Junction X by Erastes (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

the next hour, as we kept busy. The children lost interest in about five minutes flat, as they kept bringing things that could not be burned, like Valerie’s gnome and the gardener’s overalls, but Alex and I worked hard, soon getting warm enough to shrug off our overcoats. Alex’s cheeks went pink, and once or twice, when our gloved hands met while carrying an awkward item, we both acted as if we hadn’t noticed, but he curled and uncurled his hand under mine.

He disappeared about three, with a promise to be back at eight and I went in, warmed and mellowed with my wicked secret. Valerie was supervising bathing and Mrs. Tudor was in the kitchen. I grabbed a sausage on a stick and, after taking the stairs two at a time, leaned against the bathroom door and made my peace.

“Sorry.” I said. There was a long silence as she finished with Mary. John was stomping up and down the hall complaining about girls always getting all the hot water. He had a point.

“Did you speak to him?” Val finally asked me.

“No. But I’ll deal with it. They are going to have to meet eventually. The town’s too small.” I passed her a towel for Mary. “And there will be enough people here for them to ignore each other if they have to.”

She sighed and helped Mary out of the bath. “All right, and I’m sorry too.” She stood up and kissed me perfunctorily on the cheek. “And just for that, you can make sure John washes and just doesn’t sit and read his Look and Learn.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Mrs. Tudor is going to do the food. We’ll lay it out in the conservatory, and then she’ll help with the drinks. All you have to do is light everything.”

“All right.” Mary was carried off, and I’d made sure that John cleaned behind his ears. Once I’d had a bath myself and tidied up I went outside again to set up the Catherine Wheels and milk bottles for the rockets.

Phil was the first to arrive, looking crisp and fresh in a dark blue jumper that I hadn’t seen before. He handed a case of wine to me at the door and kissed Valerie on both cheeks. “I’ve missed you,” he said to her.

“And I you.” She was beaming. They’d always got on well. “Thanks for the wine. Hope we aren’t clearing your cellar out?”

“Not likely. Anyway, I’m making a run over in a while, if Ed wants to come. To stock up.”

“Calais?”

“That’s right.” He scooped up the children and suffered eager kisses before putting them back down. “But we’ll discuss details later. I’m only asking Eddie because we can smuggle more than we need in that beast of his.”

“Are you a smuggler, Uncle Phil?” John asked. “Can we come and smuggle too?”

“Now look what you’ve done,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Come and open one of your bottles. I’ve got something to tell you.” The doorbell rang again and I grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him through the house to the conservatory, where we stashed the case.

“What’s up?”

“There’s…well, there’s no easy way to tell you this, and I’m glad you came first as you can leave if you want…”

“What is it? I’m not welcome?”

“No. Of course not. It’s not that. It’s just…well, wires got crossed and Valerie invited Claire.”

“Well, that’s all right. Why are you worrying about it?”

I looked at him, hard. He looked far too happy about it. I wondered if he was drunk, but he didn’t seem it. I couldn’t smell it and he seemed lucid. “I thought… I suppose I thought…”

“That I’d be all Don Giovanni about it, unable to face her and wanting to poison my replacement?”

“Sort of.”

“Eddie. It’s 1962. Not 1762.”

“You’ve cheered up.” I was almost accusing. Perhaps I wanted him to wallow in misery a little longer.

“You inspired me, old man.”

I coloured and looked at the door. “Shut up.”

He smirked. “Not a word. I promise. But you made me see that there is more to life. I’ve got a lot to offer, after all.”

I pulled the last bottle out of the case, uncorked it, then covered the open bottles with a cloth. “That’s enough. If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. But whatever you think—or don’t think,” I wasn’t convinced in his hale and hearty recovery, “behave. The last thing anyone wants is a shouting match down The Avenue.”

“Heaven forbid. This isn’t Coronation Street.”

I laughed. “No. That’s for sure. Nothing like as exciting. Nothing happens here. Come and make yourself useful in the garden.” I shoved a box of foil-wrapped potatoes at him. “Stick these around the base of the bonfire and I’ll get the Guy.”

By the time I came back to the conservatory, it was a quarter past eight and there was quite a crowd of friends and neighbours and Valerie was being perfect in the middle of them. Alf and Sheila were being introduced to people they hadn’t yet met.

My eyes cast constantly around for Alex, but I couldn’t see him. I think that was the first time when I felt that fear of not seeing him when I expected to, and it never left me. I felt it many, many times after that, waiting on station platforms, sitting in a car outside his school, too many to remember. It’s a sick, bitter feeling—like butterflies but a lot worse.

I was making desultory conversation with Bob Rackham about fishing when Alex finally stepped into the lounge from the hall, and it was as if everyone else melted away. He seemed to float through the crowd, and I appreciated his grace and height in a crowded room in a way I hadn’t before. He held a glass of Valerie’s lemonade in his hand and I found I was staring at his wrist, for it seemed impossibly slender. I was filled with an insane longing to take his hand and kiss the inside of his wrist, where the blue veins showed through his skin. I