swung round. ‘I thought you were asleep. Mrs Fraser said…’
‘I was—for a bit,’ admitted the little boy, hauling himself into a sitting position. ‘But I heard cars moving outside, and I went to see who was leaving, and then I just thought I’d see what was on.’
There was a certain diffidence in this statement, and Sara felt a sense of compassion for the child. He knew better than anyone that his father hadn’t liked him to spend his time glued to the box, and generally he’d been outdoors, either in the swimming pool or in the garden, playing with the children of other members of the mission staff.
But he couldn’t play outdoors here—not right now, at least. It was too cold for one thing, and for another he didn’t know any of the children in the area. In addition to which there was no pool, no tropical gardens, no toys of his own to play with. Their personal belongings were coming by sea and were probably still in the middle of the Atlantic.
Deciding that the rules had to be changed here, along with everything else, Sara’s lips tipped into a rueful smile and she left the television on. It was going to be hard enough for Ben to adjust without her stifling any independence he showed.
She nodded now, grimacing at the images on the screen but not making the mistake of switching channels and expecting him not to notice. Ben was fairly shrewd, and there was no way that she could alter the programme without his approval—not unless she used a heavy hand, which was something she hoped to avoid.
‘Don’t you like the Slime Monster, Mum?’ he asked, wriggling round to look at her, and Sara pulled a wry face.
‘Does anyone?’ she asked. And then, sitting on the end of the bed, she went on, ‘I want to talk to you. Do you think we could turn it off for a while? There’s something I want to say.’
Ben grimaced. ‘I s’pose so.’
‘Good.’ Sara leant across and did just that. ‘It’s difficult to think with that racket going on.’
Ben shrugged. ‘It’s just a cartoon, Mum.’
‘I know.’
‘But you don’t think Dad would like it, hmm?’
Sara hesitated. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t. And…’ She paused. ‘It’s about Daddy that I want to talk to you—’ She broke off again. ‘This was his study, you know. When he was a boy. He used to do his homework here.’
‘But Daddy said he went away to school.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘Did he have homework in the holidays?’
‘I’m not sure.’ There were times when Sara wished that her son weren’t quite so bright. ‘In any event he kept his toys here. And those are his pictures on the walls.’
‘Mmm.’ Ben looked about him. ‘They’re very old, aren’t they? Sort of yellow at the edges.’
‘Not that old,’ declared Sara painfully. ‘Your father was still a young man when he—’ She broke off once again and swallowed. ‘Ben, can we talk about now? About why we’re here?’
Ben frowned. ‘This used to be where Daddy lived, isn’t it? Before he went to live in Br-Bra—zil? When will we be going back to see him? Didn’t he mind that we came such a long way?’
‘No, he didn’t mind,’ said Sara, wondering how she could possibly tell the little boy that his father had flown back with them. How did she tell him about the shooting? Or convey the finality of Harry’s death? She licked her lips. ‘And…we won’t be going back.’ She chickened out at the sight of the dismay on his small face. ‘Well…not for…not for a while anyway.’
‘We’re staying here?’
Ben was evidently trying to come to terms with what his mother was saying and Sara bit her lip.
‘For a few days, maybe,’ she conceded gently. ‘Then—then you and I are going to find a home of our own.’
‘Without Daddy?’
Sara sighed. ‘Daddy’s gone, Ben.’ She paused again. ‘Grandmama told you that.’
‘Did she?’ Sara didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry that Elizabeth Reed’s harsh words had made so little impression on her son. ‘Where’s he gone? Why can’t we go with him? He promised to get me a bicycle for my birthday.’
Sara almost smiled. It would have amused Harry too, she knew, and that made it harder to cope with—that his death should have been reduced to the loss of a bicycle. Yes, that was the real tragedy—that Ben had depended on him for the little things in his life as well as the big ones.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’ll have to see about that. And no, we couldn’t go with him. Daddy’s gone to heaven, with my mummy and daddy. They’re probably watching us at this moment, and saying what a good boy Ben has been.’
‘Are they?’ Ben’s face brightened up. ‘Why didn’t I see your mummy and daddy?’
‘Because they went to heaven before you were born,’ replied Sara with more confidence. ‘Now, why don’t you settle down for a nap? Then you can come and see Grandmama and Grandpapa before supper.’
‘And Uncle Alex?’
Sara stiffened. ‘Maybe.’
‘He didn’t get here until we went to that church thing,’ declared Ben importantly. ‘Grandmama said he’s Daddy’s brother.’ He frowned. ‘He hasn’t gone to heaven too?’
‘No.’ Though Sara thought rather uncharitably that it would have been fairer if he had. Harry had never betrayed anyone. Yet he had been the one to die. She bit back the urge to tell her son not to depend on Alex—for anything—and forced a thin smile. ‘So…we’ll talk some more later. Let me take off your sweater. You don’t need that on under the quilt.’
‘Can I have the television on again? It might help me to go to sleep,’ suggested Ben appealingly, and because it was the lesser of the two evils Sara agreed. She’d rather he was thinking of slimy monsters than his uncle Alex, though, come to think of it, she appended grimly, they had a lot in common.
She pulled his door to behind her and then spent a few minutes attending to her own appearance. Perhaps if she’d worn a brighter lipstick she wouldn’t have looked so colourless, she mused doubtfully. But what did it matter anyway? She didn’t care what anyone but Harry thought.
The room was cool, even though a check on the heavy old iron radiator elicited the information that it was working. But in a room of this size two or more radiators were needed, and she was almost glad to seek the comparative warmth of the hall outside.
Going down the main staircase this time, she was aware of the draught of cooler air from the open doors. The guest—mourners—were leaving, and the dampness from outside was spreading into the house.
‘Oh, there you are, Sara!’ exclaimed Elizabeth Reed, making her way towards her, her expression mirroring the disapproval that was evident in her voice. ‘I think you might have stayed around a
