He Called Me Son (The Blountmere Street Series Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter Four

‘Checkmate!’ Fred pointed to the chess piece resting on the board.
 

I pushed my fingers through my hair.
 
‘I’m never going to pick this chess lark up.’

‘Of course you are.
 
Anything worth doing takes time.’
 
Fred’s voice was sort of sad.
 
‘We’ve both got plenty of that.
 
Now let’s start again.’

He moved the pieces back to where they had been, and I stared at the chess board, concentrating hard.
 
Hesitating, I slid my pawn in front of Fred’s queen.

‘Good lad.
 
Excellent tactics.’

As if the longer days couldn’t bear to hold off, it was becoming lighter in the late afternoons.
 
Across the street, the bombsite was covered with green lace, as new growth crept over it.
 
Fred got up and stood by the window gazing out.
 

‘Come and have a look at this.
 
Would you believe there’s a couple of ducks on the water in that large bomb crater.
 
There must be a reason they’ve decided to take their chances here, instead of somewhere like the ponds on The Common.
 
Let’s hope any eggs they lay are well hidden.
 
They wouldn’t stand much of a chance with some of the young tykes around here.’
 
Fred beckoned for me to have a look, and I went to stand beside him at the window, pressing my nose against the windowpane.
 
The glass felt cold.
 
My breath made misty circles and I used one of my cuffs to wipe them off.
 

I stood staring at the ducks.
 
They seemed out of place there.
 
I wondered if Angela had seen them.
 
She was dotty about animals.
 
I swore she would have preferred a world without any humans to muck things up.

Angela and I had owned a kitten once, when I was about three, I think.
 
We had called it Berry or Barry; I couldn’t remember which.
 
Somewhere in the back of my head was a faded image of its lifeless body covered in blood, with an eye dangling onto its nose.
 
And I vaguely recalled Mum as she stood over it.
 
She was crying and the Old Man was shouting at her to stop her snivelling.

‘I think we had a kitten once.’
 
I told Fred.

‘I do recall Amel … Miss Lorimore mentioning something about it.’

‘Mum won’t let us have another one.
 
Angela wants some white mice, but Mum doesn’t like them.’

‘Not everyone does.’

‘Can we finish this game tomorrow?’ I’d lost interest in chess.
 
I felt fidgety and wanted to get outside.

‘The ducks call, do they?’
 
Fred guessed.
 
‘Be off with you, then.
 
Why don’t you ask Miss Lorimore if she has some bread to spare?’
 
Fred called after me as I skidded down the passage.

I practically danced on Lori’s doorstep, I was so eager to get to the ducks.
 
‘Fred suggested I ask you for some bread,’ I said, as soon as she answered my knock.
 
I could hardly keep from turning my back on her to look at the ducks.
 
‘There’s ducks on the bombsite and I want to feed them.’

‘Yes, I’ve just noticed them.
 
What a surprise.
 
I’m sure I could spare a little of the cottage twist I bought yesterday.
 
Come on into the kitchen and I’ll cut you a piece.’
 
Lori laughed what I always thought of was a frizzy laugh, like her hair.
 
‘I can see these ducks aren’t going to go hungry.’
 

Instead of popping across the road there and then, I jumped Lori’s path to our place.
 
I opened the door and shouted to Angela.
 
I must have been going soft in the head or something to actually tell Angela.

When it was filled with water, the crater looked like a real pond and a bit out of place on the bombsite.
 
But the ducks seemed to like it, because when we got there they were sitting on some stones sunning themselves.
 
That soon changed when we threw some of Lori’s bread on the water.
 
Then they quacked and paddled towards us as if they hadn’t eaten before.
 

‘D’you like that, ducky ducks,’ Angela spoke to them in a voice she only used for animals.
 
‘You’re lovely,’ she crooned.

After we’d used all the bread, Angela settled herself on the ground, continuing to talk to them.
 
They kept swimming up and down past her, as if they could understand what she was saying to them.

After ten minutes I’d had enough.
 
‘Are you coming home?
 
I asked, but Angela waved her arm in the air as if she was glad to be getting rid of me.
 
‘No, I’m staying here to look after them.’

‘Go across to the bombsite and tell your sister her tea’s ready, and don’t take no for an answer.
 
I know she wants to protect the ducks, but she’s not eating her tea over there.
 
Anyway it’s getting dark and even ducks have to sleep.’
 
It was plain Mum didn’t understand how we felt about them, I thought, as I nipped across to the bombsite to fetch Angela.

‘I know they have to sleep.
 
I’m not stupid,’ Angela huffed when I passed on what Mum had said.
 

‘I want to stay for a while to make sure they’re safe.’
 
The tough look on Angela’s face changed to something soft like the inside of one of Old Boy Barker’s bulls eyes.

‘Honest, Tone, I can’t let anything happen to them, not after what happened to …’
 
She broke off abruptly.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.
 
It doesn’t matter.’

‘Keep it to yourself, then.
 
See if I care.
 
Anyway, Fred said he’d pop over later tonight to check on them.
 
