A Postillion Struck by Lightning Read Online Free Page B

“the boy’s got his canary!”
    They stood round me in a circle, the three of them, staring at my prize. My sister clasped her hands with joy, and a glimmer of liking flickered in me for her, until she said: “It’ll just wash off in the rain, all that yellow, and be an ordinary sparrow you could have got for nothing.” And hate glowed deep in the coals of my heart. Lally cuffed her head lightly and said, “Well I daresay you’ve spent all your money, and Miss Know All here’s got her camel, so we’d better hop, skip and jump it home.” We turned and threaded our way through the thronging fairground. The roundabout was playing “The More We Are Together” and the little wind flapped at the legs of my shorts, and jiggled the black ribbon on Mrs Jane’s hat. My heart was full, thumping with happiness. My brain reeled with all the plans for my canary—a cage next, a large cage with perches, and a jam jar full of seeding grasses; a tin tray for sand and a bowl for bathing in; and maybe, later, a mate; and nests, and babies. Oh! Lord! What joy.
    Lally looked up into the dark blue of the night, and sniffed. “Mother?” she said. “You said there’d be thunder, and I reckon you’re about right. Shouldn’t wonder if we have a storm before we reached home. Good job you got your brolly.”
    â€œAlways bring my brolly everywhere,” said Mrs Jane. “Ever since I got wetted at your Aunt Gert’s Silver up at Shepperton that year. Blue crepe it was, and I got so wet you could see my stays right through. I thought your father would do himself a hurt he laughed so much.”
    We had got to the path which led to the white wood bridge across the river. Behind us the glare of the fair was like a big bonfire, the twinkling lights like embers, and the smoke from the roundabout drifting up into the night. Ahead all was dark and still, and the trees and hedge blurry shapes. The white planks of the bridge were like whale bones. It was very still again: the little wind had stopped.
    My sister said: “How much did it cost, your bird? All your two and six?”
    â€œAll,” I said flatly.
    â€œThrowing balls or rolling?”
    â€œI got a stick of rock throwing the balls … it’s in my pocket. You can have it if you like.”
    â€œI would like. Don’t you then?”
    â€œI don’t mind it. It’s got Ilfracombe all through it.”
    â€œWherever’s that?”
    â€œI don’t know. Cornwall, I think.”
    We were crossing the bridge now, in single file, Lally ahead, swinging the shopping bag; Mrs Jane and her umbrella; my sister holding her camel and myself. The river was low, the lights of the fair rippling faintly on the surface. No sound save our feet clonk clonking over the hollow-sounding boards, and now and then a gurgle gurgle of water round the struts.
    â€œStruth!” said Lally suddenly. “It’s close though. Ilfracombe’s in Wales by the by. And what that’s got to do with Sussex rock I don’t know. But those Gippos are all cheats.”
    Far away, over Wilmington, was a low grumbling rumble of thunder. We had got to the path now, and our feet crunched over the gravel.
    â€œGood job you brought that brolly,” Lally’s voice came back from the dark.
    â€œAlways carry a brolly,” said Mrs Jane.
    My sister was scuffing her sandalled feet, swinging her blue camel by its legs.
    â€œI gave Reg Fluke a shilling for it,” I said in a lowish voice.
    â€œWhat?” She spun round and I tripped over her.
    â€œGet a move on you two,” called Lally, “there’s going to be a storm along any moment.”
    We walked along for a bit in silence. Suddenly there was a flash of white light in the sky, and the great hump of our hill was suddenly pale green in the night. Mrs Jane gave a little cry and hurried on.
    My sister did a sort of jog trot