Under the Bridges by Anne Forsyth Page A

Grandpa’s garden, and they’d kept well, stored in the shed. That reminded her . . . once she’d finished baking, she would put on her boots and go along to see how he was getting on. Oh, he had good neighbours who would see that he had plenty of food, and his daily paper delivered, but it would be like him to try to go out, even in this weather.
    â€˜Anyone in?’
    Nancy whirled round, and saw Walter’s face appear round the kitchen door.
    â€˜Walter!’ Nancy felt a moment of swift panic. ‘Why . . . I mean you’re home early. Is it—is there anything wrong?’
    â€˜Now calm down, Mrs M,’ he said kindly. ‘Nothing’s wrong—and Matt will be home shortly. You wouldn’t expect us to work in this weather, would you?’
    â€˜Of course not.’ Nancy felt foolish, but relief swept through her.
    â€˜You’ve no need to be anxious,’ he reassured her. ‘You know we don’t work when there’s high winds, or danger of icing. We’ve stopped work early today, and I wondered if there was any chance of a cup of tea.’
    â€˜Just sit yourself down and I’ll put the kettle on.’
    Walter moved over to the window and stood, gazing out.
    â€˜It’s a long time since we had a winter like this. Nineteen forty-seven was the last bad winter—so one of the lads was saying.’
    â€˜I feel for anyone who’s working outside,’ Nancy shivered. ‘And as for these men on the snow-ploughs—I read in the paper about one crew, stuck in their cab overnight, without food or drink.’
    â€˜Aye, they’re doing a grand job,’ Walter agreed. ‘Working through the night to clear the roads.’
    * * *
    â€˜I hope the kettle’s on.’
    Matt was at the door, stamping his feet and swinging his arms. He shook the snow from his duffel coat and pulled off his cap.
    Nancy noticed that the melting snow was dripping on to the linoleum as he stood there, blowing on his fingers. Even in the warmth of her kitchen Nancy could imagine how raw and bleak it must be for the men working on the bridge.
    â€˜What about Miss McAllister?’ Walter asked, concerned. ‘They’ll surely close the school early.’
    â€˜I expect she’ll be home soon,’ Nancy said as she poured the tea. ‘There’s scones,’ she added, ‘and honey. And it’s your favourite, apple pie for pudding.’
    â€˜We never ate so well before you came here, Walter!’ Matt grinned.
    â€˜Cheek!’ Nancy pretended to be affronted.
    â€˜Speaking of food,’ Matt said, as he stirred his tea. ‘What about Grandpa? Will he be all right? It’s going to snow again.’
    â€˜I’m going to pop along if the bus is running, just to see he’s all right,’ Nancy said. ‘If only he had a phone. It would be useful at times like this.’
    â€˜You don’t need to venture out, Mum. I’ll go.’ Matt was on his feet. ‘Nothing else to do today—no football, everything’s closed. And no work tomorrow—isn’t that right, Walter?’
    â€˜We’ll see. I’ll go down to the bridge later on, see what’s happening. But I doubt it, not with this wind rising.’
    â€˜Oh, thank you, Matt,’ Nancy said. ‘I’ve some groceries put by for Grandpa.’ She smiled at her elder son. What a good lad he was!
    â€˜I’d best go now, then,’ Matt said, draining his cup. ‘I’ll get a lift if the bus isn’t running. Expect me back for the apple pie. Oh!’ He threw a couple of packets on the table. ‘I promised to get these for Roy.’
    â€˜What are they?’
    â€˜Sweetie cigarettes.’ Matt grinned. ‘Popeye and Laurel and Hardy. He wanted them for his collection.’
    â€˜He’ll be that pleased.’
    Nancy smiled affectionately at her son. He was so thoughtful.
    â€˜I’ll be as