I expect he’ll bring Lori with him.’
 
I tugged on her sleeve.
 
‘You’ve got to come now.
 
Mum’s getting mad.’

Angela shrugged me off.
 
‘I’m not frightened of Mum.’
 

Just the same, she collapsed the camping stool she’d been using.
 
It was Les Dibble’s, and Paula had smuggled it out of their flat for us.
 
Angela folded the blanket she had taken from her bed, and hid it with the chair behind a pile of rubble.
 
Before she left, she called to the ducks, telling them to hide while she was away, and then she belted off home.

I followed, thinking she was daft calling out to ducks.
 
‘Don’t you want your blanket?’ I called after her.

‘I’m coming back later.
 
I’m not going to leave those ducks alone all night.
 
I don’t care what Mum or the King of England says.
 
I’m coming back to check on them after tea.’

Mum had our meal on the table.
 
We didn’t even stop to wash our hands before we attacked the food.
 

‘Your manners are getting worse, the two of you,’ Mum complained, as we bolted our tea down so fast Angela got the hiccups and I let out a loud burp.

‘You haven’t given yourselves time to digest your food,’ she continued, but we were already making for the door and bounding down the stairs.
 
With Mum’s legs the way they were, I knew by the time she’d hobbled to the bottom, we’d already be on the bombsite.
 

‘Who said
you
could come?
 
I don’t need you or anyone else.’ Angela was still hiccupping.

‘The ducks are ours, remember.’
 

For a while neither of us spoke, as we concentrated on getting across the ruins in the dark.

It was cold, not ordinary cold, but the sort of misty cold that gave you the willies.
 
There was no moon, only the light that seeped between cracks in the curtains that hung in the windows of the prefabs which surrounded the bombsite.
 
The broken walls that sprang up in front of us looked like a monster’s teeth.

‘D’you reckon there are ghosts here from people who were killed in The War?’ I asked.

‘Not scared are you?’

‘Course not.
 
What about you?’

‘It’d take more than a few stupid ghosts to put the wind up me.’
 
Just the same, Angela hung on to my jersey.

I heard a rustling sound, followed by the noise of stones crunching together.
 
I stopped and looked around to see a slit of light moving towards us.

Angela heard and saw it too.
 
‘What’s that?’ She asked, screwing a handful of my jersey into a ball.

I made a grab for her hand. We moved closer to each other as the sound of a voice floated towards us.

‘Blimey, it
is
a ghost!
 
Clear off.
 
Leave us alone,’ she shouted, but her voice shook.

I felt the edge of a broken-down wall beside us, and pushed Angela behind it, then practically fell on top of her.
 
‘Keep your head down and the ghosts might not be able to find us.’
 

From behind the wall we heard footsteps getting closer and I tightened my grip on Angela’s hand.

‘Don’t touch the ducks,’ she cried out.
 
‘Please, please don’t touch them.
 
They haven’t done you any harm.
 
Don’t kick’em with your boots ‘til their eyes drop out.’
 

‘It’s all right, wherever you are.
 
It’s us, Mrs Dibble and Paula!’

‘I told you there weren’t any such things as ghosts, didn’t I.’ Angela hissed.
 
‘You’re nothing but a cry baby.’
 
She shook off my hand.

‘But it wasn’t me who … and who was it who ...’

Angela ignored me.
 
‘We’re here, over here.’

‘We’ve almost broken our necks trying to find you two,’ Mrs Dibble stumbled over to us.
 
She held on to Paula to keep steady as she bent to rub her ankle. ‘Paula knew you stayed over here.
 
She said you were guarding those blessed ducks, and she thought we should give you a bit of company.
 
She wanted to come on her own, but I wasn’t having any daughter of mine wandering round a bombsite alone at night.
 
She could have broken her neck or fallen in that crater and drowned.’
 

‘We’re not guarding
the ducks
.
 
Fred said they were safe enough at night.
 
It’s
their eggs
we’re protecting.
 
We don’t want them getting nicked.’
 

‘Mr Dibble and I think it’s too early for ducklings.’

Angela’s sniff was enough to tell Mrs Dibble what she thought of that.

The Dibbles stayed for a while.
 
I liked their company.
 
Having an adult with us made me feel less afraid of ghosts.
 

When we had to leave, it took a bit of persuading to get Angela to come home.

‘You have to be prepared for those ducks to fly away whenever the instinct takes them, or in fact if the water in the crater dries up.’ Fred told us the next morning as he spread a thin layer of marmalade on his toast, and Angela stirred another spoonful of condensed milk into her cup of tea.

Mum tapped Angela’s hand to indicate that it was to be the last spoonful and said, ‘That’s exactly right.
 
And you certainly can’t take time off school to stay with them, Angela.’

‘What if someone tries to hurt them or takes them to … to eat?
 
Mavis Dodds said her brother has a duck’s egg for breakfast every morning.’

‘I’m sure nothing will happen.’
 
Fred tried to assure Angela.

‘You’re not taking a day off school and that’s flat,’ Mum said.