Brenda wound the sheet up a little and read what written – or at least started to. Then, blushing, she averted her eyes, stared out the window. It was hot stuff: very polished, very stylish, extremely randy! Out of the corner of her eye she glanced at the sheet again. She loved seventeenth-century romances and Harry’s style was perfect – but this wasn’t a romance and his material was frankly pornographic.
Only then did she notice what she was looking at through the window: the old cemetery across the road. The graveyard, four hundred years old, with its great horse-chestnuts, glossy shrubbery and flower borders, its leaning, weathered headstones and generally well-tended pebble plots. And as she gazed, so she wondered at Harry’s choice of a dwelling-place. There were better flats around, all over town, but he had told her that he liked the view’. And it was only now that she’d realised what the view was. Oh, pretty enough in the summer, certainly, but a graveyard for all that!
Behind her Harry once again mouthed something and turned on his side. She crossed to where he lay and smiled gently down on him, then drew a sheet over his lower half. In the shade now, he was starting to shiver a little. In any case, she would soon have to wake him; it was time she got on her way. Her parents liked her to be in while it was still daylight, on those occasions when they didn’t know where she was. But first she would make some coffee. As she began to turn away Harry spoke yet again, and this time his words were very clear:
‘Don’t worry, Ma. I’m a big boy now. I can take care of myself. You can rest easy . . .’ He paused and even sleeping seemed to adopt an attitude of listening. Then:
‘No, I’ve told you before, Ma – he didn’t hurt me. Why should he? Anyway, I went to Auntie and Uncle. They looked after me. Now I’m grown up. And very soon now, maybe when you know I’m okay, then you’ll be able to rest easy . . .’
Another pause, a brief period of listening, and: ‘But why can’t you, Ma?’
Then more incoherent mumbling before ‘. . . I can’t! Too far away. I know you’re trying to tell me something but . . . just a whisper, Ma. I hear some of it but . . . don’t know what . . . make out what you’re saying. Maybe if I come to see you, come to where you are . . .’ Harry was restless now and sweating profusely for all that he shivered. Looking at him, Brenda became a little worried. Was it some kind of fever? Sweat gathered in the hollow above the middle of his upper lip; it formed droplets on his forehead and made his hair damp; his hands jerked and twitched beneath the sheet. She reached out a hand and touched him. ‘Harry?’ ‘What! he burst awake, his eyes snapping open and staring fixedly, his entire body going rigid as an iron bar. ‘Who . . .?’
‘Harry, Harry! It’s only me. You were nightmaring.’ Brenda cradled him in her arms and he let her, curling up and throwing his arms about her. ‘It was about your Mam, Harry. Listen, you’re all right now. Let me go and make some coffee.’
She hugged him tighter for a moment, then gently released herself and stood up. His eyes, still wide open, followed her as she moved to the alcove where he had his rudimentary kitchen. ‘About my mother?’ he said.
Spooning instant coffee into mugs, she nodded. She filled the electric kettle and switched it on. ‘You called her “Ma”, and you were talking to her.’
He uncurled himself and sat up, brushing his fingers dazedly through his hair. ‘What did I say?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing much. Mainly mumbo-jumbo. You told her you were grown up now, and that she should rest easy. It was just a nightmare, Harry.’
By the time the coffee was ready he had dressed himself. They said no more about his nightmare but drank their coffees; then he walked her down to the bus-stop for Harden, where they waited in silence until the bus came. At the last, before she boarded, he kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘See you soon’ he said.