Key to the Door Read Free Page B

his dad’s shoulders to spot from his fickle control-tower, his hand an unnecessary eyeshade because the sun was behind a snow-mountain cloud silhouetting the yellow planes.
    They swung back, flying low in silence, like gliders, because of noise from the mass of people. “They aren’t going very fast, dad,” he complained. “They’re slower than motorcars.”
    â€œThat’s because they’re high up, kid,” someone told him.
    â€œThey’ll come lower soon,” dad said.
    â€œWill they crash?” Brian asked. “I’ve never seen an aeroplane crash.”
    â€œYou will one day,” somebody laughed.
    Each plane purred loudly along the rooftops, like a cat at first, then growling like a dog when you try to take its bone away, finally as if a roadmender’s drill were going straight to the heart, so that he felt pinned to the ground. Two black specks, then two more, slid from the rounded belly of each. The gloved wheels beneath seemed to have been put down especially to catch them, but the dots fell through and disappeared into the group of ruined houses.
    â€œNow for it,” somebody announced, and an enormous cracking sound, a million twig-power went six times into the sky—followed by the muffled noise of collapsing walls somewhere in the broken and derelict maze.
    A policeman’s horse reared up, tried to climb an invisible stairway leading from the explosions, then saw sense and merely stood nodding its head and foaming. A bleak scream came from some woman at the back of the crowd and Brian saw her led away by men in black and white uniforms. “Is she frightened, dad?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, I’m not, are you?”
    â€œNo.” But Seaton lifted him down, dragged him roughly out of the crush.
    â€œIs that the end, dad?”
    â€œStop asking bleddy questions, will yer?” Brian caught his mood, and the bomb that had lodged itself inside his chest suddenly burst, scattering more blind havoc in him than the actual grenades sent from the flight of planes. “Stop cryin’, will yer?” Seaton tugged at him angrily. “Come on, if you stop cryin’ I’ll buy you an ice-cream cornet.”
    â€œI don’t want one,” he roared, thereby creating a big puzzle, its depth measurable only by Seaton’s inability to solve it. “Then what do you want?”
    And without giving the question any thought, he answered: “Nowt”—and went on crying till he stopped.
    On a wet afternoon two tall men wearing raincoats and nicky hats knocked at the front door. Vera led them into the room where Seaton sat. Brian, sprawled on the floor playing with a box of dominoes, noticed that she was almost in tears, something that never failed to touch off the sea-controlling springs at the back of his own heart. She stood with folded arms, and the two men stayed by the door. “They’ve come for you, Harold,” she said. He turned his head and looked up from the fireplace.
    â€œWe don’t want any trouble,” one of the men said, seeing desperation in his ashy face.
    He looked at them for some time. “You’ll have to keep me,” he remarked at last, forcing a smile.
    â€œWe know all about that.”
    Seaton hadn’t moved from his chair. “And my family as well you’ll have to keep.”
    â€œThat’s nothing to do with us,” he was told.
    Vera unfolded her arms, ran a finger along one of her eyes. “Shall I get you your coat, duck?”
    â€œAye, you might as well,” he answered, standing up. “I’m going on holiday, and I suppose I’ll see a lot of my pals there as well.” This witticism amused him, and he laughed, his face relaxed. The two men said nothing. “Got a car?” Seaton asked them.
    â€œNo,” one said, “it’s not far; we’ll walk you down.”
    â€œWell, I don’t suppose it matters if