Jack's Island Read Online Free Page B

towards me, the hem of his leather apron flying in the breeze. His face looked like thunder. Red veins swelled in his neck and I knew he expected to see two dead bodies at the base of the cliff.
    â€˜They’re fine, Mr Carter,’ I shouted to him. ‘They landed in the sea.’
    â€˜What the flaming heck do you think you’re flaming up to, scaring the flaming daylights out of me like that?’ He glared at me. ‘I’ve a good mind to tan your flaming hides right off your flaming backs here and flaming now. Right off you. All flaming three of you. Especially you, Jack flaming Jones. Dafty doesn’t flaming know any better, he’s not the full quid. But you ... I’d have flaming thought you, of all flaming people...’
    Then, seeing Dafty down at the bottom of the cliff splashing happily in the water, he seemed to relax slightly, as if he’d got it out of his system.
    â€˜Banjo? Dafty? Are you two flaming well all right? No broken bones?’ he called down to them. They’d waded ashore and were trying to pull the trolley up the rocky cliff face.
    Mr Carter turned back to me and slowly shook his head. I thought for one horrible minute he was going to grab me by the ear and drag me back to his smelly old truck. Even from this distance I could hear the huge blowies buzzing round the foul-smelling pans on the back.
    â€˜I have flaming work to do,’ he said instead. ‘If I ever catch you flaming bludgers trying a flaming stunt like that again I’ll ... I’ll flaming well take to you with a flaming stockwhip. I surely flaming will. You can flaming count on it.’ He glared at me for another second before turning quickly and marching back to his smelly old flaming truck.

A Scandal Brewing
    I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mum and Mrs Carter sat in the kitchen dressed only in their petticoats, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
    â€˜...and then I said to her, I said, “Flo,” I said, “if she were my daughter...”’ They stopped talking the moment I swung open the screen door.
    There must’ve been a scandal brewing, but then there usually was. Adults often stopped talking so us kids wouldn’t find out, but I don’t know why they bothered because we always did find out, eventually. And whatever it was didn’t ever seem that bad anyway.
    â€˜And where are your manners, young man?’ said Mum. I knew she wanted me to say hello to Mrs Carter, but Mrs Carter was sitting there in her underwear. I couldn’t even look at her.
    â€˜What happened to your knees, Jack?’ asked Mrs Carter.
    â€˜Fell off my hill trolley,’ I said truthfully for once in my life, eyes fixed on the floor. There was no point in lying. Mr Carter was sure to tell her soon enough.
    â€˜You’d better get out the back and get them washed up. I’ll have a look later,’ said Mum. She didn’t even pause for breath and lifted the teapot. ‘More tea, Mrs Carter?’
    So much for motherly sympathy.
    From the washhouse I could hear them talking about Mrs Merson, Bess’s mum. Bess, the class monitor from my school. I wondered what terrible thing Bess’s mum must’ve done to have Mum and Mrs Carter tut-tutting away like that.
    What a sight when I walked back into the kitchen. Mum was up on a chair with her petticoat hoicked up to her bloomers, and Mrs Carter was rubbing brown liquid from a saucepan onto her leg. Her other leg had already been done.
    They saw the look on my face.
    â€˜There’s a war on, don’t you know, and we can’t buy any stockings,’ said Mrs Carter. ‘We don’t want to be seen not properly dressed for the NCO’s ball tonight.’
    With gravy smeared on their legs? And a black line up the back to look like a seam? I tried not to laugh.
    â€˜That’s enough from you, young man. You’re skating on thin ice, let me tell you,’ said Mum.
    I