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"Yes, I suppose so." She looked away from him.

"You get it into your head that you're the only one who's got troubles, but to see Gran in there upsets me ..."

"Your Gran in there?" His voice was loud, his arm extended back towards the gate.

"Mrs. O'Toole you mean?"

"Yes."

"Good God, no I' Immediately her manner was on the defensive again.

"It isn't our fault, you can't blame us, she insisted on going. My mother

>-^ ^ ivy ji-^p' ii^i. um, uiu * He didn't say, "I'll take your word for it," but something in his expression must have said it for him for she insisted harshly, "I'm telling you she did, she tried everything to stop her going in."

"How long has she been there?" The question was quiet, and she gulped in her throat before she answered, "Eighteen ... nineteen months or so.

She arranged it all herself after she fell and hurt her hip. We didn't know anything about it until it was done."

He now said, "Your father's had letters from her but he doesn't know about this. He's going to go mad." Without thinking he had given her an opening. He watched her now as she turned her head right round to her shoulder, and his brows beetling he said, Turnin' your head away won't rid you of the fact that he's still your father. And I'll tell you this. No matter what you or anybody else says, he's a decent bloke; just unfortunate that's all, and them with sense see it that way. "

When she put her hand up to her mouth and pressed it tightly he thought, She's going to cry; but she didn't, and after a moment he asked, "Would you like a cup of tea, I'm parched me self There's a nice cafe along there by the river ... pleasant."

Her ready acceptance surprised him, so much so that when she said

"Thanks' and stepped off the pavement on to the road in the direction of the green, he walked by her side until they reached the cafe without again opening his mouth.

When he ordered a pot of tea for two and a plate of cakes, she did not.

go and take a seat at one of the tables outside but stood waiting until he was served; then carrying the plate of cakes, she followed him as he made his way to the far end of the garden.

"There," he said, as they sat down.

"Isn't this nice?"

"Yes." She looked about her.

"It's lovely. I never knew this cafe was here."

"Well, I didn't me self until last year. I go to the Home sometimes because the old ladies want to sell bits and pieces. I've got the name for givin' them a fair crack of the whip; they trust me not to diddle

'em. " Barmy, aren't they? "

When she made no answer to this but continued to stare at him, he said,

"Well, aren't you going to pour out?"

"Yes, of course." she seemed nusrerea.

This was new too, because the girl he had met in the bookshop wouldn't, he had imagined, know how to -be flustered. Agitated yes, but not flustered. He watched her from under lowered lids as she poured out the tea. He couldn't get over the fact that she seemed to have lost her looks. He wondered what her father would think when he saw her.

Get a bit of a cliff he supposed, and blame himself for the change in her. He had been determined he wasn't going to mention her father to her but he had, and now he found himself saying, "Your father " II be free in a fortnight's time. Do you know that? "

"A fortnight?" Her lips moved with the words but made no sound.

"Have you thought what's going to happen to him when he's out?"

"Yes, yes, I have. All the time."

He took no heed of the terseness of the words or the pain in her voice, but leaning across the little round table towards her said harshly,

"Well, why didn't you go and see him and try and find out?"

Gail stared at him. His face was not more than six inches from hers.

His eyes were coal black, and his short lashes so dark and thick one could imagine they had been touched up. In the twice they had met, not counting the day he had sold the books to Miss Frazer, he had been kind to her. She could, in a way, understand him sympathising with people's problems, as he did with the old ladies in the Home, but she couldn't imagine him understanding if she said, "I was afraid to," for he would come back smartly, asking, "Afraid of being seen visiting him in prison?" And the truth was just that, she would have been afraid of being seen visiting the prison. Nevertheless, she would have gone if it hadn't have been for her mother.

