The Cuckoo's Child by Margaret Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

south.
    â€œWhy?” I asked stupidly.
    â€œAh, itchy feet,” said Jerry, “nothing particular, just time for me to move on. Never rest too long in one place, you know—no moss on me, that’s for sure!”
    â€œBut what will you do?”
    â€œWhat do I ever do? I’ll find something, fishing, handiman, all I need’s a place for the boat. Plenty of those up and down the coast.”
    â€œBut how will we keep in touch? You’re not just going off and never getting in touch again, are you? Say you’ll write, or phone at least.”
    â€œWell,” he said, “I’m not much for writing. I’ll phone, though. You won’t be rid of me.”
    â€œWhen are you leaving?” Neil asked.
    â€œI’ll be off on Saturday.”
    â€œAh, jeez,” said Neil. “I’ve got a game in Stanley Park. We’re all going over on Friday night. We can’t even see you off.”
    â€œProbably better that way. I’m not one for goodbyes. No, you come down to see me when I get settled, how’s that?”
    He turned to Daniel, who was solemnly listening, folded his arms round him, and tickled him. “You’ll come and see me, won’t you? We’ll go to Disneyland, what d’you say, eh? Is that a plan?”
    And Daniel squirmed and shrieked, and we all smiled, for that did, indeed, sound like a plan, and looking forward to a visit to the United States, seeing Jerry in a new environment, was much better than dwelling on departure and goodbyes.
    But we felt the loss. It was a hole in our lives, and as far as I could see, it had to be a wrench for Jerry too. Despite his cheerfulness, there was a streak of Celtic melancholy a mile deep in the man that oozed out with a few beers inside him. He was always friendly, yet he always seemed lonely. There was no woman in his life—“Tried that once,” he’d told me, darkly. “Never again. Some guys are just meant to be old bachelors, I guess. I do just fine by myself.” He looked wistful, though, when he said it, a little boy shut out and longing to be let in. So I worried about him going off into the blue like that, with so little purpose, but life goes on, you know, and takes turns you never expect, and suddenly those things that seem most important one minute are forgotten the next. At least, that’s my experience.
    We rang Jerry to say goodbye on the Friday afternoon, just before we left for the ferry, but the phone was already disconnected.
    So that was that.
    We were all subdued on the ferry. Daniel couldn’t understand why Jerry had gone.
    â€œDidn’t he like us, Mummy?” he asked. “Won’t he take me to Disneyland now?”
    Neil and I looked at each other over Daniel’s head. We were sitting on a locker on the ferry deck, huddled out of the wind behind a peeling bulkhead. The wind tore at our hair, lashing it into our eyes. Neil’s long, bony nose looked faintly pink at the tip, the only vestige of colour in a face leached white by the chill. My own nose, I knew, would be a scarlet blob at odds with my hair. In that moment our eyes locked, I knew exactly what he was thinking. We can say of course he likes us, of course he’ll take you to Disneyland , the little internal voice was saying, but do I believe it? Was he a real, no-matter-what kind of friend, or just a ship passing in the night, just another person we promise to keep in touch with, come what may? Then the weeks go by, and months, and somehow we haven’t managed to do anything about it, and then the first Christmas has been and gone, and you feel guilty but not guilty enough, and soon it’s years and you say one day, I wonder what became of so-and-so? And there’s a spasm of nostalgia, pleasantly melancholy for a minute, before you tuck the memory away again and forget a little more, and forgive yourself the forgetting.
    â€œIt’s all up to him,” I