“Yes … but it’s variable. I really couldn’t give you an answer on that at the moment.”
“Well, I’m ready for it,” I said. “Whenever it comes. It won’t be a moment too soon.”
WE WERE SITTING in the kitchen that night, reading about the end of Jerusalem, eating kippers and peas, when something thudded at the front of the house. Father’s eyes stopped moving in the middle of the page. They stayed where they were for a moment. Then they began moving again.
A minute later there was another bang, only this time it sounded as though someone had driven a car into the fence. We heard laughter—high-pitched, husky, and broken. Something passed through Father’s face and he pushed back his chair.
“Don’t go!” I said, and jumped up. I don’t know why I felt so afraid.
But he did. He went out of the back door. A few seconds later I heard the back gate swing to, a shout go up in the street, and running feet.
I sat for a while on the settee and then I began walking. I walked into the hall and around the front room. I walked into the middle room and back out again. I walked upstairs and along the landing and into each of the bedrooms and downstairs again.
When the hall clock chimed nine, I went upstairs and lay on Father’s bed and breathed in the smell of him. I pulled his sheepskin over me. Perhaps I should have gone next door to Mrs. Pew and told her what had happened. Perhaps I should have phoned the police. But I didn’t want to move. I watched the minutes go by on Father’s little alarm clock in faint green numbers and thought how he must look at it every morning when he got up in the dark. Thought about him sleeping here, curled on his side, his head on this pillow where I could smell his skin, and there was a tugging in my stomach that wouldn’t go away.
WHEN THE HALL clock chimed ten, I went downstairs and phoned Uncle Stan. “I don’t know where Father is,” I said when he picked up the receiver.
“Who’s this?” said Uncle Stan’s voice. It sounded sleepy.
“Uncle Stan?”
“Judith! Is that you?”
“Yes,” I said, and I began to cry.
“What’s happened? Where’s your dad?”
“He went out chasing the boys. He told me to stay in the house. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”
“How long ago?”
“Hours.”
“OK. Now—stay where you are,” said Uncle Stan. “Stay right there and I’ll be with you in ten minutes, can you do that? I’m going to come right over and I’m going to phone the police. Don’t worry, sweetheart, your dad can take care of himself. Just hang on and I’ll be there.” I heard him say something to Margaret. Then he said to me: “All right?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Put the phone down, pet. I’m on my way.”
As I hung up the phone, it began to ring again. “Judith.” It was Father.
“I’m at the police station.”
“You’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
My knees bent and I sat down on the floor.
Father said: “Judith, I’m sorry. There’s been an accident. I just have to give a statement and then I’ll be home.”
Father said: “Judith? Are you there?”
“Yes,” I said.
I wiped my face. “An accident?”
There was a pause.
“Neil Lewis got knocked down by a car. It happened as we were coming down the hill.” Father’s voice sounded strange. “He’s going to be all right.”
The receiver was in my hand and my hand was in my lap. A distant voice from the receiver said: “He hurt his back. He’s going to be all right.” It went on talking. Suddenly I heard it say: “Judith?”
I lifted up the receiver. “Yes.”
“Look, just sit tight. I’ll be home soon, all right?”
“OK.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out.”
I heard voices in the background then, a man shouting and doors slamming. Father said: “I have to go now. I’ll be home very soon.”
When Father had gone, I phoned Uncle Stan back to tell him not to come, but Margaret said: “Oh, he’s on his way, Judith. You say your dad’s all right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, thank goodness for that. Don’t worry about Stan. Are you all right?”
Uncle Stan arrived a little later. I heard him knock on the gate and went out to undo it.
Stan said: “What on earth—”
“It’s a fence,” I said. “Father built it to keep the boys out.”
“Boys?”
“Yes, the ones knocking on our door. Remember I told you?” Uncle Stan shook his head. “Uncle Stan,” I said, “Father’s called. He’s all right.”
His eyebrows shot upward. “He’s all right?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness! Where is he?”
“At the police station.”
“The police station?”
I nodded.
“Yes,” I said. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, pet, I’m just glad he’s safe.” Stan’s eyes were glassy. I saw his pajama trousers underneath his coat.
We went into the kitchen. Uncle Stan’s hair was sticking up. He passed his hand over his face and said: “So why is your dad at the police station?”
I explained how he had been chasing the boys. “He said one of them ran across a road and got knocked down.”
“Dear me!” said Uncle Stan. “And this is the boy who’s been giving you trouble?”
“Yes.”
I wondered if he remembered how I had told him about punishing Neil, but he didn’t appear to, which was fortunate. He said: “How long has that fence been there?”
I debated whether to tell him. “Nearly three weeks.”
I wished I hadn’t.
“Your dad didn’t say anything.”
I shrugged.
Uncle Stan looked around, at the dresser and the table, at the mattress Father was sleeping on propped up against the wall. Then he caught sight of the ax above the door. He flushed, and blinked quickly, as if he was trying to make something out. “Your dad been all right besides that?” he said.
“He’s been worried about work. And the boys were getting to him.”
Uncle Stan nodded. “It’s terrible what they did to the garden. Your dad planted those things for your mother.
