Life_ An Exploded Diagram - Mal Peet [17]
“Jerusalem,” he said. “Bloody mad hellhole.”
To her, Jerusalem was a song. A sort of hymn.
He could not persuade his son to sit on his lap. Ruth poured weak tea. The cup trembled in her hand, chinking against the saucer.
“So, love, where’d you get the car?”
She blushed, not knowing why. “I’ll tell yer later.” She lowered her voice. “That ent exactly new. Painted up.”
“Nowt wrong with that,” George said. He looked at his son. “Now then, young man. I’ve got a present for you, too. Would you like to see it?”
Clem looked up at Ruth for guidance.
“Another present, Clem! Thas nice, ent it?”
George pulled the kit bag to his chair and untied the complex knot. He rummaged theatrically inside it.
“Is that it? No. Is that it? No, that’s not it neither. Ah, here we go.”
He produced an oddly shaped package wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. He held it toward his son, who still lurked behind his mother’s skirt. Ruth picked her child up and carried him to the table and sat him down on her lap.
“Whatever can this be, Clem, that Dad’re brought yer? Shall we undo it?”
The newspaper had photographs of foreign-looking men on it, and the writing was black wiggles and dots that looked a bit like music. Ruth imagined, madly, that her husband must be able to read it.
George’s present for his son was an exquisitely carved wooden camel.
“It opens,” George said. “See?”
The camel’s hump was brass-hinged. George reached across the table and lifted it, revealing a hollow slightly larger than an eggcup.
“See? You can keep your sweets in there. Or money.”
Sweets, Ruth thought. Clem dunt know what they are.
George fished in his trouser pocket. He brought out a silver sixpence and dropped it into the hump.
“There you go, lad,” he said. “That’s got you started. It’ll all add up.”
“What is ut, Mum?” Clem asked.
“I’ve got something for you, as well, Ruth,” George said, reaching into the bag again and producing a small soft package.
“What is it?” she asked stupidly. She was like a child, too.
“Well, why don’t you open it and find out?”
It was a silk shawl, diaphanously white, embroidered along its edges with green and silver threadwork. At each of its four corners was a tiny seashell. It was perhaps the most useless thing you could give to a red-haired woman who lived in Norfolk and was saving her clothing coupons for a new winter coat.
“I spent a whole afternoon haggling for that with a nig-nog in Cairo. I wore him down in the end, though.”
“Thas beau’iful, George.”
She held it against her face and wept. It smelled whorishly of foreign parts.
“Now what are you crying about, lass?”
“Nothun. Sorry. I’m sorry, George. Just I wunt expectun you. You give me a shock.”
She’d planned things for his return. A sign on the gate saying, WELCOME HOME GEORGE. A strip wash at the sink, then a touch of makeup and her better set of underwear. Clem in his Sunday clothes. A bottle of beer or two. She’d been more or less promised a half shoulder of pork. And he’d mucked it all up.
She wiped her face on her sleeve.
“It’s just we hent got nothun in for tea. Our rations all run out yesterdy, and we can’t get nothun till tomorrer. All we’re got is two eggs and the last of the bread. What mother’ll say when she get home I can’t imagine.”
“Don’t worry yourself. Look here.”
From the bag he produced two shiny canisters, unlabeled two-pound tins.
“One’s Spam; t’other’s corned beef. I can’t rightly say which is which.”
Later, Clem turned fretful.
“Thas all the excitement,” Ruth said untruthfully. “I’ll take him up. Say night-night to yer dad, Clem.”
The boy clung to her and tried to hide his face in her shoulder. George wondered if he should kiss the child’s head; while he hesitated, Ruth turned away toward the stairs.
“Good night, Clem,” he said cheerily. “Sweet dreams.”
Left alone, George made a recce of the home he