At one time it could have been said that she adored her father and loved her mother, it could have been said up to the night in the car park; since then she had ceased to question her feelings towards her father, but her feelings towards her mother she knew were no longer of love but of deep resentment, even of fear, and, at times lately, kindled an emotion she dared not face up to. Although she no longer attended church she still con162

At times she thought it was unfair to blame her mother for her attitude because she hadn't started all this; yet when her thoughts touched on the person who had been the instigator of all the trouble that had come upon them she directed them hastily away, for she couldn't blame him, not really, except when awaking from dreams in which she imagined herself screaming at a girl who kept talking and talking and talking. In the dark she could always see Betty Ray as she had that night, and hear her yelling at her father as she struck out at him, "You didn't want the cake, but you didn't want anybody else to have it." She hadn't understood about the cake then but she had the next day when her mother made it plain to her. It was odd the things that stuck in your mind. For days afterwards she could only think that the girl was the same size as she was. She had kept her mind dwelling on the girl at that period, not letting it touch on her father . or her grandfather; no, certainly not on her grandfather. The thought of her grandfather made her physically sick, even now, and at that time she hadn't cared whether he died or not. It was only when she realised the consequences to her father should this happen that she began to pray that her grandfather might live.

She had never seen her grandfather since that night. Her mother had said to her, "You mustn't blame your grandfather; he wasn't a married man with a family, he was a free agent. " At first Gail couldn't understand her mother's differing attitude towards the two men. She had put her husband out of her life altogether, yet every day for two months she went to the nursing home and visited her father, and after he returned home, hardly a day passed when she didn't go and see him; this was when he wasn't taking one of his long holidays. Gail wondered for a long time whether her grandfather went on these holidays alone, and as recently as two weeks ago, when having another verbal battle with her mother she had dared to hint of such a thing, she thought for a moment that Esther was going to strike her.

But instead she had' stood with her back to the door and' told her for the countless time in that cold monotonous penetrating way what a changed man her grandfather was. How he was still quite incapable of carrying on his business, and never 163

only thanks to his past industry that he could exist now.

She had dared her mother's wrath again by saying, cynically, that his past industry must have been very lucrative because his way of living went on as before; added to which, he now kept them . At least he kept her mother and the boys, together with the house and car; he did not keep her.

Nothing would induce her to go back to school after she had returned from the protracted holiday her mother had forced on her. She had been lucky to get the job with Miss Frazer almost right away. The other thing she had wanted to do at this time was to leave home, but that had been a hopeless desire. Even now, at eighteen, it was still hopeless.

Whereas the boys were free to go where they liked, her mother almost timed her movements. And this was while her father was in prison; what it would be like when he came out she dare not think.

She'd likely send John with the car to pick her up. But it couldn't go on for ever. No, it couldn't go on for ever.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. You asked me why I didn't go and see him and find out what he's going to do?"

"Well, why didn't you?"

"Because I couldn't." Her head was drooped now, and he looked at the crown of it for some time before he said, "Your mother wouldn't let you, is that it?" When she didn't answer he sat back, picked up his cup and saucer, sipped at the tea, then said, "This's got cold, is there a drop more hot in there?"

After she had poured him out another cup he pushed the plate of cakes towards her, saying, "Aren't you going to have one?"

When she took a cake from the plate he helped himself also and they both ate in silence for a few minutes, until he asked quietly, "Will you come and see him when he comes out?"

She looked up at him now.

"I don't think I'll be able to. I mean..."

He was leaning towards her again.

"Well, if you could, I mean if there was nobody stoppin' you, would you then?"

She stared at him, then said softly, "But where would I see him?"

"Our place."

i . ", o K^'^" t, '-'-' omy vviLll yv/w di- yKjuji m^Lto^. j. ki^i A^i'-"Atm a mained slightly agape.

"Yes, but not at Baker Street. We're movin' on Monday."

"Oh."

"Do you know Scarfield Mill? It's about three miles out beyond the old Beular mine." When she shook her head he went on, "It's a big house, not much to look at now, with only three rooms habitable, all the rest let in water, but wait till I get it finished. My 1 It'll be a grand place. I've had me eye on it since I was a lad." His voice was laden with pride.

