Free The TV Time Travellers by Pete Johnson Page A

suspicions about Harriet
.
    Immediately I said, ‘Yeah, it’s her all right . . . she’s the spy, no question.’
    ‘Well, don’t let on we suspect her,’ said Leo, ‘but keep her under observation.’
    ‘I certainly will,’ I said
.
    When we got back there was a surprise for us: letters from home
.
    Mum sent me three pages. She said it didn’t matter how well I did as an evacuee as she was already the proudest mum in the world. Total rubbish, of course, but I had to keep saying to myself: ‘I’m not going to cry, I’m not.’
    In the end I got up and walked into the kitchen. It was deserted, so I took a couple of deep breaths. Then I realized I wasn’t on my own after all. A small figure was crouched in the corner. At first I thought Zac was crying and wondered whether just to creep away. But then I saw he was tearing something up
.
    I went over. ‘What’s that?’ I smiled. ‘A love letter from Miss Weed?’
    He didn’t smile back. Then I guessed what it was
.
    ‘That’s not your letter from home?’
    He sprang up. He’d torn the letter into such tiny pieces that it looked like confetti. ‘Four rotten lines, that’s all he wrote to me. He said he hoped I was well and enjoying the wartime experience, and every word was so dead and cold, as if he was writing to someone he hardly knew.’
    ‘Is that from your dad?’ I asked softly
.
    He nodded and sniffed, all at the same time
.
    ‘Well, you can’t tell me anything about dads,’ I began, and then I said, ‘But perhaps another better letter is on its way to you?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Zac firmly. He got up. ‘I suppose I’d better put these bits in the bin.’ Tears were still pouring down his face
.
    ‘No, I’ll do that, won’t take a second.’ I scooped them up. Then I asked, ‘But what about your mum? I bet she’ll write you a decent letter.’
    His voice dipped, becoming so soft I could hardly hear him. ‘I’m afraid my mum passed away the week before Easter.’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    A New Home
    Zac
    MUM HAD BEEN away in London at a conference. Meanwhile Dad and I had been busy tidying up the house for her return. I’d helped him do some decorating too, and it looked really good. We couldn’t wait for Mum to see it.
    But she never did, as on the way home her car was in a very bad accident.
    It was horrible going into a house that should have had three people in it, but now it only had two. No wonder it seemed far too big for just Dad and me. In fact, it didn’t even seem to belong to us any more.
    Then at the funeral this woman started whispering that she didn’t know how Dad would cope, as Mum had meant everything to him. Right away I rushed over to him. He was standing looking out of the window and I knew he was crying inside, which is the worst kind of crying really. I so badly wanted to say something to him.
    But nothing I could think of seemed big enough somehow. Not that Dad could have heard me anyway. He was far away from everyone that afternoon.
    And then Dad’s sister, Aunt Sara, invited us for Easter. We hadn’t seen much of her for years, even though she only lived a couple of miles away. But then she and Uncle Paul had split up, leaving her with the twins to bring up. And just before Mum died I’m pretty certain Dad lent Aunt Sara some money. But I don’t think he really liked her that much. He was helping her out of duty.
    I’m certain she invited us round for Easter for the same reason – duty. And I couldn’t wait to go home again. Only we never did. Dad went on giving Aunt Sara money, so she was happy. And Dad was hardly there, because he went back to work almost right away, even taking on extra weekend work. Soon he was working longer hours than he had when Mum had been alive. While the weeks at Aunt Sara’s stretched into months, I thought: One day Dad will see how I hate every particle of every day here. My old dad would have spotted that right away. But he seemed to have vanished the day Mum