Son of Heaven Read Free Page A

like talking about the past, even if it hurts. Even if…’
    She shook her head.
    ‘What?’ he asked gently.
    ‘Oh, it’s nothing, Jake. Just that some days it feels like some dreadful illusion. That none of it really happened and I imagined it all. Dreamed it.’
    He nodded, understanding. It was exactly how he felt some days. How most of them probably felt, those who had survived the world coming apart at the seams. Simply to be here now seemed something
of a miracle.
    Jake got to his feet.
    ‘You got to go?’
    He nodded. ‘I’ve got a lot to do before tonight. You goin’ along?’
    She laughed. ‘Not me, boy. My old bones aren’t up to it any more. The walk there would do for me.’
    ‘You sure I couldn’t come get you? You could sit on the cart…’
    ‘It’s very kind, my love, but no. You need to enjoy yourself, and how could you do that if you had to keep an eye on me, eh?’
    ‘But Ma…’
    ‘ Margaret .’ Her voice had an insistent tone to it. ‘And no . I’ll be fine.’
    Jake kissed her, held her to him a moment, then quickly hurried away, before he saw the tears welling in her eyes. But halfway up the long slope that led to Church Knowle, he turned and looked
back, noting how the cottage seemed embedded in the landscape, the thatched roof the same brown as the surrounding fields.
    He turned away. What he’d said to her was true. He had been thinking about Anne a lot these past few days, and he felt he needed to do something about it. As it was he felt haunted, and as
a rational man he felt uncomfortable with that.
    I should go see her . Talk to her . Yes. But first he’d pack, ready for tomorrow.
    The farmhouse was a long, low building, set back off the main street, the grey of its slate roof peppered with small patches of green and orange. It was a sturdy house, an
unfussy house, functional in a way so many of the local houses weren’t. They were more picturesque, more pretty, but Jake had chosen well. It was warm in the winter and the roof never leaked.
And besides, it had cost him nothing.
    The front door was unlocked. It was never locked. Not these days. If you couldn’t trust your neighbours, then who could you trust? Jake stepped inside, into deep shadow. The kitchen was at
the back, overlooking the yard, the living room to the left. Both bedrooms were upstairs.
    He went through. There were long shelves both sides of the hallway, crowded floor to ceiling with books. Like the house, he had ‘inherited’ them, and again, like the house, he had
come to appreciate with every passing year just how carefully they had been chosen.
    The kitchen was neat and clean. The skinned and washed rabbits that the women had prepared had been hung up in the larder. Fresh wood had been cut and stacked. The oak table had been wiped, the
breakfast things washed up and put away.
    Jake smiled. Peter was a good boy. A dependable boy. He worked hard and never complained.
    He crossed the room, standing there a moment at the sink, looking out through the long window, wondering where Peter was. Only he knew where he was. He turned and saw at once that the bucket was
missing from the hook.
    Jake washed his hands and dried them, then stepped out, into the yard. From there he had a view down the lane towards the well. He could hear the pigs snuffling in the shed at his back, the
chickens restlessly clucking. Bessie, their Jersey, was in the barn nearby, sleeping no doubt.
    Jake shielded his eyes to look.
    Peter was sat on the broad ledge of the well, Meg beside him. They were holding hands, staring at each other in that lovesick fashion Jake had noticed of late. Boy lay nearby, one eye open,
looking out for his master.
    Again Jake smiled. In that too they were lucky. To have met such people as the Hubbards, here at the end of things.
    Normally he would have left them on their own for a bit, but there was much to do. And besides, there would be plenty of time later on for them to gaze adoringly at each