A Liverpool Song by Ruth Hamilton Read Free Book Online

issue’s safely archived, but don’t say
anything. Give it here – I’ve an old bag somewhere.’ He glanced sideways. ‘And I don’t mean Edith.’
    Chuckling, Andrew offered his thanks, took the bag and left the building. Outside, he sat on the steps. Heathfield Farm. It wouldn’t be to the south, because the area between Bolton and
Manchester was mostly housing and business development. The answer lay in the building behind him, in the maps section, but he had to get home, as Mother would have the meal ready. What would she
say if she knew what her son was up to? Well, she certainly approved of brains and initiative, and he was using both.
    Mother no longer slept in the same room as Dad. The official reason was Joe’s snoring, but Andrew wasn’t fooled for one moment. He needed to find the Beauchamps, befriend them and,
eventually, tell them who he was. If they were the right Beauchamps, that was. Should her marriage end, Mother might need support beyond anything her son could offer.
    Now. Time to invent the next lie. He could pretend to be working on a holiday assignment on wildlife in the north-west. With his trusty steed, a bicycle bought for his birthday, together with
snacks and drinks, he would be able to take off daily once he had found the farm’s location. Mother would have no idea about his real intentions, and she wouldn’t worry about him.
    A second lie was preparing itself. He would tell the Beauchamps that he was researching husbandry with particular reference to cattle. With luck and good management, he might inveigle himself
into the household. He would offer to work as a farmhand, with lunch as payment. How adept he was becoming at dishonesty. Perhaps he ought to become a journalist. They seemed to need the ability to
bend the truth to achieve a headline.
    He reshaped the magazine so that it fitted into his saddlebag, and cycled home. After greeting Emily, he washed his hands at the kitchen sink and sat at the table.
    ‘We must wait for your father.’
    ‘Yes, of course. Where is he?’
    She walked to the window and beckoned. ‘Look at him,’ she whispered. ‘He’s having the time of his life.’
    Dad, who hated cats, was playing with the kitten. The animal was chasing a table-tennis ball all over the lawn, while Dad chased her. ‘He’s not supposed to like cats.’
Childishly angry, Andrew resented the idea of Joe’s taking over the care of Toodles. She was his cat, not his dad’s.
    ‘Your father’s a good man, Andrew. Not perfect, but good enough. For some odd reason, Toodles’ fur doesn’t make him sneeze.’ She paused. ‘You’ve been
missed at the workshop, by the way. The men have been asking after you.’
    So the first of the next two lies was born. He’d been preparing the start of his wildlife project, he said; now, he needed to go into woods to find examples of the subject. ‘We have
to train ourselves in observation,’ he concluded.
    ‘Keep your distance from badgers if you see any,’ she warned. ‘They look sweet, but they aren’t, and their anger is born in sensible fear of humans. And remember that
foxes are shy, because we are their main enemy too. If they have babies, stay still and try not to let them see you.’
    And there spoke a true daughter of the countryside, Andrew decided. A few months in a farmhouse? A whole childhood might be nearer the mark.
    Joe brought in the cat and placed it on a fireside chair. ‘This thing should run with the greyhounds. Or Bolton Wanderers could use her as goalkeeper. Hello, lad.’ He went to wash
his hands.
    When he returned, his wife and son were discussing the etymology of the word forest. ‘Some say it came from Viking invaders,’ Andrew was saying, ‘and it meant an area set aside
so that the nobility might hunt. All very feudal. We would have been chased off as commoners.’
    But Emily clung fast to the belief that it was based in Latin.
    The trouble with having an educated son and a clever wife was