Spray you with disinfectant first.”
Dunny was chuckling, beginning to bounce again on his back, picking up enough momentum to throw himself upright.
Pete didn’t feel like bouncing any more.
“See ya.”
He jumped off the trampoline, thinking about Beth Winters and the voices he’d heard. The girl he’d heard crying had said something about not wanting to leave her mum. Wasn’t there a mention of leaving on the shelter wall too?
When you are here and I am far away …
Could the voice he’d heard have been Beth Winters? Could she have been an evacuee? Pete was deep in thought as he made his way back through his own garden. Or was she another victim of the Clydebank Blitz?
Pete knew he had to find out, and he realised that he knew where to begin.
With Dad’s El Honcho, Mr Milligan: a living link to the story of Beth Winters.
Chapter 14
Mum and Dad didn’t even notice Pete slipping into the sitting room. They were squared up to each other across a coffee table they were shifting, hissing into each other’s faces.
“No, Steve.” Mum dumped her end down. “You just tell him straight: ‘Jamie, I’m not working overtime.’”
“It’s not as simple as that, Jo. I’ve been out of work so long, needing the money…”
“It is that simple. You tell smoothie boss: ‘My wife’s stuck at home knowing nobody with a baby that’s driving her doolally.’ Better idea: I’ll tell him. Minute he purrs round.”
“So is Mr Milligan coming over?” As soon as Pete interrupted he knew he shouldn’t have bothered. The look Mum shot Dad, and the unspoken reproach it held – He’d better not be; there’s curtains to hang – sent Pete slinking out the room.
“Won’t be long, champ,” Dad called after him. “Mum and I just having a chat.”
“More like ding-ding: Round One,” Pete whispered under his breath.
He sank down on his bed, put his hands over his face, sliding them round to his ears when he realised he could still hear Mum’s voice. Shrill. Close to tears: “Have you any idea how it feels to be so tired, Steve?Day in, day out. Don’t answer that: you don’t.”
Pete could hear the low rumble of Dad’s voice too. Pete knew he would be trying to say the right thing, and wished he could interrupt his parents with something so interesting or funny that they would both forget their argument. Maybe even start laughing. But he knew if he tried to catch their attention right now, he’d only wind them up. Make things worse. Better to keep out the way.
Pete was just reaching for his guitar when the wall connecting his bedroom to fresh air next door shuddered as though someone had kicked it or shoved something hard against it.
“Mummy!” yelled a girl’s voice, clear and impatient. “The trunk’s not in the wardrobe. I’ll try the cubby hole.”
Through the wall, Pete heard the squeak of a door opening. Footsteps passed into the corridor that wasn’t there in the house that wasn’t there. Beth Winters’ footsteps, Pete presumed. Scuffy. Light.
Where’s she going? Pete left his own room, ran along his own corridor and downstairs. He could hear Beth – it had to be Beth – humming a tune as she descended. When her hand brushed the wall, Pete shivered as though her fingertips had tripped along the hairs on his arm. He felt sure that only a thin layer of lathe and plaster separated them.
But it’s impossible . Pete was at the bottom of the stairs now. What am I doing? He paused, almost relieved he couldn’t hear Beth any more. No more footsteps. No more humming. Only Dad.
“Jo, we’re going round in circles. You’d rather bebroke in London? Moved back in with your mother and her bloody cats? Away you go.”
Underneath Pete’s staircase he felt the vibration of a faint thud followed by the clatter and graze of objects being flung around.
Beth must have gone into her cupboard under the stairs . On balance Pete decided he’d prefer to track a girl who shouldn’t be there to
Dunny was chuckling, beginning to bounce again on his back, picking up enough momentum to throw himself upright.
Pete didn’t feel like bouncing any more.
“See ya.”
He jumped off the trampoline, thinking about Beth Winters and the voices he’d heard. The girl he’d heard crying had said something about not wanting to leave her mum. Wasn’t there a mention of leaving on the shelter wall too?
When you are here and I am far away …
Could the voice he’d heard have been Beth Winters? Could she have been an evacuee? Pete was deep in thought as he made his way back through his own garden. Or was she another victim of the Clydebank Blitz?
Pete knew he had to find out, and he realised that he knew where to begin.
With Dad’s El Honcho, Mr Milligan: a living link to the story of Beth Winters.
Chapter 14
Mum and Dad didn’t even notice Pete slipping into the sitting room. They were squared up to each other across a coffee table they were shifting, hissing into each other’s faces.
“No, Steve.” Mum dumped her end down. “You just tell him straight: ‘Jamie, I’m not working overtime.’”
“It’s not as simple as that, Jo. I’ve been out of work so long, needing the money…”
“It is that simple. You tell smoothie boss: ‘My wife’s stuck at home knowing nobody with a baby that’s driving her doolally.’ Better idea: I’ll tell him. Minute he purrs round.”
“So is Mr Milligan coming over?” As soon as Pete interrupted he knew he shouldn’t have bothered. The look Mum shot Dad, and the unspoken reproach it held – He’d better not be; there’s curtains to hang – sent Pete slinking out the room.
“Won’t be long, champ,” Dad called after him. “Mum and I just having a chat.”
“More like ding-ding: Round One,” Pete whispered under his breath.
He sank down on his bed, put his hands over his face, sliding them round to his ears when he realised he could still hear Mum’s voice. Shrill. Close to tears: “Have you any idea how it feels to be so tired, Steve?Day in, day out. Don’t answer that: you don’t.”
Pete could hear the low rumble of Dad’s voice too. Pete knew he would be trying to say the right thing, and wished he could interrupt his parents with something so interesting or funny that they would both forget their argument. Maybe even start laughing. But he knew if he tried to catch their attention right now, he’d only wind them up. Make things worse. Better to keep out the way.
Pete was just reaching for his guitar when the wall connecting his bedroom to fresh air next door shuddered as though someone had kicked it or shoved something hard against it.
“Mummy!” yelled a girl’s voice, clear and impatient. “The trunk’s not in the wardrobe. I’ll try the cubby hole.”
Through the wall, Pete heard the squeak of a door opening. Footsteps passed into the corridor that wasn’t there in the house that wasn’t there. Beth Winters’ footsteps, Pete presumed. Scuffy. Light.
Where’s she going? Pete left his own room, ran along his own corridor and downstairs. He could hear Beth – it had to be Beth – humming a tune as she descended. When her hand brushed the wall, Pete shivered as though her fingertips had tripped along the hairs on his arm. He felt sure that only a thin layer of lathe and plaster separated them.
But it’s impossible . Pete was at the bottom of the stairs now. What am I doing? He paused, almost relieved he couldn’t hear Beth any more. No more footsteps. No more humming. Only Dad.
“Jo, we’re going round in circles. You’d rather bebroke in London? Moved back in with your mother and her bloody cats? Away you go.”
Underneath Pete’s staircase he felt the vibration of a faint thud followed by the clatter and graze of objects being flung around.
Beth must have gone into her cupboard under the stairs . On balance Pete decided he’d prefer to track a girl who shouldn’t be there to
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