Read Online Fallout by Sadie Jones - Free Book Online Page A

just to do something – and then his mother came in and he stopped. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and a cardigan – clothes she had owned as long as he could remember, clothes that had never been outside this place – and pale green slippers over her woollen tights. She stood in the doorway, unaware of him, and for that moment she was anonymous, the patient she was when he was not there to make her a mother. Putting it from his mind, he went to her quickly and she frowned, confused at the sight of him. Her confusion had increased with age; distress replaced by a growing bewilderment.
    ‘It’s not the weekend,’ he said, to save her asking. ‘It’s Wednesday. I took the day off.’
    They kissed. She was dressed and carrying some sewing and a book.
    The chair she liked best, by the window, was occupied by a tiny old woman in a shawl.
    ‘ Ooph! ’ exclaimed his mother, showing him her sewing and the book she was carrying, her planned morning, ruined.
    She had called this same ancient woman a salope before, Luke didn’t want to get involved in an argument.
    ‘Never mind. Shall we go for a walk?’ he said.
    She shrugged, staring viciously at the old lady in her place.
    Luke touched her arm to get her attention. ‘Leave these here. Walk.’
    ‘No! I must put them away – someone will take them.’
    He took her arm. ‘All right, leave them in your room and we can get your coat. It’s cold.’
    He waited for her by the door to her bedroom, respecting her privacy, and then longer, while she fumbled slowly with the buttons of her coat. Helplessly, he imagined other people’s departures, happy, reasoned mothers waving them off. Eric Trimble’s parents constantly urging him to marry and leave them in peace. Brave would be the girl to marry Eric and live up to his mother’s exacting standards.
    ‘Ready now,’ she said, smiling up at him.
    ‘Good,’ said Luke, but could not smile back. He wished he was either more or less of a coward, that he could do this thing well or not at all.
    Hélène held his arm as they walked the paths. The frost had melted, leaving the grass wet, spring sunshine washing everything. He must speak; it blanked his mind to do it, like the moment’s grace between the impact of a blow and the pain. He took a breath.
    ‘I’m leaving home,’ he said and stopped walking. She did not – she just let go of his arm and carried on. He was going to have to say it again.
    ‘ Luc? ’ she said, over her shoulder.
    ‘Did you hear me?’
    Sometimes she did this – this performance of stubborn feyness that took in nobody – because she didn’t want to hear. He closed the distance between them, reached her and she took his arm again and looked up at him brightly.
    ‘Will you send me postcards?’ she said.
    He glanced down at her but she just started to walk again, slowly.
    ‘Postcards, Luc ?’ she said again.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘From what place?’ she asked. ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘London.’
    At that, she stopped again and they stood, the two of them, with the birds singing and the distant hum of the generator the only sounds.
    ‘What a beautiful day,’ she said, lifting her chin, breathing in.
    He looked around. There was not much beauty in it to him.
    ‘Now, off you go,’ said his mother.
    ‘Now?’ Luke was surprised. ‘I’ll take you in.’
    ‘No,’ she said, dismissing him. It was the only power she had. ‘I’ll go in alone.’
    She kissed his cheek, pressing hers against his.
    ‘Live well for me, Luc. Don’t say goodbye when you go.’
    And then she walked away. She did not turn back to look at him; she did not mark the moment, make it harder, make it hurt. She just walked away. Luke watched her go. He thought that she was a good mother, and had always been. He wanted to tell her but he did not know how and she would not have believed him.
     
    After that it was quick. He gave his notice at the mill office and withdrew all his savings from the bank with