maybe a tour guide’s, or maybe some audio-visual show. He had not understood the words, or if he had, he no longer remembered them, but the serious, gravelled voice conjured up a strong image of the war and the plight of its young victims.
There had also been one of those short but violent summer thunderstorms. Jack remembered it being very hot and then getting wet and running along for shelter. He had heard thunder and seen lightning and remembered thinking that the raindrops were huge — big pea-sized blobs that exploded on the tarmac. He hadn’t been frightened; more curious. The images of the thunder and lightning combined in his head with what his young mind imagined the soldiers must have endured. This had made it real to him — for a moment it was as if he had become one of them, but because he was from another time somehow he wouldn’t be harmed; he would always be able to escape.
But the strongest memory of that time was waking up in the hotel or guest house or wherever they had been. He’d had his own room and the closeness of the night had woken him. He had pottered along the short corridor to his parents’ room, opened the door and seen his mum and dad standing there. He remembered feeling it was strange that they were not in bed and that the bedside light was on. They were quite far apart and he would never forget the pleading expression on his mum’s face. Both his mum and dad had red eyes and he felt uneasy when he realised that they were both crying. He had never seen an adult cry. Then his mum swivelled round to the open door, saw Jack there staring up at them and, with alarm, whisked him back off to his bedroom.
He saw even less of his father when they finally returned after the holiday — he was hard at work at the lab. Always working. Then the move back to Scotland had come and suddenly one day his mum told him that his father had left, and that “it would just be us now”.
“Hey, what’s this?” Angus had finally tossed the pyramid puzzle onto the floor in disgust and it had shattered back into separate pieces. Next to the puzzle, there was a piece of folded paper that must have dropped from the parcel when Jack had ripped it open. It was a letter.
Jack,
I am so sorry that once again I can’t be with you on your birthday, just as I have been sorry to miss so many important events in your life. I hope that one day I will have a chance to redeem myself and that I can make it up to you. Fifteen already! I hope you enjoy your day. This year I have sent a gift of a more ‘cerebral’ nature. I hope you are not too disappointed. In time, I think you will appreciate its significance. I know that you are a great student and are destined for a great future, so I think you will enjoy it.
Love,
Dad
Jack stared at the page blankly. Suddenly a wave of sadness welled up from deep within him. For a moment his eyes moistened. He bit his lip hard. He didn’t like to show emotion. Especially in front of Angus.
“What does he say?”
“It’s just a letter,” Jack said quietly.
Angus shrugged. “Whatever. Least your dad sends you presents. My dad only ever sends me to the farm — to work.”
Jack looked at his friend and put all thoughts of his father out of his head. “Food. Let’s go.”
They sat round the kitchen table. There was a smear of chocolate on Angus’s top lip and on the table, there were a few crumbs where the cake had been. It looked as though the kitchen had been visited by a swarm of locusts.
Mrs Christie looked at Angus.
“Any more?”
“Sorry Mrs C, I couldn’t eat another thing.”
“But you’ve only had five slices…” Her eyes twinkled.
“It was very nice, thank you, Mrs C.” Angus groaned. “But I think I need to lie down.”
Jack leaned over and poked Angus in the ribs. “Don’t they feed you at yours or something?”
Angus grunted.
Mrs Christie said, “On you go Angus — Jack can you just help me clear away?”
With some difficulty Angus rose from the table and waddled his way towards the cellar door.
Jack called after him, “Try the first level again —
But Angus could only offer a weary nod of his head in response.
“So, come on then, what was the present?” His mum looked at him expectantly as they started to clear the table.
Jack shrugged. “Just some book,” he squeezed out a smile, “I think you were right Mum, Dad’s presents are going downhill.”
“Sorry about that love — that happens when you get older.”
“Suppose.”
Jack stared into the open dishwasher.
Suddenly he blurted out, “Mum, what happened to Dad — where is he now — ” he immediately regretted the question, “ — exactly?” The words hung uncomfortably in the air. His mum sat down, holding a plate, a sad look in her eye.
“I don’t know, love. We just kind of grew apart. That sort of thing just… happens.”
“But why do we never see him… I mean most people who are separated or whatever, well… they still see their kids… right?”
She shrugged. “Not necessarily. I don’t think it’s that easy for him.”
“Why did he leave?”
“It was… complicated.” She put a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder, “He was always working. He was a bit of a machine, truth be told.” She sighed. “Soon there was nothing left… for us, I suppose.”
“But I thought that all ended when we left Geneva and came here?”
His mum snorted. “What? It got worse! More work, more pressure, more stress. I loved him… and he loved me… and you, of course, but after a while, I figured…” her cheeks flushed, “he felt what he was doing was more important.”
“And then he left — just like that. Where is he now?”
“I have no idea,” she shrugged. “But whatever he’s doing — he thinks it’s important… and more important than us. And that’s the problem — always was.”
“But people always have problems… shouldn’t you have patched it up? Shouldn’t you have tried, I don’t know… harder?”
This time she was defensive. “We did try… I tried, anyway, it’s not easy to explain.”
Jack knew he was about to reach the limit in this line of questioning. He didn’t want a row, but he pressed on, more boldly than before. “Well I don’t think you tried hard enough… I never hear from him. I get a present once a year — and that’s it. Is that normal?”
“I know it’s not a great explanation, Jack, but it’s the only one I have. I’m sorry.”
The Archduke and Assassin
“It’s Europe, 1914 and the continent is on a knife-edge. An alliance system of great powers has been created. Germany and Austria-Hungary on one side; Russia and France on the other. Britain has moved closer to the Russian and French camp…”
They sat in the cellar — Angus perched up on the edge of the moth-eaten armchair and Jack on a beanbag. The screen went dark and the title of the level popped up in the game’s distinctive gothic font: The Archduke and the Assassin
Jack studied two images that had appeared on the screen in front of them: old photographs from before the
