Out of the Blue Read Free Page A

Looking up, he could see the interior wall of the back bedroom.
It was peculiar to see the wallpaper, pink regency stripes that no one but Derrick’s grandparents had looked at since it was hung, now exposed for all to see. Charlie saw what was left of the
wardrobe; the splintered wood slumped to one side and the clothes bulging out.
    Charlie wasn’t aware of Derrick who had walked past him and stepped over the bricks and into the back room. His nana called it the dining room, but it was really the most used room of the
house, where they ate their meals, read the paper, listened to the radio and sat together when there wasn’t a raid.
    ‘Streuth!’ Derrick murmured as he looked at the table crushed beneath the weight of the fallen bricks and plaster. ‘They can’t live here no more.’
    As Charlie turned his attention to where Derrick was standing, he saw the cast-iron fireplace in the bedroom above hanging from the wall at a forty-five degree angle over Derrick’s
head.
    ‘Get out! It’s not safe!’
    Derrick turned his face and grinned at Charlie. And then, what remained of the ceiling, the bedroom wall and the fireplace collapsed in a sickening roaring rush.
    The following week, on the day of Derrick’s funeral, Mr and Mrs Painter received a telegram. Their elder son, Reg, had been killed at sea. The next day Mrs Danby made the
arrangements to send her children to her brother and his wife in Kent and went to the town hall and volunteered for war work.
    ‘Pack your bags, you two – you’re going to stay with Auntie Vi and Uncle Geoff in the country.’
    ‘Aren’t you coming with us, Mum?’ Kitty asked.
    ‘I’ll take you down and stay the night, but I’m starting work on Monday in the munitions factory.’
    Kitty had looked over at Charlie, but he had his face turned to the window and he said nothing.
    The morning that Kitty and Charlie were set to catch the train to Ashford, Derrick’s father had wheeled the bicycle round. It had belonged to Reg.
    ‘Since Derrick’s not here to ride it, we want you to have it.’
    Mr Painter put an arm round Charlie’s shoulders and led him up the path. Mrs Painter stood beside the bicycle where it leaned against the lamppost.
    Charlie started crying. He hung his head, held his hands loosely by his side and cried.
    ‘Now lad, come on,’ said Mr Painter. ‘I’ve put the seat down a bit for you. Derrick would have wanted it – you see now? Don’t take on or you’ll upset
Mrs Painter and she’s got enough sorrow. Good lad.’
    Charlie had covered his eyes with his forearm and gasped for air. Then he staggered forward and took hold of the handlebars.
    ‘That’s it, lad, on you get, try it out. You’ll get a hang of the gears, you’ll see.’
    Kitty had watched from the gate. She saw Charlie’s trembling back as he wobbled away on the bicycle. One of his grey socks had slipped down to his ankle.

 
August 2006
    Kitty lifts her knitting from her workbox. The needles dip and click and Kitty sits and remembers Charlie. He had a thing about his socks being pulled up. She recalls how, when
their socks became worn and loose through washing, their mother sewed circles of elastic to wear as garters. We made do in those days, she thinks, we had to. And we had no say in things
back then. Kitty marvels for a moment at the things children had to put up with. Kitty and Charlie went to stay with Uncle Geoff and Aunt Vi in May 1941. For years Kitty assumed that they had
been sent away because of the Blitz getting worse. She had rightly guessed that what had happened to Derrick Painter had at last convinced their mother that London was too dangerous. It
wasn’t until she was a mother herself that Kitty was able to imagine the rest of it. That Winifred Danby could not bear to have Charlie grow up where Dolly and Bill Painter might see him. How
every sprint with a ball, every errand he ran, every time he laughed or yelled in their presence, the Painters would feel