as she walked down the stairs of the station the
inspector’s words rolled around her mind. Could he be right and she was making
something out of nothing? Perhaps the man behind her had been a simple
coincidence and she had let her thoughts of murder go to her head. She hoped
that was not the case, she considered herself more rational than that. But the
inspector was right, why would anyone follow her?
She exited the police station
and anxiously looked up and down the road. There were no mysterious strangers,
only an old woman with her shopping in a basket and a young mother pushing an
infant in a pram. It seemed the inspector was right about one thing and her
follower had been all in her imagination.
Even so she couldn’t quite
shake her anxiety and it suddenly seemed a long, lonely walk home, especially
when she was looking over her shoulder all the way.
Chapter Eight
Annie met her at the door looking worried.
“He’s having one of his ‘dos’
miss.” She said quickly as Clara came in.
“What brought it on this
time?” Clara asked, discarding her coat and hat.
“Don’t rightly know, miss.”
Annie was a bundle of nerves, “He insisted on going out, you know how he hates
being stuck indoors. I only left him a moment by the bandstand while I bought
two teas.”
“It isn’t your fault Annie.”
Clara rubbed the girl’s arm, “It is one of those things the war has left us
ladies to deal with. I think the War Office assumes that is all we are here
for, to pick up the pieces. He will be all right.”
Annie bobbed a curtsey and
scurried off while Clara headed for the parlour.
Tommy was sat at the table,
head in hands. A newspaper and a magazine had been ripped to pieces and lay
scattered about the floor. Something had been flung at the wall cracking a
picture frame, though Clara counted her lucky stars it had missed the huge
fireplace mirror just next to it. As she entered the room her feet crunch on
something and she looked down at the remains of a tea cup and saucer.
“Go away Annie.” Tommy said
gruffly, not looking up.
“It isn’t Annie.” Clara
stalked across the room, “Have you been redecorating?”
“Go away.”
“Not if you are going to throw
tea cups around again.”
Clara sank into the nearest
armchair and waited. Several moments passed.
“Are you just going to sit
there?” Tommy snapped.
“It seems likely.”
By now Clara was used to her
brother’s outbursts triggered by anything as random as a dead cat by the road
or the smell of frying bacon. She also knew that taking a sympathetic approach
only deepened Tommy’s self-pity and loathing. Instead she had to snap him out
of it as speedily as possible by standing for no nonsense. The nurses at the
hospital had termed the process ‘jollying’ a person up.
Tommy suddenly snatched up a
teaspoon and twisted back his arm to throw it.
“Don’t you dare.” Clara told
him in a tone that sounded all too much like her mother for comfort.
“You don’t know how it feels!”
Tommy yelled.
“No, but I know how hard it is
to get dents out of a teaspoon and I am fed up rummaging in Mr Morton’s junk
shop for old tea cups just so I can afford for you to break them. So kindly put
down that spoon.”
Tommy hesitated, there was a
long pause where the teaspoon’s fate hung perilously in the balance. Then, with
exquisite care, he put it down.
“You’ve been buying old tea
cups at Morton’s? How many have I broken?” He asked stiffly.
“Sixteen.”
The danger was passing and
Clara began to relax.
“It just gets to me some
days.” Tommy sank his head into his hands, “And then I just want to yell and
shout and break things. I feel as if I keep it all bottled up any longer I’ll
just go insane.”
“I know.” Clara spoke softly,
“So what sparked it this time?”
“Eric Sprigg.” Tommy shrugged,
“He didn’t mean to.”
“Clerk at the biscuit factory,
isn’t he?”
“Yes and he spotted me at the
park.
inspector’s words rolled around her mind. Could he be right and she was making
something out of nothing? Perhaps the man behind her had been a simple
coincidence and she had let her thoughts of murder go to her head. She hoped
that was not the case, she considered herself more rational than that. But the
inspector was right, why would anyone follow her?
She exited the police station
and anxiously looked up and down the road. There were no mysterious strangers,
only an old woman with her shopping in a basket and a young mother pushing an
infant in a pram. It seemed the inspector was right about one thing and her
follower had been all in her imagination.
Even so she couldn’t quite
shake her anxiety and it suddenly seemed a long, lonely walk home, especially
when she was looking over her shoulder all the way.
Chapter Eight
Annie met her at the door looking worried.
“He’s having one of his ‘dos’
miss.” She said quickly as Clara came in.
“What brought it on this
time?” Clara asked, discarding her coat and hat.
“Don’t rightly know, miss.”
Annie was a bundle of nerves, “He insisted on going out, you know how he hates
being stuck indoors. I only left him a moment by the bandstand while I bought
two teas.”
“It isn’t your fault Annie.”
Clara rubbed the girl’s arm, “It is one of those things the war has left us
ladies to deal with. I think the War Office assumes that is all we are here
for, to pick up the pieces. He will be all right.”
Annie bobbed a curtsey and
scurried off while Clara headed for the parlour.
Tommy was sat at the table,
head in hands. A newspaper and a magazine had been ripped to pieces and lay
scattered about the floor. Something had been flung at the wall cracking a
picture frame, though Clara counted her lucky stars it had missed the huge
fireplace mirror just next to it. As she entered the room her feet crunch on
something and she looked down at the remains of a tea cup and saucer.
“Go away Annie.” Tommy said
gruffly, not looking up.
“It isn’t Annie.” Clara
stalked across the room, “Have you been redecorating?”
“Go away.”
“Not if you are going to throw
tea cups around again.”
Clara sank into the nearest
armchair and waited. Several moments passed.
“Are you just going to sit
there?” Tommy snapped.
“It seems likely.”
By now Clara was used to her
brother’s outbursts triggered by anything as random as a dead cat by the road
or the smell of frying bacon. She also knew that taking a sympathetic approach
only deepened Tommy’s self-pity and loathing. Instead she had to snap him out
of it as speedily as possible by standing for no nonsense. The nurses at the
hospital had termed the process ‘jollying’ a person up.
Tommy suddenly snatched up a
teaspoon and twisted back his arm to throw it.
“Don’t you dare.” Clara told
him in a tone that sounded all too much like her mother for comfort.
“You don’t know how it feels!”
Tommy yelled.
“No, but I know how hard it is
to get dents out of a teaspoon and I am fed up rummaging in Mr Morton’s junk
shop for old tea cups just so I can afford for you to break them. So kindly put
down that spoon.”
Tommy hesitated, there was a
long pause where the teaspoon’s fate hung perilously in the balance. Then, with
exquisite care, he put it down.
“You’ve been buying old tea
cups at Morton’s? How many have I broken?” He asked stiffly.
“Sixteen.”
The danger was passing and
Clara began to relax.
“It just gets to me some
days.” Tommy sank his head into his hands, “And then I just want to yell and
shout and break things. I feel as if I keep it all bottled up any longer I’ll
just go insane.”
“I know.” Clara spoke softly,
“So what sparked it this time?”
“Eric Sprigg.” Tommy shrugged,
“He didn’t mean to.”
“Clerk at the biscuit factory,
isn’t he?”
“Yes and he spotted me at the
park.
Similar Books
