumbling something to himself, andround him there wasere the tatty remains of a shawl, and animal boness, and a rusty fork, and, by the crumbling stone hearth, a man’s dusty unlaced shoe.by the crumbling stone hearth.

‘Well, at least it’s dry,.’ said Owen.

Outside the rain was still spattering down through the trees.

In the adjoining room, where the roof was in tatters and there were bars at the window, Janek had found an old bathtub and cleared out the rubble. Now he lay in it beneath the one bit of roof that was still intact, the baby’s papoose hood pulled deep over his eyes and his bag placed as a lumpy pillow behind his head. His arms and legs dangled like spider legs over the side.

Owen gave the child the last of the milk as he sat by the fire,. tThe baby vomitinged it up almost immediately and then startinged to wail. When Owen undid the baby’s clothing, the onenly nappy they had was soiled through. HeAs the baby screamed (his little face straining puce), Owen hesitantly took it off as the baby screamed, his little face straining puce, then jerked his head back at the sour stench. He had never seen diarrhoea so yellow. The skin around the baby’s bottom and sides was a fiery pink and there was a rash developing across the baby’s cheeks that felt like sandpaper. ‘No wonder you’re making a fuss.’ He prayed to God the child wasn’t ill.

He cleaned him up as best he could, trying to soothe him with fake reassurances and holding himhis legs up while by the legs as hehe screamed and gently tippinged water from the canister over him.