No Friend of Mine by Ann Turnbull Page B

through the coat that Mum had insisted he wear. The fire wouldn’t light and the autumn leaves had turned to mush. By half past four it was pitch dark. He went home.
    But on Wednesday Ralph was waiting for him. He had brought his torch. They took turns to hide in the woods, playing Dicky-shine-a-light and ghosts. Then they started the fire with paper Ralph had brought, and lit a cigarette from it. The December dusk closed in on them as they sat puffing and talking. The fire devoured the paper, and went out, leaving a pile of blackened fragments.
    “It’s too damp for fires now,” said Lennie.
    When the flames were leaping it had felt cosy, safe from the crowding trees, but now the cold crept back.
    Lennie jumped up and flapped his arms.
    “There’s a fair going up in the Canal Field,” he said. “We seen them putting up the rides and that. Friday it starts.”
    “Are you going?”
    “I might. If I can get round Mum or Phyl to give me some money. Will you go?”
    “I’d like to. I’d have to try and sneak out.”
    “Wouldn’t they let you go?”
    “I doubt whether my father would think it was suitable.”
    “Oh. See you tomorrow, anyway?”
    “Yes. Oh! I nearly forgot.” Ralph felt in his coat pocket and handed Lennie something soft and pliable.
    “What is it? Shine the torch.”
    Lennie found he was holding a pair of leather gloves.
    “They’re for your mother. You said her gloves were in holes.”
    “But where did you get these?”
    “My mother. She’s got plenty of gloves. Those are old ones.”
    “They don’t look old.” Lennie put one on. The inside was lined with silky fur. “I can’t give her these.”
    “Why not?” Ralph’s voice, in the darkness, was disappointed. “Won’t she like them?”
    “Yes, but – well, they’re so – I mean, she usually has knitted ones, like. She makes them, or Aunty Elsie does. And – well, they’re your mother’s.”
    “She said you could have them. You might as well. Say you bought them – a Christmas present.”
    “She’d know I couldn’t buy anything like this.”
    “They’re just old gloves,” said Ralph crossly. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
    “I am,” said Lennie, contrite. “Thank you.”
    “See you tomorrow, then? Same place, same time?”
    “Yes,” said Lennie, wishing they could meet somewhere warmer, indoors.
    Well, Friday was the first day of the fair. That would be warmer, more cheerful. Perhaps Ralph would come. And as he thought that, Lennie realized that he wasn’t sure he wanted him to. Everyone – all the boys from school – would be there.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Lennie didn’t give the gloves to Mum. He felt sure, somehow, that she wouldn’t want them. All day on Thursday he carried them around in his pockets until Dad said, “What’s that you’ve got, Lennie, a couple of ferrets?” and then he hid them behind the settee with his treasures.
    On Friday night he went to the fair.
    Mum gave him some money. “There’s sixpence each, and a penny between you for sweets.”
    “Do I
have
to take Doreen?”
    “Do you want to go or not?”
    Lennie resolved to think of Doreen as six and a half extra pennies in his pocket.
    Doreen came downstairs wearing new socks, bright white.
    “What are you wearing those for?” Mum demanded.
    The socks had been a present from Aunty Elsie for Doreen’s birthday; they were so wondrously white and new that until now Mum had permitted Doreen to wear them only when they went to Elsie’s for tea.
    Doreen stuck out her lower lip.
    “You’re not wearing those at the fair,” Mum insisted. “Go and get your fawn ones.”
    “Don’t
like
them!” Doreen’s chin trembled.
    “You won’t like those if they get covered in mud. Get your old ones. Now!”
    Doreen flounced across the room and stomped upstairs.
    “That one should be on the stage,” said Mum. “Now, look after her, won’t you, Lennie? And keep your coats on – it’s bitter out. Look, put this scarf