Read Online Angel of the North by Annie Wilkinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Annie Wilkinson
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ever going to get to know something definite about
Dad. Alfie asked about a funeral. If he’s dead, I’ll have to organize one.’ She sniffed back sudden tears.
Charles put a comforting arm around her. ‘Does your mother realize he’s missing yet?’
‘Well, she knows he’s not with her because the nurses say she keeps asking for him, but I don’t think she realizes he’s missing in the sense of “presumed
dead”. I’ve tried to tell her but it’s hard to know whether you’re getting through, because she doesn’t hear half of what you say, and she forgets the rest. God, what
a mess. She wouldn’t be fit to go to any funeral anyway. It’s Pam and Alfie I’m worried about. Alfie would definitely want to come, and I wonder if I should send for them both.
What do you think?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Charles with a frown. ‘Pretty gruelling for anybody, I should think. Maybe Pam’s old enough to stand it, but it might be too much for young
Alfie. I’d have thought so, anyway. But you know them better than I do.’
‘I ought to let them know – give them the choice.’
‘Cross that bridge when you come to it. Until you know something definite; there’s nothing you can do. I’ll run you home, we’ll get something to eat, and then you get
your glad rags on. Let’s try to take your mind off it all for our last evening together, at least.’
Marie put on the brightest face she could manage and went to the theatre with him, determined not to spoil what Charles called his last night of freedom. Driving through the centre of Hull for
the first time in weeks, she saw the wrecked streets, with half-demolished buildings, craters and broken masonry everywhere, but Hull New Theatre had been lucky enough to survive the bombing. She
took her seat, determined to forget her troubles for a while and immerse herself in the play, but her mind kept flitting to thoughts of her missing father, her injured mother, Alfie’s misery,
Pam’s apparent indifference, and the awful responsibility of having all of it dropped squarely on her shoulders. During the interval she pretended enjoyment, smiled, nodded and agreed with
the people who were raving about the performance, and when they left the theatre she couldn’t have told anybody what the play had been about.
‘Lucky you’re on a late tomorrow,’ Charles said, as they drove home.
She agreed, her thoughts elsewhere. The journey continued with Charles making conversation, and Marie replying in monosyllables until he brought the car to a halt outside her front door. They
sat for a while, idly watching a couple approaching from the far end of the street, the man with his arm round the woman’s waist.
‘Are you going to ask me in for a cup of tea?’
Marie appeared not to have heard. ‘You know, I think I’m going to have to bring Alfie home. I can’t get him out of my mind. There’s something wrong there.’
‘Are you insane? You said yourself that if they hadn’t been evacuated, they’d almost certainly be dead. And at least half of what’s wrong there is Alfie, if you ask me.
Your mother was summoned to school to hear complaints about him twice, to my knowledge, and we hadn’t been courting ten months before they went to Bourne. If you want my opinion, the happiest
day of your parents’ lives was the day they waved him off.’
‘It was not. How can you say such a thing! Alfie’s a bit impish, but he’s not a bad lad at heart.’
‘A bit impish? Always up to no good, you mean, always playing some stupid prank on somebody. And even if he were the best lad in the world, how can you manage with him at home, with no one
to look after him?’
‘He’s eleven. He should be able to look after himself.’
Charles gave a wry smile, and shook his head. ‘There might be some 11-year-olds you’d dare trust in the house on their own, but I wouldn’t take a chance on Alfie. Just
don’t do anything hasty, Marie. My mother gave in to
Dad. Alfie asked about a funeral. If he’s dead, I’ll have to organize one.’ She sniffed back sudden tears.
Charles put a comforting arm around her. ‘Does your mother realize he’s missing yet?’
‘Well, she knows he’s not with her because the nurses say she keeps asking for him, but I don’t think she realizes he’s missing in the sense of “presumed
dead”. I’ve tried to tell her but it’s hard to know whether you’re getting through, because she doesn’t hear half of what you say, and she forgets the rest. God, what
a mess. She wouldn’t be fit to go to any funeral anyway. It’s Pam and Alfie I’m worried about. Alfie would definitely want to come, and I wonder if I should send for them both.
What do you think?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Charles with a frown. ‘Pretty gruelling for anybody, I should think. Maybe Pam’s old enough to stand it, but it might be too much for young
Alfie. I’d have thought so, anyway. But you know them better than I do.’
‘I ought to let them know – give them the choice.’
‘Cross that bridge when you come to it. Until you know something definite; there’s nothing you can do. I’ll run you home, we’ll get something to eat, and then you get
your glad rags on. Let’s try to take your mind off it all for our last evening together, at least.’
Marie put on the brightest face she could manage and went to the theatre with him, determined not to spoil what Charles called his last night of freedom. Driving through the centre of Hull for
the first time in weeks, she saw the wrecked streets, with half-demolished buildings, craters and broken masonry everywhere, but Hull New Theatre had been lucky enough to survive the bombing. She
took her seat, determined to forget her troubles for a while and immerse herself in the play, but her mind kept flitting to thoughts of her missing father, her injured mother, Alfie’s misery,
Pam’s apparent indifference, and the awful responsibility of having all of it dropped squarely on her shoulders. During the interval she pretended enjoyment, smiled, nodded and agreed with
the people who were raving about the performance, and when they left the theatre she couldn’t have told anybody what the play had been about.
‘Lucky you’re on a late tomorrow,’ Charles said, as they drove home.
She agreed, her thoughts elsewhere. The journey continued with Charles making conversation, and Marie replying in monosyllables until he brought the car to a halt outside her front door. They
sat for a while, idly watching a couple approaching from the far end of the street, the man with his arm round the woman’s waist.
‘Are you going to ask me in for a cup of tea?’
Marie appeared not to have heard. ‘You know, I think I’m going to have to bring Alfie home. I can’t get him out of my mind. There’s something wrong there.’
‘Are you insane? You said yourself that if they hadn’t been evacuated, they’d almost certainly be dead. And at least half of what’s wrong there is Alfie, if you ask me.
Your mother was summoned to school to hear complaints about him twice, to my knowledge, and we hadn’t been courting ten months before they went to Bourne. If you want my opinion, the happiest
day of your parents’ lives was the day they waved him off.’
‘It was not. How can you say such a thing! Alfie’s a bit impish, but he’s not a bad lad at heart.’
‘A bit impish? Always up to no good, you mean, always playing some stupid prank on somebody. And even if he were the best lad in the world, how can you manage with him at home, with no one
to look after him?’
‘He’s eleven. He should be able to look after himself.’
Charles gave a wry smile, and shook his head. ‘There might be some 11-year-olds you’d dare trust in the house on their own, but I wouldn’t take a chance on Alfie. Just
don’t do anything hasty, Marie. My mother gave in to
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