walking along the Stratford Road amid the bustle of traffic, trams and cars and horses and carts. It was a hot day and the smellier for it, the fumes from the buses, sweating horses and people, and piles of manure with shiny-green flies buzzing round.
‘Shall us go to the park for a bit?’ Amy said.
‘I can’t be bothered to walk all down there,’ Katie said. ‘My feet hurt. I want to get home and get my shoes off.’
‘Oh . . .’ Amy’s face fell. ‘I don’t want to go home yet. Mom’s out – there’s only Granddad there. I mean, you can come to ours if yer want . . .’
Katie did go to Amy’s house sometimes, but today it wasn’t an inviting thought. It was a beautiful afternoon and at the back of Amy’s house there was only a little yard, which at this time of day was full of blue shade. Amy knew by now never to ask to go to Katie’s, but a plan was forming in Katie’s mind. She thought of their sunny strip of garden, she and Amy lazing on the grass with a drink of lime cordial and a biscuit. Her mother and Uncle Patrick were both at work . . . The idea grew. She’d never thought of defying her mother before. Fear of her ran too deep, and she and Amy usually went to the park or said their goodbyes and went home after school. But there was already an end-of-term feeling.
‘Why don’t you come to ours instead?’ she blurted out, before she could change her mind.
Amy stared at her. ‘What – your house? I thought you weren’t allowed?’
‘I ain’t – but just for once, who’s gonna know?’
‘You sure your mom won’t be there?’
‘Nah – she’s at work.’
‘All right then.’ Amy linked her arm through Katie’s. ‘Come on – skip with me.’
‘No!’ Katie moaned. ‘My foot hurts!’
Giggling, they approached the house. There was no warning. Everything seemed quiet and just like normal from the outside.
Katie fumbled with the key in the lock at the front and the two of them got the titters again.
‘Sshhh!’ Katie said urgently.
‘Hurry up,’ Amy said, crossing her legs. ‘I don’t half need the lav.’
Both giggling, they burst into the hall. Then froze.
Through the open door of the front room, Katie saw a large, pink-faced young man sitting in the chair opposite the door. It took her another second to realize that he was a policeman. He had taken his helmet off and was holding it on his lap, as if for reassurance.
‘Katherine?’ Her mother’s voice came from somewhere else in the room.
Frantic, Katie turned to Amy and mouthed, ‘Go home! Quick!’
Amy didn’t need telling twice and shot back out through the front door.
‘Yes?’ Wondering if her mother had heard Amy, Katie moved into the front-room doorway, but soon forgot all about that. There was even more of a shock. The sun was shining brightly through the nets onto two figures sitting by the window, who were thrown into silhouette. One was her mother and the other she recognized, squinting, as Father Daly, the assistant parish priest. She couldn’t see either of their faces properly, but the atmosphere in the room was very solemn.
Before she could speak, Vera O’Neill said, ‘Go up to your room, dear. I’ll come to you shortly.’
Katie couldn’t think what to do. She sat on her bed, tracing the lines of the pink candlewick with her finger. Nothing made sense. Why was that policeman in the house, and the parish priest? Was it Uncle Patrick? Had they come to arrest him? What could he have done?
From downstairs came the sound of them talking quietly, just the men’s voices. Eventually she heard movements, voices in the hall, the front door closing. This was followed by a silence so long that Katie wondered if her mother had gone with them. Then at last she heard her mother slowly climbing the stairs.
‘Katie?’ Her voice sounded strangely weak, as if she’d had the air knocked out of her, but Katie could tell nothing from her face. Vera came and sat beside her on the bed, taking very
‘Shall us go to the park for a bit?’ Amy said.
‘I can’t be bothered to walk all down there,’ Katie said. ‘My feet hurt. I want to get home and get my shoes off.’
‘Oh . . .’ Amy’s face fell. ‘I don’t want to go home yet. Mom’s out – there’s only Granddad there. I mean, you can come to ours if yer want . . .’
Katie did go to Amy’s house sometimes, but today it wasn’t an inviting thought. It was a beautiful afternoon and at the back of Amy’s house there was only a little yard, which at this time of day was full of blue shade. Amy knew by now never to ask to go to Katie’s, but a plan was forming in Katie’s mind. She thought of their sunny strip of garden, she and Amy lazing on the grass with a drink of lime cordial and a biscuit. Her mother and Uncle Patrick were both at work . . . The idea grew. She’d never thought of defying her mother before. Fear of her ran too deep, and she and Amy usually went to the park or said their goodbyes and went home after school. But there was already an end-of-term feeling.
‘Why don’t you come to ours instead?’ she blurted out, before she could change her mind.
Amy stared at her. ‘What – your house? I thought you weren’t allowed?’
‘I ain’t – but just for once, who’s gonna know?’
‘You sure your mom won’t be there?’
‘Nah – she’s at work.’
‘All right then.’ Amy linked her arm through Katie’s. ‘Come on – skip with me.’
‘No!’ Katie moaned. ‘My foot hurts!’
Giggling, they approached the house. There was no warning. Everything seemed quiet and just like normal from the outside.
Katie fumbled with the key in the lock at the front and the two of them got the titters again.
‘Sshhh!’ Katie said urgently.
‘Hurry up,’ Amy said, crossing her legs. ‘I don’t half need the lav.’
Both giggling, they burst into the hall. Then froze.
Through the open door of the front room, Katie saw a large, pink-faced young man sitting in the chair opposite the door. It took her another second to realize that he was a policeman. He had taken his helmet off and was holding it on his lap, as if for reassurance.
‘Katherine?’ Her mother’s voice came from somewhere else in the room.
Frantic, Katie turned to Amy and mouthed, ‘Go home! Quick!’
Amy didn’t need telling twice and shot back out through the front door.
‘Yes?’ Wondering if her mother had heard Amy, Katie moved into the front-room doorway, but soon forgot all about that. There was even more of a shock. The sun was shining brightly through the nets onto two figures sitting by the window, who were thrown into silhouette. One was her mother and the other she recognized, squinting, as Father Daly, the assistant parish priest. She couldn’t see either of their faces properly, but the atmosphere in the room was very solemn.
Before she could speak, Vera O’Neill said, ‘Go up to your room, dear. I’ll come to you shortly.’
Katie couldn’t think what to do. She sat on her bed, tracing the lines of the pink candlewick with her finger. Nothing made sense. Why was that policeman in the house, and the parish priest? Was it Uncle Patrick? Had they come to arrest him? What could he have done?
From downstairs came the sound of them talking quietly, just the men’s voices. Eventually she heard movements, voices in the hall, the front door closing. This was followed by a silence so long that Katie wondered if her mother had gone with them. Then at last she heard her mother slowly climbing the stairs.
‘Katie?’ Her voice sounded strangely weak, as if she’d had the air knocked out of her, but Katie could tell nothing from her face. Vera came and sat beside her on the bed, taking very
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