Beware This Boy by Maureen Jennings Read Free Book Online

muscle in his face was twitching non-stop and he could hardly stand still, jigging like a caged animal, one that would bite without hesitation.
    Brian went over to the little dresser that her mother had moved into the shelter for her tea things. The cramped space had Beatrice’s signature written all over it: the spirit stove on an upturned painted box, the two camp beds covered with colourful quilts and cushions, an old rug on the floor. Two chairs. An oil heater was in the corner. There was even a photograph stuck on the bare wall of a pugnacious Winston Churchill, whom her mother greatly admired. A green velour curtaindiscreetly hid the chamber pot in the corner. One of the family jokes was that if Beattie Abbott ever mistakenly got sent to Hades, she’d start fixing it up to make it homely.
    “Granddad wouldn’t come down here without his roll-ups. Where are they?” asked Brian, jerking open the dresser drawer and scattering the tea package and cups to the floor, breaking one of them.
    “Brian, stop it this minute,” Eileen said sharply. “Look at you, you’ve broken that cup.”
    He turned around to face her. His expression was dark and wild but her presence obviously brought with it the old authority of aunts over young nephews.
    “Sorry,” he mumbled.
    “There might be some Woodbines in the house. Let’s go in there where it’s warmer. I’m freezing.”
    “Then what?”
    “What do you mean, then what?”
    “Are you going to try to talk me into giving myself up?”
    “That might be the best thing to do, Brian.”
    “I’ll die first.”
    “Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. You always did have a tendency to blow things out of proportion.”
    “I’ll be executed if I go back. Hung by the neck until dead.”
    “Not these days – we need fighting men too badly. You weren’t even on the front line. You’ll go to jail for a few weeks and that will be it.”
    “Then I will have to go back to the war.”
    Eileen sat down in one of the chairs, clasping her hands. “Likely not. You’d probably be given a desk job.”
    He didn’t respond to this. Then he said, “How’s Vanessa? Have you talked to her lately?”
    “Not since last week. We had tea together in the canteen.”
    “I should have gone to her house when I got here, but herparents would have called the police. They never really liked me. She’s probably wondering where I am. I wrote and said I had some leave coming.”
    “Your mum told us that.”
    He started to fidget. “They cancelled it at the last minute. Rumour was we were going to Africa. To the desert.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “You know me, I don’t even like going to Blackpool. I decided to take my own leave. Permanent.” He fished in his pocket and took out a small bottle. “A bloke gave these to me. Benzedrine. They issue them to the RAF lads to keep them awake.”
    He was about to shake a couple into his hand when Eileen stopped him.
    “I think you should hold off on those things. How long have you been taking them?”
    “Since Wednesday. They really work. I thought I’d better stay on the alert. I’ve been on the run. I couldn’t risk having my rail warrant checked, so I’ve been travelling at night. Jumping on the backs of lorries mostly.” He paused. “You remember the Cowans? When I got to Brum, I ended up in their house. Just chance, really. I didn’t realize it at first but then I saw them. They were both dead, Auntie. Sitting like statues underneath the stairs.”
    “So I understand.”
    “I didn’t see them at first. They must have taken cover in the broom cupboard, and in the murk I hadn’t noticed them through the slats. They were sitting on two chairs, both covered with plaster dust, both quite upright, and both quite dead.”
    “They were good, kind people,” said Eileen.
    “Me and Jack used to go and sing carols in front of their house at Christmas.” He burst out in his hoarse voice, “
Please put a penny in the old man’s hat. If