Claire Pickard
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“There you are. What have you been doing? Good God, look at the state of you.”
Instinctively, George glanced down at his body. His sleeveless jumper was coated with leaves and his shins were smeared with green from climbing over tree trunks.
“How could you, George? You must know how important today is to me?”
George looked blank.
“My mother, George. My mother is coming for lunch. Bill must have told you. I don’t believe for a moment that he wouldn’t have, so don’t try to pretend that you didn’t know.”
George smarted. He wasn’t doing any such thing. His father had told him and he had forgotten, that was all.
Helen gripped his shoulder and propelled him back along the path. “It’s wilful disobedience. Bill isn’t at all pleased. He’s had to go and collect my mother by himself. I’m supposed to be helping Mrs. Hartley with the cooking and instead I’m out here in all this muck,” she kicked at a pile of damp leaves, “searching for you. Bill’s always telling me you are such a good boy but I’m starting to have my doubts.”
George broke out at the injustice of this accusation. “That’s not fair. I forgot. I didn’t mean to. I just forgot.”
Helen made a snuffling noise and when George looked up at her he saw that she had started to cry. She was dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief and her shoulders were shaking. George was appalled.
“I’m sorry, Auntie Helen.”
“Are you, George?”
“Yes, really. I’m really sorry.”
Helen gave her eyes a final pat and slipped the handkerchief back into her jacket pocket. “All right then, George. Apology accepted. Now for heaven’s sake let’s get home.”
They set off along the path, neither of them speaking. George wondered if he should take Helen’s hand but, examining the state of his own hands, decided against this. He was horrified that he had made her cry but didn’t quite understand how this had happened. When he had been in trouble before, Mrs. Hartley had scolded him and his father had sometimes given him a clip behind the ear but no grown up had ever cried as a result of something he had done. It frightened him. He tried to distract himself by imagining that he was flushing Black Hat out of the woods but Helen’s presence beside him and the sense that she was still upset made the game fall flat.
“We’ll go in the back way,” said Helen, “considering the state of you.”
As soon as they walked into the garden, George could see his father looking out of the kitchen window. He waved at them then moved away to open the back door. Advancing down the path, he chuckled as he looked George up and down. In a silly voice he said, “That’s another fine mess you’ve got yourself into,” and ruffled George’s hair. Laurel and Hardy double bills were a regular feature of George and his father’s life, as were the latter’s embarrassing impressions.
“It’s not funny, Bill,” said Helen. “I’ve told him that we’re both very cross.”
George’s father removed his hand from his son’s hair and adopted a more sober expression. “Yes, of course. George, today is very important to Helen…”