Read Online Lying Together by Gaynor Arnold - Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t a ghost. And he laughed and raised his hand to pat the younger sister affectionately on the back.
    And that’s when I saw his fingers. The skin was black and blistered and scarred right up to the knuckles, and his nails were uneven and torn. I wanted to cry out with shock. It was like a pain going through me to see his lovely hands in such a state and I couldn’t imagine what had happened to them. But I kept my pencil steady and wrote down the entire order, crossing it out as they changed their minds and changed them back again. ‘Oh, we’re so sorry, Miss,’ said the older sister. ‘Please excuse us. We’re just so excited.’
    When I came back with the tray, they were all so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t notice how I was trembling, how I nearly spilled the tea and the hot water, how I seemed to get egg custard on the fruit cake and trailed a line of sardine scales along the milk jug, how the spoon fell out of the strawberry jam, and the tongs over-balanced from the sugar basin. ‘How lovely,’ murmured the mother, as she surveyed it all, tea and children. ‘How long has it been since we all ate a meal together?’
    â€˜Now, Mother! Don’t be morbid,’ the younger and livelier of the sisters piped up. ‘The worst is over. We have to think of the future, now.’
    How could the worst be over? And as for the future – was I about to lose Jack as soon as Fate had brought him back to me? I watched them from the till as they talked and laughed. It was such a different Jack, so lively and happy. I wanted to be part of his family, to be able to touch him and joke with him as they did in their easy way.
    When I was clearing the dishes, the mother opened her handbag and discreetly passed a five pound note across to him, but he shook his head and wouldn’t take it. ‘You have to have some money, Jack. However you feel about it, you can’t live on air,’ she said. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the private income and why his mother was giving him money like he was a child. She then tried a pound, and finally a ten shilling note, which he took as if he really didn’t want to and only because his sister pushed it into his pocket, saying, ‘Even a saint like you needs to eat and drink.’ It struck me as a funny thing to say about your brother. None of my brothers were anything like saints, especially Douglas, who was always in some sort of trouble, pinching things and being places he shouldn’t be. Dad had had to take the strap to him more than once. I was surprised, though, when they all got up and said goodbye in quite a happy way. Much too happy, I thought, considering that next week he could be sunk in a convoy or shot down from a burning plane.
    Jack’s mother paid the bill and said they had to hurry or they would miss the train to London. Jack ushered them out, and I followed, loitering in the doorway, thinking he might ask for his hat and coat and I could help him on with them, feeling the soft cashmere or the silk lining as I made my own private farewell. It was only when his mother kissed him again and said, ‘Goodbye, darling. And don’t forget to write!’ that I realized they were going without him. And then, when he’d waved them off, he turned back and went past me up the stairs. I could hardly believe it. I slipped behind the counter and checked in the visitors’ book. There on the bottom line, Jack Thompson, Cavendish Square, London , in dark, neat handwriting. Such an English name. And such a posh-sounding address. And how posh all of them had been, his mother and sisters. I must have seemed really stupid to refuse his shilling three years before.
    I wanted to make amends for my stupidity, by serving Jack the very best cuts of meat and one of the secret desserts Mr Mullan kept in the cold larder for favoured customers. I’d show Jack how sophisticated