After the Storm Read Free Page A

he’s come home,’ he mouthed. ‘I hope so, then I can live back home.’
    Annie nodded. So perhaps he didn’t like it at Albert’s after all. She was pleased. The winter-green was interfering with her sniffing and making her eyes water. Reluctantly she pulled her sock back on and allowed the leg to drop. She settled back into the chair, sitting on her hands and feeling warm all over, with no gaps at all. He seemed old, she mulled. It wasn’t that he was different to the man she had imagined for she had never thought about him. She watched Don put more coal on the fire and didn’t want this moment to pass. There was something so certain about the heat, the smell of winter-green. Something so certain about scones and Don rubbing his hands free of coalmarks. It wasn’t exciting but it was the same as last Friday and the Friday before. The dresser was up against the wall, the rag mat was by their feet. The walls were still cream, the scullery was through the brown door.
    She looked at Don. ‘But where is his home?’
    Don shrugged, pulled his socks back on and searched in his pocket.
    ‘Give over Annie, they’ll tell us when they want us to know.’ He held out the smooth Jack stones. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a game. Best of three and if I lose, I’ll get a pennyworth of chips tomorrow and you can have a few.’
    ‘You’re a tight one,’ she accused and smoothed the table cloth which she had rucked as she had turned her chair. Her back was now to the fire and it felt good. ‘Don’t you like it at Albert’s then?’
    ‘It’ll do,’ he said as he tossed the ball, ‘but he’s the one who’s as tight as a mouse’s whatnot. Won’t let me have any sweets unless I pay for them.’
    He was feeling the table cloth now.
    ‘The stones will lie steady but it gives the ball a low bounce,’ he remarked.
    ‘Well, I think it’s lovely.’ She looked at him. ‘Is that why you want to leave, because he’s a skinflint?’ Hoping that he would say that he missed her.
    ‘It’s like this see, if we’ve got a da, why not live with him. It’s right isn’t it, then I won’t have to work for me pocket money.’ His voice was impatient.
    Annie sat back in her chair watching as he threw up and grabbed three pebbles. She couldn’t see at all why it was right to live with a man she didn’t know.
    ‘But …’ she began.
    ‘This is the one they used for the vicar,’ Don interrupted. ‘The tablecloth, you daft nellie.’
    He threw again and Annie said nothing, knowing that he did not want to talk about it. It was finished as far as he was concerned and Annie wondered whether he really had feelings or just bounced like his jack ball was doing.
    She heard the click of the front-room door and thought how wonderful it would be to be able to melt into invisibility, slide under the door and sit close to Auntie Sophie, rubbing her face against the softness of her jumper. She wondered if someonewould feel an invisible stroke or would it be as light as gossamer. She frowned.
    ‘What’s gossamer, Don?’
    ‘Don’t talk daft, Annie.’ His small blunt fingers were steady as he readied to catch the last stone. His nails were dirty from the coal and she hoped that he would wash his hands before they had tea. She traced the pattern of the satin stitch which edged the table cloth and it was smooth and raised and cool. She eyed the bare corners of the table; the cloth had never been put round that way before. So, an extra place must have been laid and there it was, at the end. It would be Uncle Eric at one end, and him, her father, at the other. She fidgeted and folded her arms across her stomach holding her breath knowing it was coming but unable to prevent it. The rumble escaped.
    ‘For Pete’s sake, Don, hurry up,’ she snapped, a blind anger sweeping over her but he just laughed and dug her with his elbow.
    ‘Still as noisy as an empty barrel,’ he sniggered, handing her the stones. ‘Your turn and let’s have some