Cuckoo in the Nest. Michelle Magorian

copper in the corner glinting, the stone sink and wooden draining board and the mangle.

      He dreaded going into the kitchen in case his father was sitting there waiting for him. He removed his bicycle clips, undid the laces of his boots and left them by the door. He turned the brass handle with painstaking slowness. Luckily the door didn’t creak, and within seconds he could see by the faint light of the range grate, that his father lay immobile in his bed in a deep sleep.

      He eased the door shut. There was a smell of hops in the room, and then he realised it was his father’s beery breath. He edged his way carefully round the chairs on the opposite side of the room, past the dresser and towards the door which led into the narrow hall.

      He was halfway up the stairs when they gave a loud creak. He remained motionless for a moment, and then carried on up to the small bedroom where he slept top to tail with Harry in a narrow bed. He slipped into the room, peeled off his sodden clothes and flung them over the rail at his end of the bed. He eased his pyjamas from under his pillow and put them on.

      From the neck up he felt hot from suddenly being indoors again, but from the neck down he was chilled and clammy. He climbed gratefully into bed and was just stretching his feet down his side when he hit a tiny foot. There was a shuffling from the other side and two heads rose up.

      ‘Elsie,’ whispered Ralph. ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘Joan was snoring so bad,’ she yawned, ‘she kept waking me.’

      There was a creak on the landing outside. Elsie dived under the covers. The door opened. Ralph glanced nervously across the room. It was his mother. She moved hesitantly towards the bed. ‘Ralphie?’

      Ralph propped himself on to his elbow. ‘I got caught in the fog.’

      ‘Phone Uncle Ted’s place next time. Then he can let me know.’

      He nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I worried you.’

      ‘You’re home now,’ she said with relief and she turned to go.

      ‘Mum,’ he began, ‘did Dad tell you?’

      She stopped at the door and gave a nod. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning. Now get some sleep. Night, love.’

      ‘Goodnight, Mum.’

      He sank back into the pillow and had just closed his eyes when urgent whispers made him look down the bed. His brother and sister’s heads were raised again.

      ‘Where you been?’ asked Harry.

      ‘Everywhere, I think,’ whispered Ralph. ‘It was a real pea-souper.’

      ‘Dad burnt one of your books,’ said Elsie.

      ‘What!’

      ‘Mum stopped him burning the rest,’ said Harry.

      ‘And Dad hit her,’ added Elsie.

      ‘He never,’ said Harry. ‘It was an accident.’

      ‘Anyway,’ said Elsie excitedly, ‘you missed a row.’

      ‘And Dick Barton.’

      ‘But we remembered it for you. You know Snowy White had found where Dick Barton was holed up by the arch-evil . . .’

      ‘Not now,’ pleaded Ralph.

      ‘But I might have forgotten it by the morning.’

      ‘It is the morning. Now let me sleep. And Elsie?’

      ‘Yeah.’

      ‘Try not to kick. There are places on my anatomy which don’t take to being kicked.’

      Sounds of smothered giggling came from the other side. Ralph groaned. ‘You’re causing a draught,’ he complained. ‘Can’t you laugh without moving?’

      There was silence for a moment then a fresh outburst of laughter from the other side.

      ‘I give up,’ yawned Ralph. And fell asleep.

      ‘Which one did he burn?’ asked Ralph.

      ‘Dunno, dear. You’ll have to check them through.’

      ‘Where are they?’

      She glanced at Harry and Elsie who were poring over a comic. Elsie was holding her broken spectacles to the bridge of her nose and reading the captions to Harry. But he knew Elsie could eavesdrop and talk at the same time. ‘I won’t tell,’ she said in midstream.

      Ralph and his mother smiled quickly at one another.

      ‘I’ve hidden them in a pile of washing in the scullery till he cools down.’

      ‘Thanks.’

      ‘What’s in the scullery?’ said Harry suddenly alert.

      ‘Do you want to know what happens next?’ interrupted Elsie.

      ‘Yeah.’

      His mother handed Ralph a plate of fried bread and dripping and a mug of tea. ‘What are you going to do, then?’ she asked. ‘You can’t go back to school, love. He won’t hear of it.’

      ‘I don’t want to now. I’ll find a job. I won’t scrounge off you, don’t worry.’

      ‘It’s not that.’

      ‘You’ve done enough for me.’

      She reddened. He loved it when she blushed. She looked pretty again.

      ‘It was the rector,’ she began embarrassed, ‘he persuaded me.’

      ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Mum.’

      ‘Oh, go on. You worked hard for it. Now eat that up before it goes cold. I’ve got things to do.’ And she disappeared into the scullery.

      A newspaper was lying at the end of the table. He reached over for it and flipped it open at the job advertisements.

      ‘No time like the present,’ he said and he crunched his way through the fried bread. He was starving and the bread only whetted his appetite. He gulped down the hot tea.

      ‘Mum,’ he said casually, ‘there might be a chance of a job just for tonight.’

      She appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh yeah? What kind of job?’

      ‘Well, um,’ he said slowly, ‘every Saturday night at the Palace Theatre, they have to take down the set.’

      ‘What’s a set?’ asked Elsie.

      ‘Scenery, nosy parker.’

      ‘Just wanted to know,’ she said returning to the comic. ‘Watch out, yer yellow-livered hombre!’

      ‘Sometimes they need extra hands,’ he continued hesitantly. ‘I saw a man backstage there and he suggested I pop round after the show. He’s going to put in a good word for me.’

      ‘I see. But won’t it be late?’

      ‘Later than late, Mum. All night.’

      She came into the kitchen and sat down beside him. ‘I don’t know, love. I don’t like to think of you out all night. And your dad . . . It was bad enough last night.’

      ‘But I wouldn’t be out. I’d be cycling back in daylight. I’d be even safer than coming back from the theatre on a Friday.’

      ‘Talking of which,’ she said biting her lip. ‘I don’t know if your father will let you go any longer. He’s dead ashamed of you doing it.’

      ‘He’s ashamed of me breathing,’ commented Ralph. ‘He only has to see me and I make his blood boil. I only have to open my mouth and the steam starts coming out of his ears.’

      Elsie began to giggle. He gazed affectionately at her. She was such an appreciative audience. She peered owlishly at him, her glasses juddering on her