Water Theatre by Lindsay Clarke Read Free Book Online Page B

your dad do, lad?” asked Hal.
    â€œHe works at Bamforth Brothers.”
    â€œDoes he now? I know Eric Bamforth. Not a bad sort, though some of his opinions are outrageous. Have you met him?”
    â€œHe came along to a works’ cricket match once.”
    â€œYour dad’s a cricketer, eh?” Hal beamed his approval. “Batsman or bowler?”
    â€œBoth really. He loves all sports.”
    â€œBut you don’t?”
    Martin frowned at his plate, confused to find himself so transparent. “Not really my thing.”
    â€œBecause he wishes it were?”
    Unused to such close pursuit, Martin mumbled a dull confession that he’d never thought of it that way.
    â€œAt least you were supporting your dad,” Hal said. “At the match I mean.”
    â€œI was scorer.”
    â€œI see,” Hal pressed. “So what’s your dad’s job at the mill?”
    â€œHe’s the boiler-firer.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Marina asked.
    â€œThe stoker,” Adam answered her.
    â€œShovelling coal you mean?” She was looking only for clarity, intending no judgement or affront, but her frank gaze pushed Martin into deeper retreat.
    â€œThen he is the powerhouse of the place,” Emmanuel said. “Everything there depends on him. Isn’t that so, Hal?”
    â€œAbsolutely right – except it won’t be long before they’re forced to electrify.” Hal frowned his concern across at Martin. “I suppose your father knows that?”
    â€œHe hasn’t said anything.”
    â€œWell, it’s going to happen. And soon. It has to. While we can all still breathe.”
    â€œYou mean they’ll just sack him?” Marina put in.
    â€œIt depends,” Hal said. “If he’s a good cricketer, Eric Bamforth’ll find some way to keep him on if he can.”
    â€œLet’s hope so,” said Grace, who was seated on Martin’s right and sensed his discomfort. She tried to move things through onto safer ground. “So where do you live, Martin?”
    â€œIn town.”
    â€œYes, I’ve gathered that,” she smiled, “but whereabouts exactly?”
    â€œCripplegate.”
    â€œReally? I thought they were all commercial properties. I hadn’t realized that anyone actually lived there.” After amoment in which Martin failed to respond, she added: “It must be very convenient for the town centre.”
    Something in the young man’s flushed silence had reached Emmanuel, who smiled across at Martin now. “I myself was born in what you would call a mud hut, my friend,” he said, “and my father could not read or write at all.”
    Hal gave a little, chuckling laugh. “And now look at him – about to lead a whole new nation through to a time when none of them need say the same.”
    â€œGod willing,” the African murmured.
    â€œIt’s in
your
hands now,” Hal declared, then shifted his gaze back to Martin. “Believe it or not, lad,
my
old man shovelled some coal in his time as well. He worked as a fireman on the railways.
And
the old bugger voted Tory all his life!” Martin had sustained Hal’s appraising gaze with some difficulty; now he saw it melt into an amiable grin as the man said: “So as for your own stoker dad – be angry with him if you like. Fight him tooth and nail if you have to. But never be ashamed of him. It only weakens your own spirit.”
    â€œDon’t lecture the boy, Hal,” said Grace.
    â€œI was just letting the lad know there’s no call to be embarrassed on our account. Quite the reverse, in fact. You understand that, don’t you, Martin?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œHal, lad. The name’s Hal.”
    â€œHarold actually,” put in Marina, “as in Anglo-Saxon. It means ‘army rule’, though he doesn’t like to be reminded of it.”
    Briefly, father and