Jack & Harry by Tony McKenna

bought a small loaf of bread and two large poppy seed rolls then, passing a fish and chip shop, purchased sixpence worth of chips that the shop assistant, a pretty dark haired girl with vibrant green eyes, wrapped in newspaper.
    Down at the river they saw that indeed Mr Bodini was right, there were white swans. The boys had never seen them before and commented that they seemed more graceful than the black ones. They broke off pieces of bread and threw it out for the swans and laughed as a number of black ducks darted in to get their share, flapping out of the way of the swan’s savage beaks as they fought for the soggy morsels.
    â€˜Wonder if there are yabbies in here, Jack?’
    â€˜Sure to be although it’s runnin’ a bit faster than the creek at home.’
    Harry glanced at Jack when he mentioned home. ‘Probably perch and yellowbellies, though.’ Jack missed Harry’s look.
    â€˜Pity we haven’t got time to throw a line in, a good feed of yellowbelly’d be good, eh?’
    â€˜We didn’t bring any fishing gear, Harry, and where would we cook ’em. Can’t take a fish on the train,’ he laughed.
    Both boys then sat down on the riverbank, tore the rolls in half and crammed the hot chips into them. ‘Be good if we had some butter,’ Harry mumbled through a mouthful of chips and bread.
    â€˜Yeah, we always have butter with them at home.’ Jack fell silent as the reality of their seeing home again for a very long time sunk in.
    â€˜Wonder if they know we’ve gone yet?’ Harry looked gloomy as his thoughts drifted back to home and his parents.
    â€˜Don’t know, Harry.’ Jack stared into space, consumed by his own thoughts.

    Panic began to grip Alice Ferguson. It was almost six o’clock and young Jack wasn’t home from school. She had even gone down to the river to search for them as she knew they spent every moment they could down by ‘The Creek’ as they called it. There was a favourite spot that the boys thought nobody knew about but of course they were wrong and Alice looked for them there. She asked some other children that were fishing if they knew Jack or Harry and if they had seen them or anyone like them down by the river.
    Her searching was fruitless and her enquiries drew blank responses so she went to Jean and Claude Turner’s house. She had telephoned them earlier but the boys were not there, but she thought they might have turned up by now and she might have missed them somewhere on the way.
    They were not at the Turners’ and Jean was beside herself with worry although Claude seemed to be less concerned. ‘Boys will be boys; they’ll turn up sooner or later,’ he said.
    The two mothers sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of tea as they wondered where their sons might be. Jean had freshly baked scones on a plate but neither woman ate anything. ‘They’ve never done anything like this before, Jean.’
    â€˜No, they’re always pretty much on time, maybe a half hour or so late but now it’s almost three hours and still no sign of them.’
    â€˜I bet it’s got something to do with that Billy Munse and the bike.’ Alice was angry as well as concerned. ‘Perhaps we should telephone them, Claude … the Munse’s, they might know.’
    â€˜They wouldn’t be over there, Alice, I can assure you but I’ll give a call anyhow just to put your mind at rest. They’re up to something but I can’t guess what it might be. Did you call the school?’ he asked.
    â€˜It was too late by the time I realised they weren’t home.’ Alice stood up from the table and began to pace around the kitchen. ‘If only Jack was here, he’d be able to help I’m sure. Not that you aren’t a help, Claude.’ She smiled at him. ‘Having Jack home would make me feel a lot better though.’ She looked at the clock hanging