Read Online The Boy I Love by Marion Husband - Free Book Online Page B

sighed. ‘Leave it, if you don’t want it.’
    â€˜I didn’t say that.’ She readjusted the parcel in her arms. ‘It’s heavy.’
    â€˜Would you like me to carry it home for you?’
    She hesitated only briefly. ‘Would you mind? I don’t want to take you out of your way.’
    He took the chicken from her. ‘You live on Tanner Street, don’t you?’ She nodded. ‘It’s on my way home.’
    Her mother had made no preparations for Christmas, just as last year. The year before that Albert had been home on leave from the training camp, still yet to go to France, and they had decorated the house with paper chains and Chinese lanterns and lined his favourite pink sugar mice along the mantelpiece. Now the only thing on the mantelpiece was Albert’s shrine. Its candle leapt in panic as Hetty showed Patrick into the parlour.
    â€˜Take a seat. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
    â€˜Really, Hetty, I should be getting along.’
    â€˜Stay. Mam’ll want to thank you for the bird.’
    â€˜It’s nothing.’
    â€˜It was very generous. Now,’ she pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down. Shan’t be long.’
    In the kitchen Hetty took the best willow pattern cups and saucers from the dresser and set them out on a tray. She worked quickly, afraid that if she took too long he would come and find her, making his excuses to leave. As the kettle boiled she cut a slice of the plain, yellow rice cake her mother made for her father’s bait, and then, as an afterthought, cut another slice. They would eat cake together. Hetty smiled to herself, her anger at his disappearing act that afternoon already forgotten in the novelty of having him in the house. Remembering the chicken, still wrapped in its newspaper, she patted it gratefully.
    With everything laid neatly on the best doily, she carried the tray through, kicking the parlour door open with her foot. Patrick stood up at once, crossing the room quickly to hold the door open for her.
    The little room seemed even smaller with him in it. Tall, broad men looked out of place in these little houses, Hetty thought; they were made clumsy by the mean proportions. Expecting him to knock over one of her mother’s china dogs she said, ‘Sit down, I can manage.’
    As she poured the tea he said, ‘Is that your brother’s picture?’
    Hetty glanced at the mantelpiece. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜Were you and he close?’
    â€˜Not really.’ She hesitated before saying quickly, ‘Not close like you and your brother.’
    He laughed. ‘You think we’re close, Mick and I?’
    â€˜Aren’t you?’
    â€˜Sometimes.’
    â€˜I always wanted a twin.’ She pushed the plate of cake a little closer to him. ‘I thought a twin sister would always be a friend, no matter what.’
    â€˜Sometimes twins don’t get on.’
    â€˜But blood’s thicker than water, isn’t it? And a twin, well …’
    â€˜Their blood is thicker than most?’
    â€˜Yes, I suppose so.’
    He took a piece of cake that looked like a doll’s portion in his huge hand, and ate it in two bites. Finishing his tea he placed his cup back in its saucer. ‘I have to go, my twin will wonder where I’ve got to.’ He stood up. ‘Thank you for the tea.’
    â€˜Stay till Mam gets back, at least.’
    He was already buttoning his coat. He smiled at her. ‘Happy Christmas, Hetty.’
    She saw him to the door, standing on the front step and watching until he turned the corner out of sight. He’d been in the house all of fifteen minutes. No ground had been won. In the parlour she cleared away the cups, and noticed that he’d left his gloves behind. She lifted them to her nose, breathing in his familiar scent, before hiding them away.
    Patrick and Mick spent Christmas day alone together, eating turkey and fried potatoes from their