Against the Tide by John Hanley Read Free Book Online Page B

she saw my face.
    â€˜Yak, buenos tardes . Come in, you are most welcome.’ Her voice was much deeper than her slender figure suggested and heavy with a Spanish accent. However hard she tried, she couldn’t pronounce my name, so I was forever a hefty Siberian ox to her Spanish tongue. She hugged and kissed me on both cheeks then, with a broad wink, ushered me into the kitchen.
    Rachel looked up and laughed at my startled expression. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just about to leave.’
    â€˜Nonsense, you stay, talk to Yak. You say you have thing to tell him.’
    Rachel’s face reddened.
    â€˜Not now, Malita. I have to go. My parents will be expecting their tea.’
    â€˜Ah, you too soft with them. They have hands. They make own food.’ She sounded exasperated as though this was an old argument, often repeated.
    â€˜Why aren’t you two at work?’ I asked.
    â€˜We’re surprised as well. They closed the workroom so we could watch the ship arrive. I suppose we’ll have to make the time up later. You looked very smart, Jack,’ Rachel answered as she got up and held her chair for me.
    I brushed against her as I moved to sit down. The chair was warm from her body and a faint scent, more simple than Caroline’s exotic perfumes, hung in the air. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy, as though she had been crying. I knew that she and Malita worked together in the dressmaking department at de Gruchys, but hadn’t realised they were this close. I felt like I’d broken into an intimate conversation. Malita led her to the door.
    She paused and smiled back at me. ‘I would like to speak to you sometime, Jack. It’s not important though. When you have a moment…’ her voice tailed off as she turned away.
    I was intrigued. We’d been friends for years but she’d never spoken like that before, as though she were frightened of me. What had I done? Should I go after her? I got up as I heard the front door close.
    Malita blocked my way. ‘Not for now, Yak. She need time, alone.’ She shrugged and motioned me to sit. Grabbing a ladle from the range, she banged it against one of the copper pans hanging above. Once they’d stopped reverberating, I heard movement from the basement, followed by footfalls on the wooden steps. Uncle Fred, wearing overalls, covered in sawdust, appeared from the passageway.
    â€˜Jack, coumme est qu’ tu’es ? ’ He limped over and grasped me on both shoulders. ‘ I, y,a Iongtemps qu, je n,vos avais pon veu.’
    It hadn’t been that long but I had neglected them since Caroline had returned from her travels. I had brought her round to meet them. I wouldn’t repeat that mistake.
    â€˜Tch’est qu’en s’ait d’eune tassee d’thee?’ Fred motioned me to sit at the pine table while Malita turned to the kettle.
    â€˜Yes, please, Uncle, if you’re having one.’ I watched as Malita rattled the teapot out of the cupboard.
    â€˜Well, young man, what have you been up to then – playing at soldiers?’ In sharp contrast to his use of our Jèrriais language, Fred’s English accent was guaranteed to raise eyebrows, if not hackles. It was pure home counties, languid yet piercing, its contorted vowels a superb counterfeit of the aristocratic disdain which he so despised. He derived great amusement from mimicking his “class” enemy.
    â€˜Doing one’s duty, Uncle.’ I put on my own best accent.
    Fred’s lined face creased into a wide grin. ‘From the look of you, not a labour of love, I vow.’
    â€˜It was a bit hot, Uncle, in fact, someone had to jump into the harbour to cool off.’
    I told the story while Malita served the tea, reducing both of them to fits with my impersonation of Phillips.
    â€˜You need to be careful, Jack. His self-importance has cleansed his veins of any dint of kindness. Like all bullies,