even suspected that he meant to do so it was obvious that he would come up the hill. Jack walked almost blindly across the road and into the nearest side street. Could he lurk there until Mr. Hardy went away? He was standing in the shadow of the signboard Qutside the first rest home when the door of the house was yanked open and a voice proclaimed “There he is, the shoe thief. Promised to replace my shoe and never did.”
“Which one was it?” Jack cried, so savagely that Mr. Pether cowered into the porch. The left one, right?” He dragged off his own left shoe and flung it towards the old man, and lurched towards the traffic lights, alternately hopping and limping. Mr. Hardy was making for the bank, but he glanced over his shoulder and saw Jack. “I’m doing it for Lent,” Jack shouted across the road at him and stumbled home. “Got to laugh, got to laugh,” he reminded himself desperately, no longer knowing if he was speaking aloud.
TEN
Telling Julia was relatively easy. As soon as she saw his face she said “Never mind, Jack, we’ll work it out somehow.” At least he didn’t need to explain about his shoe. Once he’d reached home he had changed into his other pair and set off to retrieve the missile. He had been planning to tell whoever came to the door of the rest home that he’d been playing football so vigorously that the shoe had flown off, but he’d found it perched on the gate post like a glove someone had found on the pavement. He’d tucked it under his arm and sprinted home, feeling so absurdly guilty that he’d kept muttering “It’s my shoe.” By the time Julia arrived he’d felt capable of facing her, but they hadn’t had a chance to discuss any plans when Laura came home.
She looked exhausted and dishevelled, strands of her pony-tail escaping from her hair band and pleased with herself. She dumped her bulging shoulder-bag next to the television and dropped herself in the nearest armchair, which emitted a faint imitation of her sigh. “You’re home early,” Julia said.
“We beat the other school at net ball even though their teacher kept giving them penalties. They were wimps.”
“Well done.” Jack sneaked a glance at Julia to determine what she felt he should say, and when she didn’t put a finger to her lips he said “Try and stay happy, Laura. We’ve got to talk.”
Was he being too quick? He could have asked about the rest of her day at school, except that he was sure she would have sensed he was procrastinating. “She’s worn out, Jack,” Julia said.
“Aren’t we all, except for you.”
“Is this a good time, do you think?”
“Not one of our best, but at least I don’t see how ‘
“Someone talk to me,” Laura interrupted. “It’s horrible not knowing what’s wrong when nobody will tell you.”
“I know, love,” Julia said, so sympathetically that Jack felt accused of keeping secrets from her, though what secret did he have that was worth keeping? “Let me try and explain,” she said.
“Let me. It’s my mess.” He sat in the middle of the old sofa and felt it sag like the halves of a trapdoor capable of dropping him into the unknown. “Whoops,” he said, and then “Laura, how would you feel if we had to move to somewhere not quite as impressive as we were imagining?”
“I wouldn’t have to change schools, would I?”
“Don’t even think it, and that’s a promise.”
She greeted that with half a smile in case he’d intended it to sound witty rather than simply tripping over his words. “Have you and Mummy found a house you like?”
“Not yet,” Jack said, feeling as if the wistfulness underlying her query was the trap that was lying in wait for him. “It may be a question of the three of us agreeing on one we can afford.”
“I was saving up for Crete.”
“We’re not asking you to subsidise us, Laura, good Lord,” Jack said, wishing someone else would laugh so that he could try to. “But it looks as if the bank
“Which one was it?” Jack cried, so savagely that Mr. Pether cowered into the porch. The left one, right?” He dragged off his own left shoe and flung it towards the old man, and lurched towards the traffic lights, alternately hopping and limping. Mr. Hardy was making for the bank, but he glanced over his shoulder and saw Jack. “I’m doing it for Lent,” Jack shouted across the road at him and stumbled home. “Got to laugh, got to laugh,” he reminded himself desperately, no longer knowing if he was speaking aloud.
TEN
Telling Julia was relatively easy. As soon as she saw his face she said “Never mind, Jack, we’ll work it out somehow.” At least he didn’t need to explain about his shoe. Once he’d reached home he had changed into his other pair and set off to retrieve the missile. He had been planning to tell whoever came to the door of the rest home that he’d been playing football so vigorously that the shoe had flown off, but he’d found it perched on the gate post like a glove someone had found on the pavement. He’d tucked it under his arm and sprinted home, feeling so absurdly guilty that he’d kept muttering “It’s my shoe.” By the time Julia arrived he’d felt capable of facing her, but they hadn’t had a chance to discuss any plans when Laura came home.
She looked exhausted and dishevelled, strands of her pony-tail escaping from her hair band and pleased with herself. She dumped her bulging shoulder-bag next to the television and dropped herself in the nearest armchair, which emitted a faint imitation of her sigh. “You’re home early,” Julia said.
“We beat the other school at net ball even though their teacher kept giving them penalties. They were wimps.”
“Well done.” Jack sneaked a glance at Julia to determine what she felt he should say, and when she didn’t put a finger to her lips he said “Try and stay happy, Laura. We’ve got to talk.”
Was he being too quick? He could have asked about the rest of her day at school, except that he was sure she would have sensed he was procrastinating. “She’s worn out, Jack,” Julia said.
“Aren’t we all, except for you.”
“Is this a good time, do you think?”
“Not one of our best, but at least I don’t see how ‘
“Someone talk to me,” Laura interrupted. “It’s horrible not knowing what’s wrong when nobody will tell you.”
“I know, love,” Julia said, so sympathetically that Jack felt accused of keeping secrets from her, though what secret did he have that was worth keeping? “Let me try and explain,” she said.
“Let me. It’s my mess.” He sat in the middle of the old sofa and felt it sag like the halves of a trapdoor capable of dropping him into the unknown. “Whoops,” he said, and then “Laura, how would you feel if we had to move to somewhere not quite as impressive as we were imagining?”
“I wouldn’t have to change schools, would I?”
“Don’t even think it, and that’s a promise.”
She greeted that with half a smile in case he’d intended it to sound witty rather than simply tripping over his words. “Have you and Mummy found a house you like?”
“Not yet,” Jack said, feeling as if the wistfulness underlying her query was the trap that was lying in wait for him. “It may be a question of the three of us agreeing on one we can afford.”
“I was saving up for Crete.”
“We’re not asking you to subsidise us, Laura, good Lord,” Jack said, wishing someone else would laugh so that he could try to. “But it looks as if the bank
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