Page 5

Gladys was startled by the nearby chimes of Big Ben.
'Granny held the family together. When she died everything went wrong. Why do we have to die?'
Parnell appeared at the door. She watched him hump his bulk into his overcoat.
"Right, we're off."
"What am I supposed to say? Go and dine with the devil! I'm
staying here."
"Please yourself."
Parnell tugged at the heavy curtains. Clouds as black as tarred rocks heaped along roof-ridges.
"We'll cut the trip short if it starts raining."
"Go for good if you want to. I'm sick of this lousy place. If I get blown-up while you're dallying with Mother Nature who'll care? What about Rory's schooling? Pack him off to his Grandmother. Hanging out with the scruffs in the square has left him halfway illiterate."
Her thoughts. Her nagging. His nostrils' filled with the reek of cordite. Though subdued, the light stabbed at his eyes returning visions of old battles and dead comrades heaped in lunar craters.
"We'll not repeat past mistakes. His schooling can wait."
"Don't bully me - just go."
"I'll not fight with you, woman. Rory and I will enjoy the day browsing about our new home."
"Your new home, Parnell. It'll never be mine with you in it."
On the stairs fury made him careless and he stumbled, the banisters saving him. His troubled son followed saying nothing. On the street a cold wind extinguished the flames that scorched Parnell's brain. Evil smoke from cheap coal trapped in the damp air smogged the central garden. He choked and took Rory's arm.
"Sky's not promising but we'll be back before blackout."
"Dad. . . I'll not go to another boarding school?"
"No chance of that son."

Ninety minutes later, nearing their destination, the sky lifted.
"The rain is holding off."
Rory saw something akin to triumph in his father's eyes.

6

Ernest Parnell slowed the big black sedan as they approached a solitary tumble down cottage. Before reaching it he turned right at a large sign advertising a prestigious housing development. He changed into first gear and cruised gingerly over the rough surface of an un-metalled farm track that finally broke through enclosing beech and birch to reveal rolling vistas. Back at the turn-off the developer's sign had read 'Road Not Adopted'.
"Rough going son. The site has changed out of all recognition in the last two months."
Their interest focused on spacious dwellings set in generous, well-wooded, plots. Many were occupied. The houses aped romantic period styles, extravagantly mannered Tudor gables nestling among elegant neo-Georgian pediments. Parnell confessed it had been a hard choice.
"Tudor is Christmas-card phoney but it fits my dreams."
He stabbed his thumb towards theatrical gables and tracery windows.
"That kind of fantasy made me to want to live here."
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I think living here will be a good experience - you agree?"
The semi-rural location was on a direct line to London Bridge.
"I need greenery and a good train service."