Reasons to Leave (Reasons #1)
Page 28
“Hmm. Well you shouldn’t ride so fast in the village, young man. I’ve seen you racing around before, and now I’ve got your name in my notebook. Make sure you ride more carefully in future, because I don’t want to have to pull you up again.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I’ll be more careful, sir. Can I go now?” asked Walt.
The bobby sighed. “Yes, Johnson. On your way.”
Wally threw his leg over the bike, and took off. To the casual observer, his rate of progress didn’t appear to be significantly slower than the speed at which he was travelling prior to being pulled up.
Already fit, Walt’s new role saw him further develop his wiry strength. Now seventeen, his initial work in the foundry required him to regularly carry fifty pound blocks of brass – one in each arm. Long days in this hot environment, coupled with his weekend cycling and camping trips, saw Walt continue to maintain his high level of fitness. However, the extra strength he gained did not result in any additional body mass – he remained tall and skinny.
His strength was put to good use shortly thereafter, when the family moved from the countryside into a terrace house within the village of Oswaldtwistle proper. Between them, Walt and his father completed the majority of the move.
As they struggled up the stairs bearing a large chest of drawers, Ted commented. “You’re getting stronger, lad; maybe as strong as me.”
A grunt was Walt’s only reply, but he was, nevertheless, pleased with the compliment.
Walt’s mother, Hannah, met them at the top of the stairs. Hannah was a tall, good-looking woman, whose shapely figure was not entirely disguised by the formless white dress and black apron she was wearing. Her sleeves were rolled up and a lock of black hair had escaped and hung over her eye. “Just put it down over there. Walt, quick, come here to the window. Look at that pretty girl.”
“Oh, Mum,” Walt protested, but slouched across to the window. He looked in the direction his mother was indicating.
It was the girl. The one he’d seen window-shopping at Kenyon’s Gift Shop. She was walking down the street towards them, talking to a friend. Her short brown hair framed a smiling face that Wally thought looked stunningly beautiful. The two girls stopped at the front door of the terrace next door to Wally’s. They chatted for another few seconds, before the girl pulled a key out of her bag, unlocked the door and let herself in. The friend continued walking down the street.
Walt’s mind raced. Could the girl really be his neighbour? His mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “What do you think of that, son?”
“Huh? Oh yes. That’s a girl.”
At lunchtime on the Friday of his fourth week at Lang Bridge’s, Walt washed his hands in preparation for the midday meal. As he dried his hands, Mr Norton entered the tea room and called out to him. “Wally, come here for a moment.”
Walt halted in mid-stride, turned and followed Mr Norton to the office. He smiled to himself at the sight of the crystal radio set he’d made sitting on the shelf. Standing to attention, he waited for Mr Norton to initiate the conversation.
“Your one month trial is up today, Wally. How have you found it?”
“Good, sir. I’m working with a capital bunch of blokes – they’ve made me welcome – and I’m learning all the time. Things couldn’t be better.”
Mr Norton pulled a letter out of a file, signed it with a flourish and handed it to Walt. “I’ve spoken to Mr Gordon, and he’s happy with your progress. Congratulations, Wally, you’re now a full-time employee.”
“Thank you, Mr Norton. You won’t regret it. I’m going to keep working hard and learning.”
“You’re welcome, Wally,” smiled Mr Norton. “Just one more question. Are you still making those radios? I mentioned this one to my old mum and she asked if you would make her one.”
Wally smiled. “That won’t be a problem, sir. I’ll have one for you on Monday.”
Whistling, Walt strode off to his bicycle and headed homeward. As he rushed through town the policeman on the corner gave a warning blast on his whistle. “Watch your speed, Mr Johnson!”
Wally laughed and gave a wave. Nothing could detract from his mood this afternoon. As he rode up the hill towards his street, he noticed three girls walking ahead, arms linked. Although he was a hundred yards away and could only see the backs of their heads, he knew his neighbour was one of them. He accelerated to catch her before she reached her house; although as he drew near, he slowed down in order to examine her more closely, and to give her a chance to examine him.
He rang his bell as he rode past. Thirty yards later he pulled up at his front door, aware that the eyes of the girls were probably on him. He took his time dismounting, before unlocking the front door and walking inside.
His mother greeted him. “Hello, dear. You’re looking pleased with yourself. Did you have a good day?”
“You could say that,” replied Wally.
A short while later, as Walt was applying the finishing touches to the radio for Mr Norton’s mother, Hannah came into the sitting room, drying her hands on her apron. “Walt, can you dash out to the bakery and get a loaf of bread? There’s a dear.”
“Yes, Mum. I’ll just finish fixing this wire and then I’ll take off. I won’t be a second.”
Leaving the unfinished radio on the kitchen table, he put down his screwdriver, picked up the sixpence offered by his mum (“make sure you bring the change home”) and walked to the front door.
As he stepped onto the pavement, he was aware of movement to his left. He looked across, aware of a sudden strong beating of his heart, and a dry sensation in his mouth. His neighbour’s door was opening. The door was painted a shade of bright yellow, contrasting sharply with the dull grey bricks of the terrace house. He could see nothing more than a dimly lit corridor through the half-opened door. He waited expectantly.
The girl stepped out and looked up as if surprised. She smiled brightly. “Hullo there.”
“Uh, hi” stammered Walt. The girl wore a light, floral dress. Her dark hair was cut in a pageboy style, her small nose was slightly upturned, and Walt thought he could detect a twinkle in her eye. The overall impression was of good humour, and Walt thought she looked as pretty up close as she had appeared from a distance.
She looked at him quizzically. “Err. Forgive me for asking, but how old are you?”
“I’ve just turned seventeen.” Walt paused, scuffing his shoe on the pavement. “By the way, my name’s Wally.”
“Hi, Wally, I’m Mary and I’m eighteen.”
The ice broken, Wally suddenly felt a little more confident. “I’ve seen you around town a few times,” he observed. “I noticed you looking in the windows at Kenyon’s a few times when I used to work at Walmsley’s Butchers. And then when we moved here a few weeks ago, I was surprised to see you walking down the street.”
“You saw me at Kenyon’s? It’s a small world. I’ve seen you racing around town on your bike as well. I’m not sure why you haven’t come a cropper yet. You seem to travel at a frightfully fast speed.”
Walt smiled. “I’m always careful, although the Bobbies have pulled me up once or twice and told me to slow down.” He kicked the ground again. After a moment’s hesitation he looked back at Mary. “Listen, do you ever go dancing?”
Mary nodded. “I go down to the Co-op rooms on a Thursday night. The dance starts at seven. My father always takes me.”
“Thursday night. Righto. I’ll be there this week,” he blurted out in a rush. “Would you mind if I asked you for a dance?”
Mary smiled. “That sounds lovely.”
The dark blue front door of Wally’s house opened and his mother looked out. “Oh, Wally! Good, you’re back. Your father is getting impatient for his dinner.”
Wally looked at Mary, a sheepish smile on his face. He turned to his mother. “Sorry, Mum, I actually haven’t left yet. I was just talking to Mary here. I’d better run. Bye, Mary.”
Hannah smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mary.”
Wally took off down the street on his bike. Hannah and Mary both stepped back into their respective homes. It was only as Wally arrived at the bakery that he realised Mary hadn’t gone anywhere. She’d come out of the front door when he had, but gone straight back inside when the conversation finished. Could she have stepped outside just to see him?
Feeling pleased with himself, he raced home. As he entered the house, his father looked up from his newspaper. “About bloody time, lad. Did you bake the loaf yourself?” he asked. “And you can wipe that silly grin off your face.”
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgements:
Dedications:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Prologue
About The Author