coming into the house even after all these years. He was bare-headed, his grey hair standing up. Then he drew his hands over the stubble on his chin, over his whole face, both hands as if he was scrubbing it clean.
‘What’s all this then?’ he said quietly. We’d swivelled round to face him. Slowly, I rolled up my baggy sweater and showed him my bump, my bump pushing against the print of my dress. First his face drained of colour, and after it went a ghastly yellowish grey. His eyes flashed, and the turquoise of his irises was the hue of dreams no more. They had transformed into the impenetrable hardness of nightmares. They looked, bulging as they did, as if they might fly from their sockets. He’s a stocky man and his muscles seemed to bunch up, making him even more solid, like stones under his skin. The dogs had come in with him and were lying by the range warming themselves. Now they seemed to sense the disturbance in their master’s mood, to smell his rage. They lifted their heads in quick succession and snarled, teeth bared.
‘Mr Haverd, please do not be angry. I love your daughter and I want to marry her. I shall –’ But Thorston didn’t get any further. My dad made a fist and slammed it into his face. I heard a crack, a terrible noise. Thorston’s spectacles fell to the floor, broken. His nose was like pulp, all bleeding and mashed up. He cannot see very well without his spectacles, and he dropped to his knees and began scrabbling on the floor trying to find them. Blood was dripping from his face. I stepped between him and my dad. I can’t recall what I said. Speech gushed out, pleas, pleas against all the injustices of this world that ever were. Mam was gasping and crying, arms bound around herself as if to ensure she remain upright, that she did not crumple. The dogs came growling and snapping at Thorston’s heels. My dad’s hand sang through the air and he landed me such a slap against my cheek that I nearly overbalanced. He hadn’t struck me before. He is a stern man, and he can speak to you in a tone that makes you shrivel with fear, but before this he had not once raised his hand to me. Thorston scrambled to his feet, the broken glasses hanging off one ear now, looking askew, almost comical.
‘There is no need for this. I beg you, Mr Haverd.’ And he began to comfort me. He tried to draw me into his arms, but my dad gave him an almighty shove and he fell down again. This time the lenses popped out of his spectacles. He made no attempt to retrieve them. The dogs were slathering and clacking their teeth. I pushed them back and told them to shut up. Dad stood there, legs astride, his barrel chest heaving. Thorston clambered shakily to his feet, stepping on the lenses as he did so, splintering them. He hauled up his head bravely, blinking like some nocturnal creature that has just crawled out from the safe shadows of its burrow into a blaze of boiling light. The dogs crept forwards and began to lick up the spatters of blood. He looked so vulnerable, a small slight boy. And then tears came to his eyes and began spilling down his cheeks. And the tears mixed with his blood so that they were red, streaking his pale face with red lines. And it was the most awful thing I had ever seen, each tear tugging on the sinews of my heart. I thought that it was going to stop, that my heart, the heart whose drumming had soothed him, would give up with a final squeeze.
‘Get out!’ my dad rasped. ‘Get out of my house, you Nazi scum!’ His voice was a millstone grinding the air. Thorston turned his tear-stained face to my mother in appeal but she repelled him, casting her eyes down at the floor. Then my dad issued his ultimatum: ‘I will give you fifteen minutes. If you are not off my property by then I will fetch my gun. I will load it. I will hunt you down with my dogs. And when I find you I will put a bullet in your head.’
It was very quiet then. Even the dogs slunk off, tails between their legs. I
‘What’s all this then?’ he said quietly. We’d swivelled round to face him. Slowly, I rolled up my baggy sweater and showed him my bump, my bump pushing against the print of my dress. First his face drained of colour, and after it went a ghastly yellowish grey. His eyes flashed, and the turquoise of his irises was the hue of dreams no more. They had transformed into the impenetrable hardness of nightmares. They looked, bulging as they did, as if they might fly from their sockets. He’s a stocky man and his muscles seemed to bunch up, making him even more solid, like stones under his skin. The dogs had come in with him and were lying by the range warming themselves. Now they seemed to sense the disturbance in their master’s mood, to smell his rage. They lifted their heads in quick succession and snarled, teeth bared.
‘Mr Haverd, please do not be angry. I love your daughter and I want to marry her. I shall –’ But Thorston didn’t get any further. My dad made a fist and slammed it into his face. I heard a crack, a terrible noise. Thorston’s spectacles fell to the floor, broken. His nose was like pulp, all bleeding and mashed up. He cannot see very well without his spectacles, and he dropped to his knees and began scrabbling on the floor trying to find them. Blood was dripping from his face. I stepped between him and my dad. I can’t recall what I said. Speech gushed out, pleas, pleas against all the injustices of this world that ever were. Mam was gasping and crying, arms bound around herself as if to ensure she remain upright, that she did not crumple. The dogs came growling and snapping at Thorston’s heels. My dad’s hand sang through the air and he landed me such a slap against my cheek that I nearly overbalanced. He hadn’t struck me before. He is a stern man, and he can speak to you in a tone that makes you shrivel with fear, but before this he had not once raised his hand to me. Thorston scrambled to his feet, the broken glasses hanging off one ear now, looking askew, almost comical.
‘There is no need for this. I beg you, Mr Haverd.’ And he began to comfort me. He tried to draw me into his arms, but my dad gave him an almighty shove and he fell down again. This time the lenses popped out of his spectacles. He made no attempt to retrieve them. The dogs were slathering and clacking their teeth. I pushed them back and told them to shut up. Dad stood there, legs astride, his barrel chest heaving. Thorston clambered shakily to his feet, stepping on the lenses as he did so, splintering them. He hauled up his head bravely, blinking like some nocturnal creature that has just crawled out from the safe shadows of its burrow into a blaze of boiling light. The dogs crept forwards and began to lick up the spatters of blood. He looked so vulnerable, a small slight boy. And then tears came to his eyes and began spilling down his cheeks. And the tears mixed with his blood so that they were red, streaking his pale face with red lines. And it was the most awful thing I had ever seen, each tear tugging on the sinews of my heart. I thought that it was going to stop, that my heart, the heart whose drumming had soothed him, would give up with a final squeeze.
‘Get out!’ my dad rasped. ‘Get out of my house, you Nazi scum!’ His voice was a millstone grinding the air. Thorston turned his tear-stained face to my mother in appeal but she repelled him, casting her eyes down at the floor. Then my dad issued his ultimatum: ‘I will give you fifteen minutes. If you are not off my property by then I will fetch my gun. I will load it. I will hunt you down with my dogs. And when I find you I will put a bullet in your head.’
It was very quiet then. Even the dogs slunk off, tails between their legs. I
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