Mothers' Boys by Margaret Forster

Author:Margaret Forster [Margaret Forster]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2005-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

LOUIS ANSWERED THE telephone, offhand, annoyed it wasn’t Charlotte ringing. He left the receiver dangling and shouted, ‘Mum, for you,’ and Harriet went to it without an idea who it would be, quite unconcerned and in a hurry, because she wanted to get things ready for the morning. Sheila Armstrong’s voice took her by complete surprise. At first, even given the name, it meant nothing to her and then she realised and apologised, and immediately she felt all the tension which had drained away during this happy weekend return. ‘How nice to hear from you,’ she said, automatically.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you . . .’

‘No, no, not at all. I wasn’t doing anything, really.’ How strange the woman’s voice sounded, the local accent so strong, and yet when she’d visited her she’d never noticed that it was so pronounced.

‘It’s just I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes . . . if you can’t it doesn’t matter, I’ll manage.’

It was the ‘I’ll manage’, the evident embarrassment, that caught Harriet’s attention. ‘Of course I can,’ she said, ‘you carry on.’

‘I was hoping we might be able to meet, soon, only it would be easier to talk, but if you’re busy, or don’t fancy it . . .’

‘That would be fine. When were you thinking of?’

‘Well, today, if possible. . .’

‘Oh, today’s a bit difficult, and tomorrow . . .’

‘I know. It’s that parade. He told me, the police chap. It’s about that, about the identity thing, I wanted to pass on something, but not to him. It’s nothing, really. I’d just like to pass it on . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

Harriet felt dismayed at her own agitation. She didn’t want to see Sheila, she didn’t even like talking on the telephone now that she’d decided to put all that behind her. Sheila Armstrong was part of ‘that’. But she’d started it, she couldn’t be hostile when the other woman had not been hostile to her. And there was this ‘thing’ she wanted to pass on.

‘We could meet half-way,’ Sheila was saying, naming a town. ‘I have to go there anyway, I’m going by train, we could meet at the station, if you could get there.’

‘If it’s important . . .’

‘I don’t know if it is. Oh, maybe forget it, I shouldn’t bother you. I can ring that policeman . . .’

It was the weariness in the voice which decided Harriet – the same aching weariness she had felt herself, weary of thinking, weary of remembering, weary to the point of mental standstill and seeing no help anywhere. ‘No,’ she said, ‘we should meet, I want to. I can be at the station by twelve, will that suit? In the buffet, if there is one, or the waiting room?’

‘Grand.’

Her whole day was now wrecked. She’d planned to keep herself extra busy so as not to think about tomorrow. Joe was not mentioning it. He looked and sounded better after the weekend and with Louis around she didn’t feel she was carrying the whole weight of worry about how he’d react to the identity parade.

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