Free Convalescence by Maynard Sims Page A

witch…always getting themselves into trouble.”
    â€œHe left too,” I said. “Hughie?”
    â€œDamned right. As soon as he was old enough, he packed his bags. I ran him to the railway station.”
    â€œYou drive?”
    â€œMotorcycle combination. Stowed his luggage in my sidecar and he rode pillion.”
    â€œDid he say why he was leaving?”
    â€œChrist! Who do you think you are, Sherlock Holmes?”
    â€œJust curious, that’s all.”
    â€œWell remember what curiosity did to the cat.”
    â€œSo why did he leave?”
    â€œFell out with his mother, I think. He didn’t tell me what the row was about, but it must have been serious for him to up and leave like that.”
    â€œWhere did he go?”
    â€œI know he bought a ticket for Waterloo in London, but where he went after that is anybody’s guess. All I know is that he’s never showed his face down here again. Shame really. Hughie was okay. Always treated me fairly…as an equal. Unlike that little shit O’Herlihy.”
    He turned back to his work.
    I wasn’t going to get any more out of him, so I got to my feet and started back to the house.
    â€œYou tell Amy,” he called after me, “that if she’s worried about anything, anything at all, she should come and tell me all about it.”
    â€œDo you love her?” I called back boldly.
    The unpleasant smile crawled over his lips again. “Yeah,” he called, “something like that.”
    As I was walking back through the trees I heard a car crunching over the gravel drive. I stepped out from the trees and saw Mrs. Rogers’s Mini sweep around the side of the house towards the garage. Mrs. Ebbage was unlocking the kitchen door, Amy beside her, holding two brown-paper carrier bags.
    I wanted to call out to her but didn’t want to get her into trouble. Instead I went back to the summerhouse and the Eagle annual.
    I sat down in my deck chair, opened the book and my jaw dropped.
    Dan Dare’s chiseled features had been obscured by orange crayon. In fact, all the panels had been defaced in a similar fashion. I looked frantically around me but I was alone in the summerhouse. “You want me to help you,” I said aloud. “But how? How can I help?”
    The pages of the annual began to flip over, as if unseen hands were turning them. After a few seconds they stopped, and I looked down at the pages that now lay open in front of me.
    More orange crayon—more scribble—but this time the letters TB were written large across the two pages.
    TB —tuberculosis. Was this why he was making contact with me? Did he know that it was tuberculosis that killed my family and nearly killed me?
    â€œTuberculosis,” I said aloud. “Is that what you had? But how can I help you now?”
    The annual slammed shut and was ripped from my grasp. It flew across the summerhouse, crashing into one of the windows and sliding to the floor.
    â€œOh, very helpful, very grown up,” I said.
    I picked the book up, tucked it under my arm and went back to the house without looking back.
    Neither my uncle nor Mrs. Rogers was present at dinner that evening. After missing both breakfast and lunch, I devoured in record time the meal Amy set down before me.
    â€œMy, you were hungry,” she said as she took my plate.
    â€œHe made contact with me again,” I said.
    â€œMichael?”
    I nodded.
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThis afternoon in the summerhouse. And there was last night.”
    â€œBut how?” she said.
    I heard someone approaching from the hallway.
    â€œNot now,” I whispered. “Meet me in the library later.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œSorry I’m late for dinner, Jimmy,” Mrs. Rogers said as she swept into the dining room. “I had to attend to some business for your uncle.” She stared at the dirty plate Amy was holding. “Ah, I see you’ve eaten. Good.