Read Online Through Glass Eyes by Margaret Muir - Free Book Online

frustration were boiling inside her when she thought to go after him, but she stopped herself before reaching the door. She would never catch him, he was too quick, and if she shouted he would probably ignore her. James had never behaved like this before.
    Lucy looked at the clock. It was five. Almost tea time. He would come in when he was hungry, she was sure of it. And later when he settled down she would talk to him calmly and make him understand.
    Before doing anything else, she stuffed the doll into a bag packed with old linen. Best out of the way, she thought. She had no idea what had caused his sudden outburst. He hadn’t objected to the move when she had first mentioned it. So why now? And what had caused his sudden outburst about the old doll? It had been in the house since before he was born. For Lucy, it was something which belonged there, like an ornament or piece of furniture. It was an item she took for granted, but would have missed it if it wasn’t there. He’d never complained about the doll before. Or had he?
    Suddenly her thoughts flashed back to 5 November, the day he had taken it without her permission and paraded it as Guy Fawkes. Had he really wanted to destroy it? To watch it burn on the bonfire? But why? Surely he wasn’t jealous of the silly doll! It wasn’t even pretty.
    Putting the problem to the back of her mind, Lucy tried to think positively about the cottage in Horsforth, about moving, and the packing and cleaning she still had to do. But James’s words kept nagging at her. And he had never run off before.
    By 7.30 her concern turned to worry. A hurried visit across the street confirmed that he was not at Sally Swales’ house. She tried two other neighbours but he wasn’t there either. With the tea gone cold on the stove, she sat anxiously at the table listening to the clock ticking. By ten o’clock she was desperate.
    James had headed down the street, that was all she knew. Pulling the shawl across her chest, Lucy set off in the same direction. Outside, the night air was cold and damp. Dimmed lamps glowed from behind curtains in upstairs windows. Most kitchens were in darkness. Most folk were in bed. She had to find him, and quickly.
    ‘Have you seen my lad?’ she asked the man sitting on his doorstep polishing his boots. ‘He’s eight years old. He must have run past you. He’s not wearing a coat.’
    The man shook his head. ‘Sorry, lass.’
    She hurried to the main road at the bottom of the street.
    Circles of yellow light reflected around the street lamps. It had been raining. Standing between the tramlines in the centre of the empty street Lucy spun around in all direction. Which way had he gone? What if he had begged a lift? He could be miles away. Behind her were rows of houses, in front, the Leeds and Liverpool canal. Not more than fifty yards to the right was a set of locks. The area looked dark and forbidding.
    ‘Are you all right, luv?’
    Lucy jumped. She hadn’t noticed the man lying beside the path, propped on one elbow and nursing a bottle in his other hand.
    ‘I’m looking for my son,’ she said.
    ‘Mind your step,’ he drawled. ‘A lot of rubbish gets thrown around here. Don’t want to fall in!’
    She glanced down at the murky water. It was coal black and still, and smelled foul. It made her stomach churn at the thought of James running along the bank, slipping over and sliding in.
    ‘James!’ she shouted, her voice piercing the night’s silence. A dog barked, barked again then stopped. Lucy picked her way along the bank, stumbling at times over obstacles she couldn’t see, never thinking of her own safety. Then she saw the lock ahead and a dark silhouette sitting astride one of the gates. Her voice faltered. ‘James!’ she cried.
    The boy looked up and raised his hand.
    ‘Thank God!’
     
    Mr Carrington helped James carry Lucy’s furniture into the middle cottage. It was not an easy job as the passages were narrow and the heavy beams which ran