Poor Tom's Ghost by Curry Jane Louise

Author:Curry, Jane Louise [Curry, Jane Louise]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: General Fiction
Publisher: KMWillis Books
Published: 2013-07-21T16:00:00+00:00

These are but wilde and whurling words

TONY LOOKED ON WITHOUT MUCH interest as Roger swabbed the shallow gashes across his palm with antiseptic. “I don’t know,” he said. “I must’ve grabbed at somethin’ sharp as I fell. It doesn’t matter.”

Alan Collet looked at Tony, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, with baffled concern. “What is that supposed to mean? I come by with an offer of transport for the gear Jo says young Roger here has been packing, find one half-packed case, you looking as if you had gone a round with Ali, and ‘It doesn’t matter’? That hand looks as if you had taken hold of a double-edged knife.”

“I thought I had,” Tony said indistinctly. “But there wasn’t one.”

“What did happen? Surely there has to be more to it than ‘I must’ve been sleepwalkin’ again.’ Not, I grant you, that there aren’t streets up yonder in Kilburn where you could manage to get yourself roughed up at two or three in the morning.”

“Not Kilburn.” Tony winced as he straightened the hand for the bandage Roger held ready. “I dreamt—I dreamt I had to go to Fleet Street to ask the porter at the Temple if he knew where Cliffe had gone, where in Essex it was he lived. I thought … it seemed I was set upon. Someone from out a dark doorway, I thought. But when I came round, a police constable was helping me up, and he said there’d been no one, that he’d seen me fall. It took a while convincin’ him that I was capable, but in the end he saw me onto an N94 bus and told the conductor to make sure I didn’t miss the Elgin Avenue stop. And here I am.”

The question “Who is Cliffe?” sprang to Roger’s tongue, but he bit it back. It didn’t matter. It could not matter. His father had been walking in a dream. And seemed half in it still. Even his speech was strange—not softened, exactly, but … there were the elisions, the dropped Gs…

“Yes, here you are,” Alan agreed worriedly, his grin more rueful than amused. “And look at you. You’ll need an icebag for that swelling or you’ll be a very lumpy Dane this afternoon indeed. Have you such a thing?”

“In the bathroom.” Roger fixed the last strip of elastic tape round his father’s hand. “I’ll get it.”

When he had disappeared, Alan asked, “What ails young Roger? He seems as jumpy as a flea on a griddle. Is there something you’ve not told me?”

Tony shook his head wearily. “No, nothing. But you know kids. Give them somethin’ they can’t handle and they back away like wild animals. No look-ee, no wor-ry. I reckon he thinks the old man is fallin’ apart and it frightens him. I must say I don’t care for it much myself. I suppose I can thribble through this afternoon…” His voice trailed off uncertainly. “If only I could discover where Cliffe had gone,” he whispered.

“Cliffe? You mentioned him before.

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