Mr Mac and Me by Esther Freud Read Free Book Online Page B

although when sober he will never be drawn on who they are. He snarls at them and curses and when he knocks a tankard to the floor, Mother comes out of the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up, her hands dripping. ‘William Maggs!’ She takes his arm as if she has nothing to fear, and Ann, who’s been hovering behind her, flits round and seizing hold of me rushes us both out of the room.
    ‘Is this the way to run an inn?’ Mother scolds, and he storms back, ‘I’ll have no petticoat government, don’t you know!’ And he says it again, louder, as we scuttle up the ladder to bed.
    Mother laughs, because sometimes laughing is the thing that works. But she’s not laughing for long.
    I’m cold tonight, for all that it’s still August, and I lie against Ann’s back and pray for Mother whose clear voice I can hear in the room below battling against his wild one. There’s a crash, it may be a table going over, and I fear for my boat, half finished, the ink still wet. The back door slams, and I hear Mother’s steps rush out into the night. I want to get up and go to her, but our room opens into theirs, and I daren’t come face to face with Father at the top of the ladder. I tussle with him in my thoughts. Kicking at his face, twisting away as his hand grabs at my ankle. I free myself and stamp on his fingers, so that he slips one rung and I give a cheer.
    Ann elbows me and I lie still. I won’t sleep till Mother is back. I’ve made a promise. Instead I listen to the sounds of the night. An owl hooting, high as a flute, and behind it, behind everything, the roar of the sea. Ann lies awake beside me, but we don’t talk. What is there to say? Finally we hear Father creak across the floorboards and heave down into the bed. I wait a moment for his snore, and then I climb out from under the covers and stand at the window, waving, in case Mother can see me and know that it’s safe to come inside.
    ‘Tommy,’ Ann hisses. ‘Stop that now.’ And she leaps out of bed and pulls me from the window.
    ‘What?’ I go to fling her off.
    But her grip is tight. ‘What if the enemy is out there and takes your flapping for a sign?’
    I thought I was cold before but now I’m so cold that my body shakes, and I’m too frightened to do anything other than crouch below the window out of sight. ‘Get in, you fool,’ Ann holds the cover for me, and I crawl to the bed and once I’m in, I let her fold her warm self around me, just as Mother used to do when I was small.
    It’s morning when I next open my eyes and the cock is crowing where the owl once called. Below the window is the sound of Mother sweeping and then the squeak of the well shaft as she pulls the water up. She must have stayed out, slept in the open like our nation’s men, or more likely on the bench by the back door. I feel under the mattress for my growing bag of coins and I think of the day when I will surprise her with them. See the smile flash across her face.

Chapter 18
    The same day two Liverpools are billeted at our inn the first refugees arrive. They come by boat, women and children mostly. A few old men. From Belgium. They dock at the harbour and Dr Collings goes aboard, but rumour has it that he’s soon on dry land again. It was a bad crossing, that was for certain, and every man, woman and child is green as the sea, and the deck strewn with their suffering. But by the time I see them they’re washed and clean and sitting round a long table at the Constitutional Hall where Mother helps to serve them a lunch of bread and ham. I’m there to help too. Bring in the plates and cups and fill the kettle with water, but really I’ve come along to gawp. I’ve never seen a foreigner before. Only Mac, and the herring girls, who, hard as they are to understand, are ruled by the same king. The Belgians, much as I stare at them, don’t seem so different from us. The women are bare-headed, that’s true, ours never go out without a hat, but their hair is tied back and