Enduring Passions Read Online Free

house blue he was taken by twelve stone of bone and muscle, head down, that drove him back into the opposite wall, forcing every bit of air from his lungs.
    Before he could recover, two great pile drivers to the guts and chin ended all knowledge of his New Year celebrations for the next twenty minutes. Tom’s fight however had only just started. The girl’s scream brought a host of men running, and seeing one of their tailed brethren unconscious on the floor, they asked no questions – it was obviously an assault on one of their own.
    Ten minutes later the side door into the alley opened and a bloodied and torn Tom was thrown amongst the kitchen dustbins, his saxophone case crashing on to a metal holder, spilling the contents.
    He lay for a while, tasting the blood in his mouth and the foul wetness of the concrete. In the doorway the girl made towards him, as if to help, but was pulled back and the door slammed shut.
     
    It was daylight by the time he reached home. He was putting the kettle on the hob on the range when his grandmother appeared, hair in a net, feet in brown indoor bootees, plaid dressing-gown wrapped round her ample frame. Her hands flew to her face.
    ‘Oh my godfathers I knew this would happen.’
    He grunted through fat lips, trying to see her through his one eye, the other swollen and closed.
    ‘It’s all right, Gran – just roughed up a bit. It’s worse than it looks – honest. A couple of them won’t look so pretty for a while either.’
    She fussed over him.
    ‘I’ll get a bowl and bathe your face.’
    He nodded. ‘Thanks.’
    His body ached. He knew it must be covered in bruises, and it hurt to breathe, a cracked rib was a possibility. Luckily he didn’t have to work until the day after next.
    ‘And your coat, darling, it’s ruined.’
    He looked at his ripped and stained pride and joy. There were still six instalments to go. He never found his hat.
    ‘Take it off.’
    He did as he was told, but could not help wincing as he did so.
    Apart from creases and one stain, his maroon jacket was untouched. Ironic that, because he wasn’t going to be playing with The Serenaders again by the look of it. His trousers were all muddy, and there was blood on his collar and shirt front. His tie was missing.
    ‘My God, son – who did this to you?’
    Breathing carefully he managed, ‘I told you, about three or four of them, no reason, just drink,’ he lied. ‘Outside the Norwood Arms.’
    His grandmother’s eyes blazed.
    ‘They ought to be birched within an inch of their lives. They’re scum.’
    He didn’t argue with that.
    And if he could have got his hands on that young woman – stunning or not – she wouldn’t have been able to sit down for a week.
    It was next day when he found that there was a big chunk missing from the cover of the saxophone case, the white wood like a scar against the surrounding cloth-covered surface. Worse, he’d found that one of the lever mechanisms of the instrument was jammed. It would cost to have it repaired. He shuffled despondently down the stairs.
    What a disastrous night. What a bloody way to start the year. It would have been better to have stayed at home and listened to the wireless – Henry Hall and his Orchestra had been on.
    His mum and dad were sitting at the large table, waiting for him to appear in the doorway. Gran was out, but had obviously told them what had happened. His mother stood up and held out her hands.
    ‘Oh, darling, what have they done to you?’
    ‘It’s OK, Mum.’
    His dad started to say something, but then went into a paraxym of coughing that went on and on. Anxiously, his mother switched her attention from him to her husband, placing a hand on his back, rubbing and gently tapping to help get up the phlegm. When it was over she told him to stay quiet. ‘I’ll tell him.’
    Tom mumbled, ‘Tell me what?’
    His mother smiled, transforming her pale drawn face, taking away the lines of fatigue and disappointment and