Stay Where You Are and Then Leave by John Boyne

number thirteen had nearly gone to jail for stealing coal from the shed at the back of the Scutworths’ house, a scandal that had set Damley Road aflame for weeks—but he was sure that Mr. Janá č ek would approve of what he was doing, and he promised himself that he would return it when the war was over and Kalena and her father finally returned to number six.
    If that day ever came.
    *   *   *
    Not long after this, Margie came home wearing a troubled expression on her face and told him that she had something important to say. They went into the parlor, where Alfie sat opposite her, his hands on his knees, leaning forward in expectation.
    â€œAlfie,” she said, not looking directly at him but staring into the fireplace instead. She didn’t say anything for a long time, but Alfie decided he wouldn’t speak until she did. He was afraid of what she was going to tell him and could already feel the tears beginning to brew at the back of his eyes. “I have a bit of news for you,” she said finally.
    â€œIs it good news?” asked Alfie.
    â€œWell, it’s not bad news,” she replied. “It’s just news, that’s all. Information.”
    â€œIs it about Dad?”
    She turned quickly and looked at him now, and their eyes met. It had been almost three years since Georgie had stepped into that same room in his soldier’s uniform and Margie had run crying from the room and Granny Summerfield had declared that they were finished, they were all finished.
    â€œIt’s not about your father,” said Margie, shaking her head. “Alfie, we’ve had this conversation before. He’s on a secret mission for the government, I told you that. That’s why he can’t get in touch with us anymore. It’s why he doesn’t write and why we can’t write to him.”
    Dad’s dead, thought Alfie.
    â€œI thought you understood all about that?” continued Margie, her voice rising a little as Alfie set his jaw and felt his teeth grinding against each other. Dad’s dead. He closed his eyes, and in his head he heard the sound of a train pulling into a station, the noise of its engines drowning out everything that his mother was saying … dead-Dad’s-dead-Dad’s-dead-Dad’s-dead  … Her lips were still moving; she was still talking, he knew she was, but he couldn’t hear her. He was blocking out every sound and could only hear those two words repeated over and over in his head.
    â€œAlfie, stop it!” cried Margie, pulling his hands away from his ears, and he opened his eyes now and swallowed hard. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
    â€œI was thinking about something, that’s all.”
    â€œWhat were you thinking about?”
    â€œDad.”
    Margie sighed. “Alfie, if you want to talk about your father, we can talk about your father. Is that what you want?”
    â€œTell me the truth about him.”
    â€œI’ve told you the truth.”
    â€œI’m not a baby,” insisted Alfie. “Tell me the truth.”
    Margie hesitated; for a moment it looked as if she really was going to tell him the truth, but the sound of Mr. Asquith’s hooves passing down Damley Road, his head turning automatically as he passed number twelve, pulled them both out of the moment and Alfie knew that there was no point in asking.
    â€œTell me your news, then,” he said at last.
    Margie shook her head. “Oh, Alfie,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t know that I have the energy now.”
    â€œTell me,” he insisted.
    â€œI’ve got a job,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “At the hospital. I’m to be a Queen’s Nurse.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” asked Alfie, frowning.
    â€œYou read the paper. I know you do,” she said, not knowing that Alfie only looked at the newspaper every day to read the