that child is terrified, then you have only yourself to blame.’
‘Oh, because I’m a woman on my own I’m not allowed to take my son paddling. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Paddling?’ he echoed. ‘Paddling in my water? I ought to bloody charge you for that.’
‘Do that, you old skinflint, and I’ll report you to the police for behaving in a threatening manner with a dangerous firearm. It’s crazy old fools like you with guns who get innocent people killed!’
Her voice was filled with rage.
‘I’ll wager that wasn’t what you were thinking a few moments ago.
I bet you’d never been so pleased to see a crazy old fool with a gun.’
‘If I’d known it would be you, I’d sooner have taken my chances single-handed.’
‘The hell you would have!’ he guffawed.
They stared at each other. In the silence that followed, Ned lifted his head from Clara’s shoulder. ‘I need a wee,’ he murmured, and started to sob. Then Clara felt a wet warmth run down her front.
The grumpy old man lowered his one eye to the puddle forming on the ground at her feet. ‘Poor little beggar,’ he said gruffly. ‘Get him changed and I’ll make you some tea.’
Near to tears herself, but determined to hang on to her self-respect, she said, ‘I can manage, thank you. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your valuable—’
He silenced her with a fierce one-eyed stare. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young lady, until you’re sure you can really do without it.’
Winnie seemed terribly cramped with the three of them inside it: their guest, as he fumbled around making a pot of tea, was too tall and bulky for such a confined space. By the time Clara had calmed Ned and changed their clothes, and they were sitting at the little table with their tea, she thought she should introduce herself.
‘My name’s Clara Costello, and I’m sorry for some of the things I said out there. This is my son, Ned.’
He took off his cap and laid it on the table. ‘Well, Miss Costello, the name’s Liberty, Mr Liberty, and I never apologise for anything I say.’
In spite of herself, she smiled. ‘You know, that doesn’t surprise me.
Do you often go for an afternoon stroll with a gun?’
‘When I feel like shooting something, yes.’
‘Well, much as I disagree with the ownership of guns, I’m glad you felt the need to shoot something today.’
‘Don’t be so bloody patronising. Drink your tea and be quiet. That goes for you too, young man.’
‘But it’s got sugar in,’ Ned said, taking a sip from his mug and screwing up his face that had now resumed its usual healthy glow.
The man gave a snort of derision. ‘Hell’s bells and buckets of blood! Don’t tell me your mother’s one of those new-fandangled creatures who doesn’t believe in sugar.’
‘I’m allowed sugar on cornflakes,’ Ned said proudly. ‘And
grapefruit,’ he added.
‘Very generous of her, I’m sure.’
‘What’s wrong with your eye?’
‘And what’s wrong with your manners, Mr Nosy Parker?’
Unabashed, Ned carried on, ‘You look like a pirate.’
This seemed to amuse their guest. ‘A black-bearded, buccaneering, lash-him-to-the-mainmast-m’hearty type of pirate, I hope, not some white-frilled, swashbuckling nancy-boy.’
The distinction was lost on Ned. ‘If you chopped a hand off, you could be Captain Hook.’
The man looked down at the badly swollen fingers that were wrapped around his mug of tea. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Come on, Ned,’ Clara said gently, ‘drink your tea and leave our guest alone.’
‘Do I have to? It’s horrible. It’s too sweet. Can’t I have some blackcurrant juice? Please.’
Sliding out from the seat she was sharing with Ned, Clara went over to the fridge, poured a cup of blackcurrant juice, and reached into a locker for a packet of biscuits. She had no desire to prolong their rescuer’s stay with them, but she felt she owed him a Jaffa Cake at the very
‘Oh, because I’m a woman on my own I’m not allowed to take my son paddling. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Paddling?’ he echoed. ‘Paddling in my water? I ought to bloody charge you for that.’
‘Do that, you old skinflint, and I’ll report you to the police for behaving in a threatening manner with a dangerous firearm. It’s crazy old fools like you with guns who get innocent people killed!’
Her voice was filled with rage.
‘I’ll wager that wasn’t what you were thinking a few moments ago.
I bet you’d never been so pleased to see a crazy old fool with a gun.’
‘If I’d known it would be you, I’d sooner have taken my chances single-handed.’
‘The hell you would have!’ he guffawed.
They stared at each other. In the silence that followed, Ned lifted his head from Clara’s shoulder. ‘I need a wee,’ he murmured, and started to sob. Then Clara felt a wet warmth run down her front.
The grumpy old man lowered his one eye to the puddle forming on the ground at her feet. ‘Poor little beggar,’ he said gruffly. ‘Get him changed and I’ll make you some tea.’
Near to tears herself, but determined to hang on to her self-respect, she said, ‘I can manage, thank you. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your valuable—’
He silenced her with a fierce one-eyed stare. ‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young lady, until you’re sure you can really do without it.’
Winnie seemed terribly cramped with the three of them inside it: their guest, as he fumbled around making a pot of tea, was too tall and bulky for such a confined space. By the time Clara had calmed Ned and changed their clothes, and they were sitting at the little table with their tea, she thought she should introduce herself.
‘My name’s Clara Costello, and I’m sorry for some of the things I said out there. This is my son, Ned.’
He took off his cap and laid it on the table. ‘Well, Miss Costello, the name’s Liberty, Mr Liberty, and I never apologise for anything I say.’
In spite of herself, she smiled. ‘You know, that doesn’t surprise me.
Do you often go for an afternoon stroll with a gun?’
‘When I feel like shooting something, yes.’
‘Well, much as I disagree with the ownership of guns, I’m glad you felt the need to shoot something today.’
‘Don’t be so bloody patronising. Drink your tea and be quiet. That goes for you too, young man.’
‘But it’s got sugar in,’ Ned said, taking a sip from his mug and screwing up his face that had now resumed its usual healthy glow.
The man gave a snort of derision. ‘Hell’s bells and buckets of blood! Don’t tell me your mother’s one of those new-fandangled creatures who doesn’t believe in sugar.’
‘I’m allowed sugar on cornflakes,’ Ned said proudly. ‘And
grapefruit,’ he added.
‘Very generous of her, I’m sure.’
‘What’s wrong with your eye?’
‘And what’s wrong with your manners, Mr Nosy Parker?’
Unabashed, Ned carried on, ‘You look like a pirate.’
This seemed to amuse their guest. ‘A black-bearded, buccaneering, lash-him-to-the-mainmast-m’hearty type of pirate, I hope, not some white-frilled, swashbuckling nancy-boy.’
The distinction was lost on Ned. ‘If you chopped a hand off, you could be Captain Hook.’
The man looked down at the badly swollen fingers that were wrapped around his mug of tea. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Come on, Ned,’ Clara said gently, ‘drink your tea and leave our guest alone.’
‘Do I have to? It’s horrible. It’s too sweet. Can’t I have some blackcurrant juice? Please.’
Sliding out from the seat she was sharing with Ned, Clara went over to the fridge, poured a cup of blackcurrant juice, and reached into a locker for a packet of biscuits. She had no desire to prolong their rescuer’s stay with them, but she felt she owed him a Jaffa Cake at the very
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