The Complete Pratt by David Nobbs Read Free Book Online

Teddy.
    ‘Tact,’ mouthed Auntie Doris.
    ‘Tact?’ said Uncle Teddy.
    ‘Don’t rub it in that some folk haven’t got as much as others,’ hissed Auntie Doris, who always made things worse by protesting about them.
    ‘Oh. Right,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘Travelling light, eh? That’s the ticket. The rest’ll be quite safe here.’
    There was ample room for their luggage in the boot of the Armstrong-Siddeley ‘Twelve Plus’ Four-Light Saloon De Luxe.
    And then Henry knew that he couldn’t go.
    ‘Don’t want to go,’ he whimpered.
    Uncle Teddy gave Ada a sharp glance.
    ‘It’s nice there, Henry,’ said Ada.
    ‘I ’ate Kate,’ said Henry.
    ‘Don’t be silly. Tha’s never met her,’ said Ada.
    Henry began to scream.
    ‘We’ll be in the car,’ said Uncle Teddy grimly. ‘Come on, Doris.’
    Henry screamed and screamed and screamed. At first he screamed because he was terrified of leaving this cobbled, terraced, canal-side womb. Then he screamed because he was upset with himself for giving way to his fear. Then he screamed because he was angry with life because he was a helpless thing about which other people made decisions, and he had no choice about being put into positions where he had to scream. Then he was empty of fear and anger and shame, and he screamed because he couldn’t think of a way of stopping screaming without looking ridiculous.
    In the end he stopped out of sheer exhaustion.
    Ada closed the door for the last time, and led Henry to the waiting car. The top half of the headlights had been blacked out.
    ‘I thought it best if we were out of the road,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘I thought it might get it over with quicker if the performance was mainly for our benefit.’
    ‘It wasn’t a performance,’ said Ada.
    ‘Now you’ve not forgotten anything, have you?’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘We’re late. We’ve been delayed. I’m not turning back.’
    ‘He never turns back,’ said Auntie Doris, whose perfume filled the car.
    ‘I’ve not forgotten owt,’ said Ada.
    Uncle Teddy handed Ada a paper bag.
    ‘In case he’s carsick,’ he explained.
    ‘You didn’t have to say what it’s for. It’s obvious. You could just have handed it to her. You’ve made things worse,’ said Auntie Doris, who always made things worse by protesting about them. ‘You’ve put the idea of being carsick into his head.’
    ‘You won’t be carsick, will you, Henry?’ said Uncle Teddy.
    ‘No, Uncle Teddy,’ said Henry in little more than a whisper.
    ‘Let’s gerron wi’ it,’ said Ada.
    ‘He has to have his little argument,’ said Auntie Doris.
    ‘I do not have to have my little argument,’ said Uncle Teddy. ‘I do not have to have my little argument, Doris.’
    ‘Don’t clench your teeth at me,’ said Auntie Doris.
    ‘Tha can go now,’ said Ada. ‘T’ whole street’s seen her fur wrap.’
    ‘I’ll put that down to tension and ignore it,’ said Uncle Teddy, crashing angrily into first gear and setting off with a jerk.
    Henry Pratt had lived at number 23 Paradise Lane for five years and almost six months. Never, in the rest of his life, would he remain in one home for so long.
    The nearest that he would come to it would be at Low Farm, near the village of Rowth Bridge, in the spectacular landscape of Upper Mitherdale.
    But I anticipate. They weren’t there yet. There were problems on the long journey from womb-cobble to world-hill.
    The first problem was petrol. Or rather, the lack of it. ‘He always leaves it too late,’ said Auntie Doris, as Uncle Teddy trudged back into the distance with his can, towards the garage at which he had declined to stop because he ‘didn’t like the cut of its jib’.
    The second problem was the signposts. Or rather, the lack of them. Most of them had been taken down, and the others had been pointed in the wrong direction, to confuse the Germans. It confused Uncle Teddy.
    ‘It’s lucky I know my county,’ he said. ‘I might get lost