Free The Cuckoo Child by Katie Flynn Page A

the Port of London and assumed one could stow away upon such a vessel, and he knew there were railway stations whence one could travel to distant parts of the country, but he had no idea in which direction any of these places lay and until he managed to shed his uniform he dared not ask. Any member of the public in these parts would take one look at his brown uniform and know he had no business to be out on the streets alone. His best course, he decided, plodding doggedly along the pavement, was to simply keep walking in as straight a line as he could manage, until it was evening. Then he would be far away from the Isle of Dogs and folk would not be so likely to realise he came from an institution. In fact, if he could just nick a pair of trousers – grey ones – he was pretty sure that he would pass muster as an ordinary street arab and would be accepted as such by anyone he might accost.
    Having made up his mind on this point, Corky began to take a little more interest in his surroundings. It was still broad daylight but he fancied the sun was not as hot as it had been and was a good deal further down in the sky than at the start of his adventure. Soon, he thought, the boys would be leaving the recreation ground and forming into a crocodile. He wondered if Blister would count heads or tell them to walk with their original partners, but he knew that both actions were unlikely. To be sure, Blister would shout at them to form into a crocodile but he would walk ahead with Ratty at the tail, occasionally chivvying their charges to walk faster, but taking very little notice of them otherwise. And Corky remembered, with pleasure, that there had been fifty-one boys so the chances were that, lacking a gap in the crocodile, he would not even be missed.
    Corky kept on walking. I’m like Felix, the Film Cat, he told himself, for amongst the tattered books in the Redwood Grange playroom was a much loved copy of a Felix annual and most of the younger boys knew every page by heart. Twice a year – sometimes more often – a benefactor of the orphanage paid for all the boys to attend a showing at the local picture house, and was kind enough to ensure that they saw westerns, cartoons, or gangster films, rather than educational ones.
    It occurred to Corky that it must be teatime, since his stomach was beginning to rumble suggestively every time he passed a shop with bread or cakes displayed in its window. He would not have been human had he not considered a quick smash and grab, but he knew that this would lead to his eventual capture for the cry of ‘Stop thief’ would turn every honest man’s hand against him, and presently he was glad he had not taken to crime. He was standing outside a baker’s, gazing wistfully into the window, when there was a tap on his shoulder. He stiffened, made as if to dart away, and found a bag being held under his nose and giving off the most entrancing, spicy smell. He looked up; the bag was being proffered by a fat little woman in black. She had tiny spectacles perched on a little snub nose, and the expression of her small grey eyes was kindly. ‘When I were a kid, I ran away from one of them there orphing places,’ she said, her voice very low. ‘It didn’t do me much good ’cos I were caught next day . . . well, I were that hungry, I were quite glad to be caught . . . but I ’opes as you’ll ‘ave better luck, lad. I bought four buns; I’ll tek two for me tea an’ you can ’ave the bag with the other two in it.’ She thrust the rustling paper bag into Corky’s hands. ‘And ’ere’s a bit of advice, sunshine. Dirty yourself up a bit; kids rahnd ’ere get mucky soon as they leave their ’omes. Good luck!’
    She turned and began to waddle away but Corky caught her up. This was the biggest piece of luck so far, he told himself. Quite by chance, he had met someone who would help him, who would not give him away. He put a hand, timidly, on her sleeve, and she stopped at once and smiled