Chrissie's Children by Irene Carr

pointed out angrily, ‘Not without asking our permission first.’
    Jack shrugged. He had spent an afternoon dealing with problems at the yard and that had taken the edge off his original anger. ‘He said too much earlier, so he’s got out of the way.
He’ll come home in his own good time and I’ll have a word with him then.’
    Chrissie said unhappily, ‘He worries me, Jack. I want him to be happy.’
    ‘So do I. And I hope he is now.’
    Finchale Priory lay some six miles away. Matt got down from the slow train at the little station, shrugged into his pack and walked the country mile to the priory. It lay by
the river in its steep-sided valley. He found a clearing where he had camped before, a hundred yards from the ruined priory and close by the river. There he set up his little tent, cooked his
supper of sausages and potatoes on his fire and ate it by the light of the flames. Then he unrolled his groundsheet and blankets. He lay peering out of the open door of the tent, blinking at the
embers glowing in the darkness, listening to the run of the river beyond. In minutes he was asleep.
    In the days that followed he would wake thinking of the row before he left home and the one that awaited him on his return. Then he would become involved in the small chores of the day –
washing up and cooking – and afterwards take his pad and pencils and go sketching, or sink into one of the books he had brought with him, or go roaming the countryside, long striding, for
hours.
    He missed Tom. They had grown up together, different but close, playing, fighting, scheming, arguing – and uniting to look after Sophie. They had gone to the same school with less than a
year between them. Now they met only at weekends when Tom came home. Matt didn’t want to complain to Tom or ask his advice – though he had in the past and would again. He just wanted
his brother there. However, that was not possible. He reminded himself that they would be camping together in France in the summer and was more cheerful. Meanwhile tomorrow could wait; he would let
life take its course.
    He returned home at the end of a week, in time for dinner, and was made welcome. He did not have a prepared speech, but after dinner he just spoke his mind: ‘I’m
sorry, Mother, Dad, but I just had to get away. I like to read, sketch, play rugby – but when I feel like it, not doing a period on this, another on that, according to a timetable. I
don’t want to go to school at all but I know I need a certificate, a piece of paper to be able to get a job. The trouble is, I just don’t know what job I want.’
    Jack glanced ruefully, exasperated, at Chrissie. ‘Which leaves us where we were before. What are we going to do with him?’
    Chrissie did not care, was only glad to have her boy back.
    Pamela Ogilvy was blonde, and big for her age. She had heard of Matt’s running away and thought him romantic. She waylaid him as he left the house with Sophie and Helen,
who had called to see Sophie. Pamela met them at the gate, smiled at all of them, but a little more at Matt than at the rest. Her eyes were still on him when she addressed Sophie: ‘I wondered
if you could tell me one or two things about this trip.’
    Matt asked, ‘What trip?’ and thought she was a pretty girl.
    Pamela still smiled at him. ‘We’re going to Germany this summer.’ She was aware of Helen listening and added, ‘Well, some of us are – about a dozen or so
actually.’
    Matt said, ‘That sounds great.’
    Sophie glanced from Pamela to Matt and back again, then asked, ‘What did you want to know?’
    Helen Diaz started to walk away. ‘I’m going home.’ She was not going to Germany and Pamela knew this.
    Sophie had read the situation and said quickly, ‘I’ll see you as far as the tram. Come on, Pamela.’
    Matt said, ‘I’ll walk with you.’
    Sophie cut in, ‘Dad said the car wasn’t running properly. He was going to ask you to mend it.’
    ‘Not running