sure. Just give him a bit of time. He’s kind enough, underneath, but he’s had a bit of a shock… and we all get old.”
“Where’s he gone?” asked Oliver.
“He’s staying with Father Hagan tonight. He’ll be making him have a bath, if I know anything.”
“I’ll pay for the van,” the boy said solemnly. “Whatever it costs, I’ll pay. I’ll… I’ll write to my mother and ask her to send me the money, then I’ll save up and pay her back.”
It would take him years. His father was very stingy about pocket money. “No, Oliver,” Mrs Blakeman said emphatically. “Don’t worry your mother.” She could just see Aunt Phyl coming out on the next boat. “We’ll sort it out. Don’t you worry about it. And that’s an order! ” And she smiled at him.
The atmosphere was easing slightly. “Did anyone come to the telephone?” Mrs Blakeman asked.
“Yes, missus, you were in luck, and it’s been put right for you. I let them in,” Kevin replied.
“Thank goodness for that. I want to speak to a doctor, Mrs O’Malley. I really don’t think Alison’s too well.”
The farmer’s wife looked at the baby. For once she was quiet and sitting pudding-like on Mrs Blakeman’s lap. “Hmm. She’s a bit flushed, I suppose.” She plucked gently at the tiny wrist. “They always say thin babies are healthier. I wouldn’tknow about that. All mine were little barrels.”
“ Thin? But she’s not thin , Mrs O’Malley? Well, I wouldn’t say so.” She sounded quite alarmed. Prill looked at Alison. She did look thinner, the little bracelets of fat on her wrists weren’t quite so pudgy now, and her hands no longer looked like little paws. Only her face was fat-looking and it was swollen with heat and constant grizzling.
Mrs O’Malley realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Now don’t you worry yourself, Mrs Blakeman, I’ll ring Dr O’Keefe myself. He’s grand. He’ll be down to see you first thing tomorrow, if I know him. Now, how about something to eat for all of you? It’s a long time since you ate, I’m thinking.”
“Oh no, thank you.” Mrs Blakeman got up abruptly. She looked distracted. “No, we’ve got food at the house. It’s not fair to wish another brood upon you. The cup of tea was lovely but we’ll get back now. Colin, can you get Jessie? Come on, Oliver.” All she wanted was to get back to the bungalow and speak to her husband. Thank God they’d mended the phone.
The four of them walked slowly up the track in complete silence. The weather was changing, the sky was yellowish and the moist air stickier than ever. There were mutterings of thunder over the sea.
“We’re in for a storm,” Colin said.
“Good,” Prill muttered. “We could do with some rain.”
She reached the front door first and Mum handed her the key. She pushed it into the lock but could hardly bring herself to turn it. The key had become a lead lump, impossible to move, so desperately did she not want to enter that house.
“Hurry up, can’t you?” Colin badgered impatiently.
Fighting tears back, wanting to run a million miles away, she pushed the door open slowly.
Chapter Eight
A CARD FROM the telephone engineer lay on the small table in the hall. Mum read it. “Thank goodness for that, I’ll phone Dad in a minute.”
“I’ll get the exchange for you, shall I?” Prill said, pushing past the two boys and going into the kitchen. It had to be now. She picked the receiver up and listened, then she jiggled the black buttons up and down.
“It’s not working.”
Colin came up behind her, grabbed the phone and listened for himself. “That’s ridiculous. This card says, ‘An engineer called today as requested and we are pleased to inform you that—’”
“Oh, shut up, will you? It’s just like it was before. It’s as dead as a dodo.” She went off to tell her mother.
“Why don’t we use the O’Malleys’ phone? Can I comewith you? We could go now.”
“No-o, Prill,” Mrs Blakeman
“Where’s he gone?” asked Oliver.
“He’s staying with Father Hagan tonight. He’ll be making him have a bath, if I know anything.”
“I’ll pay for the van,” the boy said solemnly. “Whatever it costs, I’ll pay. I’ll… I’ll write to my mother and ask her to send me the money, then I’ll save up and pay her back.”
It would take him years. His father was very stingy about pocket money. “No, Oliver,” Mrs Blakeman said emphatically. “Don’t worry your mother.” She could just see Aunt Phyl coming out on the next boat. “We’ll sort it out. Don’t you worry about it. And that’s an order! ” And she smiled at him.
The atmosphere was easing slightly. “Did anyone come to the telephone?” Mrs Blakeman asked.
“Yes, missus, you were in luck, and it’s been put right for you. I let them in,” Kevin replied.
“Thank goodness for that. I want to speak to a doctor, Mrs O’Malley. I really don’t think Alison’s too well.”
The farmer’s wife looked at the baby. For once she was quiet and sitting pudding-like on Mrs Blakeman’s lap. “Hmm. She’s a bit flushed, I suppose.” She plucked gently at the tiny wrist. “They always say thin babies are healthier. I wouldn’tknow about that. All mine were little barrels.”
“ Thin? But she’s not thin , Mrs O’Malley? Well, I wouldn’t say so.” She sounded quite alarmed. Prill looked at Alison. She did look thinner, the little bracelets of fat on her wrists weren’t quite so pudgy now, and her hands no longer looked like little paws. Only her face was fat-looking and it was swollen with heat and constant grizzling.
Mrs O’Malley realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Now don’t you worry yourself, Mrs Blakeman, I’ll ring Dr O’Keefe myself. He’s grand. He’ll be down to see you first thing tomorrow, if I know him. Now, how about something to eat for all of you? It’s a long time since you ate, I’m thinking.”
“Oh no, thank you.” Mrs Blakeman got up abruptly. She looked distracted. “No, we’ve got food at the house. It’s not fair to wish another brood upon you. The cup of tea was lovely but we’ll get back now. Colin, can you get Jessie? Come on, Oliver.” All she wanted was to get back to the bungalow and speak to her husband. Thank God they’d mended the phone.
The four of them walked slowly up the track in complete silence. The weather was changing, the sky was yellowish and the moist air stickier than ever. There were mutterings of thunder over the sea.
“We’re in for a storm,” Colin said.
“Good,” Prill muttered. “We could do with some rain.”
She reached the front door first and Mum handed her the key. She pushed it into the lock but could hardly bring herself to turn it. The key had become a lead lump, impossible to move, so desperately did she not want to enter that house.
“Hurry up, can’t you?” Colin badgered impatiently.
Fighting tears back, wanting to run a million miles away, she pushed the door open slowly.
Chapter Eight
A CARD FROM the telephone engineer lay on the small table in the hall. Mum read it. “Thank goodness for that, I’ll phone Dad in a minute.”
“I’ll get the exchange for you, shall I?” Prill said, pushing past the two boys and going into the kitchen. It had to be now. She picked the receiver up and listened, then she jiggled the black buttons up and down.
“It’s not working.”
Colin came up behind her, grabbed the phone and listened for himself. “That’s ridiculous. This card says, ‘An engineer called today as requested and we are pleased to inform you that—’”
“Oh, shut up, will you? It’s just like it was before. It’s as dead as a dodo.” She went off to tell her mother.
“Why don’t we use the O’Malleys’ phone? Can I comewith you? We could go now.”
“No-o, Prill,” Mrs Blakeman
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