Free Shoes for Anthony by Emma Kennedy Page A

After that, she couldn’t remember a thing.
’
    Behind me, Bopa was still laughing.
    â€˜I wish they’d stop their bloody yapping,’ said Alwyn, irritably. ‘I can only hear every other word. Father, tell ’em.’
    â€˜Be quiet, Alwyn,’ he said, his voice low and steady. ‘You’re making as much noise as they are.’
    â€˜
I’m not lying. I’m not
.’
    â€˜â€™Ere, Ant,’ called Bopa. I turned and looked towards the two women, heads huddled together. They were whispering. ‘Ant!’ She gestured to me to come back into the kitchen.
    â€˜
The prisoner has been told there is no hope. It’s cruel to raise her hopes where there is none!
’
    â€˜I think she did it,’ I heard Alwyn mutter. ‘She was found with the revolver in her hand. And the brother saw her do the shooting. This fella’s had his head turned because she’s pretty, or something.’
    â€˜Ssshhhh,’ said Bethan.
    â€˜You watch the flicks, don’t you?’ said Bopa, poking me on the upper arm as I came to stand next to her. I nodded. ‘What are they called? Those fellas that run around Chicago chasing people who shoot policemen?’
    â€˜G Men,’ I replied.
    â€˜That’s it. G Men.’ She shoved Mam in the knee. ‘That’s what we need round here. Some proper G Men. They’d sort out the likes of Thomas Evans. Bites out of tomatoes, indeed.’
    â€˜Bit harsh to get shot through with bullets just for snaffling a tomato,’ Mam said, frowning.
    Bopa nodded. ‘Fair do’s,’ she replied. ‘It would be excessive. Deserved. But excessive.’
    â€˜
Come with us now! To the condemned cell!
’
    The sound of soaring strings resounded from the parlour. A clock struck six times.
    â€˜What’s the time?’ said Bopa, squinting towards the one-handed kitchen clock.
    â€˜About quarter past nine,’ I said, glancing at the familiar face.
    â€˜Getting late,’ said Bopa, looking into her teacup. ‘Well, well,’ she added, turning the cup in her hand, ‘interesting leaves …’
    Mam shot me a glance and a small, wry smile. Bopa often liked to convince us that she could read tea leaves. She had the ‘gift’, she said. ‘Gift of the bloody gab, more like,’ said Alwyn, who didn’t believe in any of her nonsense. All the same, Bopa once said the leaves had told her Mam was going to come into money, and then, on the same day, Mam found a shilling in the back garden. ‘The leaves have spoken!’ declared Bopa, and we’d all laughed.
    â€˜See those leaves,’ said Bopa, gesturing for me to look. ‘What can you see, Anthony?’
    I stared down into the wilted mass of shredded tea. Just looked like tea to me. Nothing special. ‘Dunno. It’s tea leaves, innit?’
    â€˜Quieten your mind, boy!’ she whispered, slowly rotating the cup in her hand. ‘Let the leaves speak to you. Empty your head of all thoughts! Now, then, what do you see?’
    I squinted down into the cup. ‘Dunno. That bit there looks like a crocodile.’
    â€˜Crocodile, Em!’ declared Bopa. ‘A vision of false friendships and deception! And look there … an exclamation mark. Beware of impulsive actions, Anthony. The cup is speaking.’
    â€˜I don’t really know what it means,’ I said, with a shrug.
    â€˜Trouble!’ said Bopa, jabbing her finger upwards. ‘That’s what! And the tea never lies.’
    She grabbed my chin between her hands and squeezed my cheeks with her long fingers. ‘Look at you! He’s such a good boy, Em, inne? Bright as a button. Make sure you keep it that way. Americans coming. Wind shifting. All change. Trouble in the tea! Bad things happen, Anthony!’ She smiled and patted me on the cheek. ‘Right, then, I best be off.’
    She stood and rinsed her cup out at the