"Really! ... And you've bought it?" She was smiling. It was the first time he had seen her smile, and for a brief instance he saw the young Gail again. Her eyes looked warm, her face alive. She said now,

"That's wonderful for you, a great achievement. Janet must be pleased."

He pulled a wry face at her, "Not as much as me. There's about ten years work ahead of us, and she's not really taken with that."

The smile faded as she said, "And my father's going to live with you?"

"Well, that's the idea, sort of. At least'--he wagged his head-'until he gets on his feet. He'll need time to find himself. You know what I mean.

"Yes." Her voice was a mere whisper. She hung her head again and remained silent, then surprised him somewhat by almost jumping to her feet, saying, "I'll have to be getting back." She glanced at her watch.

"A bus goes in five minutes."

"Why not save the fare?" He was grinning up at her.

"All right, all right, I know. But like afore I could drop you oft outside the town."

"It's very kind of you."

"Kind, nothing." He jerked his chin' up.

"Same amount of petrol, won't cost me any more." When he saw the smile creep into her face again he urged it outwards by saying, "I never do anything that's goin' to cost me money. Now it's a different story if I'm going to make a bit. Oh, I'd even tackle climbing up a gum tree if I thought there was sixpence at the top."

"Oh, Robbie."

He had succeeded and the smile was on her face again, and 165 in brusquely, "Well, come on; we'd better take these things back else they'll charge us for being waited on."

When they put the tray of dirty crocks on the counter the woman behind the tea urn said brightly, "Oh, that's kind of you; thanks." And after he had said, "You're welcome," he muttered under his breath as they made their way outside, "Now if I'd known that you weren't expected to bring the empties back I wouldn't have wasted me strength on them."

She cast a sidelong glance at him. Her eyes were still laughing but her voice was touched with sadness as she said, "You're the one person who hasn't changed in all these years, Robbie."

He put on a long face.

"Well, that's bucked me up. Here's me reached the state of manhood, owner of the best antique shop in town, not forgetting the stately mansion, draughty as yet but nevertheless stately, and you tell me I haven't changed."

When she laughed outright he felt a sense of real achievement and he said eagerly, "How would you like to run out and see the place, it'll only take about twenty minutes?"

"Thank you, Robbie, but I can't today, I'll ... I'll have to be getting back. I ..." When she hesitated he put in quickly, "Fair enough, fair enough. Well, here we are." When he stopped in front of the Cortina she seemed surprise and said, "I ... I thought it would be the van."

"The van?" His tone was haughty.

"The van on a Saturday afternoon! No, Ma'am, no van on a Saturday afternoon. Nor for weddings an' funerals."

She was still smiling as she took her seat and asked him, "Is this the one you first bought?"

"Good Lord no. You mean that Christmas?"

"Yes."

"I've had three since. No, no, this is the fourth, all secondhand, and all bargains. And they were still bargains when I sold them again an'

all."

Gail sat back in the seat. She couldn't tell how long ago it was since she felt so relaxed. Her body felt free; it was as if it had been encased for years in something tight and she had at last unloosened it, or Robbie had. He was nice, kind and nice. But it was true what she had said, he hadn't changed at all. He

among others less complimentary. She knew a moment's stiffening of her body again. If John were to see her with him there would be trouble.

He had nearly gone road when he knew that her dad had stayed with them after he had left the house. She understood it was only for a few days but that was enough to make John go almost berserk. The fact that their father had gone to the Dunns seemed to concern him more than the reason for him having to go to the Dunns. Her mother had not sent for Janet from that time, and neither of the Dunns had been mentioned since, not in her hearing anyway.

What would happen at home when John found out that his father was going to live with the Dunns again? Her mother's reactions, she felt, would be that her father was dropping to his original level and she'd likely leave it at that, but John's reaction would likely take an active form.