All the Way Home and All the Night Through Read Free

tightened round my eyes, and I stood perfectly still and silent for a moment. Then I drank my beer down in one go and went out of the bar, out into the wind, the rain, and the fitfully lit darkness, walked across the shiny boards of the car deck, onto the slippery pontoon, up the gangway which led to the railway platform, round a gusty corner onto the platform itself, and got into the diesel train. It started to move off almost as soon as I sat down.
    The carriage was lit too brightly and the heaters were turned full on. I unbuttoned my coat. After a minute of movement, the train pulled in at the station proper, down at the other end of the pier. One of two people got on, and after a few minutes of still silence, the train drew out of the station, leaving it wet and empty.
    The journey to my home took just over five minutes. The railway track (there was only one) ran parallel with the river, and the town where I lived was at the end of the line. There was one stop before, a haven off the river, consisting of a few houses huddled together near a small brickyard, and the very basic requirements for a train stop.
    When we drew in at this stop, I lit a cigarette and looked out of the window to see the reeds in the brickpit caught swaying in the lights from the train. During the silence while the train was stationary, I could hear the guard talking to the girl who looked after the stop. The wind whipped their conversation to and fro outside of the train, and the reeds whispered and shuddered together. I looked out of the opposite carriage windows, across the river toward the city. A long line of orange street lights identified North End Road, one of the main roads out of the city. Her bus would have taken her along it after she had left me. The lights flickered back noncommittally.
    The guard got back into the guard’s van and the train started moving again. I closed my eyes and sank down in the seat and pressed my knees against the seat back in front. I hummed the tune of “Here Comes Summer” to myself. Halfway through the second chorus I stopped because I realized how often I’d heard the song when I’d been with her, and singing it singled out images of times with her which were too good to bear thinking about. So I continued sitting in the same position with my eyes closed, not singing to myself, trying not to think, until the train drew into my hometown at the end of the line.
    I gave my ticket in and walked across the broad station yard. It was bordered by a curve of low railings, separating the yard from the road which led down to the waterside. I saw that the moon was rising over the “White Swan”.
    Only a few people were about in the street leading from the station toward the main part of the town. A news agent was shutting up his business. I began walking up the slight hill.
    I turned into the road where our house was. When I reached the gate, I saw that William, our cat, was sitting in the middle of the path, looking at a wall. I walked up to him and squatted down.
    â€œHello, William,” I said. William looked at me.
    â€œHello, Billy Boy,” I said, and stroked the back of his neck. “You’re all right, aren’t you. You’re all right, William. You’ve nothing to worry about, have you?”
    He turned his head slightly away from me. That meant that he was fed up with being stroked and that I should go away. I got up and went in. My parents were in the dining room, sitting on either side of the fire. My father, his arms folded across his chest, his feet resting on a foot-stool, was stretched out in his easy chair next to the radiogram. My mother, perched on the edge of her easy chair, her hands on her knees, was wearing her Saturday evening suit, her hair done and set. The fire flickered comfortably in the grate. The little clock on the mantlepiece ticked quietly to itself.
    â€œHello,” I said.
    They both looked at me. I knew they could tell I’d