Free War Orphans by Lizzie Lane Page A

was a medical orderly.’ He flexed his fingers before putting his hands back in his pockets. ‘I can still feel the stickiness of the blood. Such a lot of blood . . .’
    Sally walked on silently and he did the same. They said goodbye at the junction of St Luke’s Road and St John’s Lane. They shook hands. He held on to hers just too long. She snatched it away.
    ‘Sally! I’m sorry . . .’
    ‘Goodbye, Arnold.’
    She turned sharply away, her shoulders rigid. She was overwhelmed by the desire to put distance between them. No more after-school cups of tea at the Park Tearooms, or anywhere else for that matter.
    Arnold strolled on towards Redcatch Road where private houses swept upwards to an area of green grass recently made over for yet more allotments. Jubilee Road was a left-hand turning halfway up.
    Sally headed for the Victorian bay villa she shared with her father where they had a view of the park from the front room.
    She wondered where her father would be and what he’d been up to all day. Hopefully he’d taken her advice and gone to the allotment. She sincerely hoped so.
    As usual, the heavy wooden front door with its ivory porcelain knocker was wide open. It was only firmly closed at night or if it was raining. Only the inner door remained closed all day regardless of the weather. The dark blue glass of the inner door was trimmed with a red border and a cut glass rosette decorated each corner. The light shining through the door from outside threw blue-and-red patterns over the wall of the interior hall, shimmering like a line of dancers as she pushed it open.
    ‘Dad!’
    There was no response. She went into each room expecting to see him asleep in his favourite armchair, his freckled hands resting on his newspaper, the latter spread wide over his lap.
    She called him once or twice more, then retraced her steps to the hall door and out into the street.
    She spotted him immediately sitting on the park wall, his back against the railings.
    ‘Dad?’
    The only sign of acknowledgement was a half turn and a raised hand, before he went back to looking out over the park.
    Sally crossed the road entering the small gate, one of many set into the wall surrounding the park.
    ‘Dad. Didn’t you hear me come home?’
    He jerked his chin towards the park. People were strolling in the late sunshine just before twilight fell. Children were playing.
    ‘Flossie would have enjoyed an evening like this. Me and your mother used to enjoy taking him for a walk, you know.’
    Flossie was their old terrier who had died shortly before Sally’s mother.
    She sat down on the wall beside him reached for his hand holding it in both of hers.
    ‘I know, Dad. I wish both of them were still here.’
    ‘Do you see,’ he said, again jerking his chin at the scene before them. ‘There’s no dogs. Do you see that? And before you deny there’s anything wrong, I have read the newspapers. Do you know that woman’s cat next door but one had kittens? Yes,’ he said, answering his own question, a faraway look in his eyes. ‘She had them all killed she did.’ He turned his head, his expression one of total puzzlement. ‘Why would anyone do that?’
    Sally squeezed his hand and bent her head as she sought the right words that wouldn’t upset him too much.
    ‘It’s a government directive. They’re afraid the animals will get frightened and run amok if we’re bombed. And then of course there’s the food situation . . .’
    She was merely repeating the official advice, hearing herself say it without really believing it.
    ‘Rubbish! Animals helped us in the trenches, you know. We used them as messengers. Even used them to take ammunition where we were too afraid to go. A lot of them died doing their duty to their country. Did you know that?’
    Sally eyed him intently. Her father’s disposition and behaviour had changed a lot since her mother died. Up until this momentgetting a conversation, let alone a response out of him, had been