Read Disappearing Home for Free Online Page B

the room. ‘Is there anything you’d like?’
    There is a photograph, of her as a young woman. She sits side-on, a crucifix hanging from a thin chain. Her fringe creased into a wave. I pick it up.
    â€˜That was taken in Jerome’s on London Road. I was working at the Adelphi, silver service, my day off. Vanity, I thought afterwards, when I heard about Jack in the war.’
    And she tells me what Jack had told her, and how he got used to the screams, and the sound of guns.
    â€˜Can I write on the back of the photo in case I forget?’
    I go into the living room and get a pen. I write:
My nan. Jerome’s London Road.
Nan finds a frame for it and I stand it on the mantelpiece in the living room. She turns off the light.
    â€˜Why did everything have to get dark?’
    â€˜You mean the power cuts? That’s a good dark, love. Nothing to be scared of; it’s the poor people teaching the rich people a lesson. Sometimes you have to fight for things to be fair.’
    â€˜Like you pestering the housing?’
    â€˜That’s right. Lie down and say nothing, people will forget all about you. There are good fights and bad fights. Come on now, into bed before they get home.’
    I say goodnight and try to get some sleep. But Nan turns on the radio in her room too loud. I can hear it through the wall. A bomb has exploded on a coach. Twelve people have died, two of them are children.
God forgive them,
Nan says,
killing innocent children.
    I’ll miss the way Nan barges into her own living room, late at night, refusing to be a visitor; tells both of them, who are resting their feet on her lino, to turn that contraption down. They look at her like she’s something they don’t need to see; unflushed pee in a pan. She looks right back at them like theyare itchy sores. I try to find that look in my own eyes, so I can throw it at Angela.
    My dreams are of Jack surrounded by the deafening sound of gunfire, men either side of him wounded, or worse. Writing letters home that would never be read. I see the words:
    My Darling May,
    There is a possibility I’ll be home next month. We’ll go to Southport on the train …
    Possibility. The b stands to attention like Jack, when he first joined the army.

6
    S tephen Foley has been chosen to take me to the headmaster’s office. In the corridor he grips my wrist with both hands. I snatch it away. ‘Get off me. I know where the office is.’
    Stephen looks hurt, like he’s just trying to make the best of the job he’s been given. I don’t care. I won’t let him touch me.
    Blackbeard comes out of the office with the dinner register. ‘What’ve you been up to?’ she asks.
    â€˜Nothing,’ I say.
    When she walks away Stephen says, ‘I reckon you’ll get six of the best for nicking Angela’s vanity case. Sean Holmes got six of the worst for nicking fags out of Mrs Heraty’s bag. She’s a teacher, though.’
    When I tell him I don’t know what he’s talking about, he explains that six of the best means palms and lower fingers, while six of the worst means fingertips.
    He knocks at the office door. Mr Merryville is sitting with both shoes up on the desk, ankles crossed, swinging backwards on the legs of his chair. There are no windows in the room, just walls lined with important-looking books and files. In the corner by thedoor he has a tall filing cabinet. Right in the middle of each drawer there’s a card with three letters of the alphabet on it. Except for the bottom one, that has Y and Z. There are no kids in my class (or the whole school) that I can think of, whose second names begin with Y or Z. It’s probably empty.
    Mr Merryville’s eyes rest on Stephen.
    â€˜Name?’
    â€˜Foley, sir. Stephen Foley. Mr Thorpe sent me down with Robyn, sir.’ Stephen turns to me. ‘Please, sir, here she is, sir, can I go back to class, sir?’
    I glance at