The Man Who Cried by Catherine Cookson

Author:Catherine Cookson [Cookson, Catherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-12-29T06:00:00+00:00

away from him while becoming a young woman.

He watched her wet her finger on her tongue and apply it to the iron; then happening to look at him she paused and said, ”You’re miles away again. What are you thinking about?”

”I ... I wasn’t miles away, I was thinking about you.”

”Oh.”

”It’s just struck me that you’re very like Aunt Florrie.”

”Oh now! Now!” She made a soft deriding noise. ”Your Aunt Florrie isn’t only the smartest dressed woman in the town she’s the best looking too, if I’m any judge.”

”Well . . . well, I wasn’t meaning your face, I ... I was meaning your figure like.”

”Oh thank you. Thank you.”

”Aw, I didn’t mean it that way. You’re all right.”

”Up to here you mean ?” She held the back of her hand under her chin.

And yes, that’s what he did mean ’cos she didn’t look a bit like Aunt Florrie. Her black hair was as straight as a die and all other young women’s hair seemed to be frizzy or wavy. And she hadn’t any colour in her face; sallow, he supposed, was the word for her skin. But she had nice eyes; they were long-shaped with heavy lids. He remembered his dad once remarking about her eyes and saying they were beautiful, and his Aunt Hilda had added it was a pity the rest of her face didn’t come up to them, which he thought wasn’t very nice. But then his Aunt Hilda often said things that weren’t very nice; more so of late. Faintly he could remember a time when she had, so to speak, been all over him. Still, she was all right, was Aunt Hilda; and she was a good cook.

To make up for his apparent tactlessness he now said, ”Dad once said you had lovely eyes.”

”Did he?” ” .’,’.

”YeS.” .’;;.. ’

”But there, your dad is a very kind man.”

”Yes, I suppose he is.” He nodded at her and she made that little sound in her throat again; then whipping up the blazer from the ironing board, she threw it towards him, saying, ”Get it on. And the next time you want to smoke, try a tab.”

”I don’t think I’ll try anything again.”

As he buttoned up his blazer he went towards the door, sayHi ing, ”Ta, Molly. That’s saved me a wigging. Ta-rah.”

”Ta-rah.” She placed a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him through the door, and he turned and laughed at her before scampering along by the side of the house, then across the meadow and through the broken fence boundary, round by the garden outhouses, through the narrow cut between the garage and the bicycle shed, and so into the yard.

Arthur was at the petrol pump seeing to a customer. This recalled to his mind that it was Arthur’s Saturday on, which meant that his dad would be free. The thought gave a lift to his spirits and he dashed up the yard towards the kitchen door, but slowed down to a walk before reaching it.

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