Maxwell's Retirement Read Online Free Page B

might join her.
    She compressed her lips and nodded. She took a deep breath through her nose and calmed down. ‘They said it was a really common injury. One of the nurses and both of the doctors said they had scars under their chin.’
    Maxwell lifted his head and pointed.
    ‘Oh, Max, I had no idea you had a scar there. When did you get that?’
    ‘Crécy, was it? Poitiers? Agincourt? No, I tell a lie. I was coming up to five and I fell out of a tree.’
    ‘You were up a tree when you were five?’
    ‘Four.’
    ‘Even worse.’
    ‘Different days, darling, different days. I’d climbed the Matterhorn before I was twelve. Metternich has one as well. Don’t you, Count?’
    Oh, the old buffer was whittering again. The huge black and white creature couldn’t understand what he was going on about, but if they had asked him, he could have assured the Boy’s mother that anyone who was anyone had a scar under their chin. He had a fine example, the result of a rather overzealous use of the cat flap when he was only knee-high to a vole. And it was only his lustrous fur that hid all the other wounds of battle. Under all that black and white he looked like Moby Dick.
    ‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ he asked her.‘I nearly had a heart attack when Mrs Troubridge collared me outside with tales of death and destruction.’
    ‘Max, I
tried
to let you know. I rang school but you’d gone. I got Mrs B. Then I tried your mobile, and guess what?’
    ‘What?’ Maxwell was almost certain he knew what was coming.
    ‘Well, surprise, surprise, I got Mrs B again. Your mobile was in your desk drawer. I suppose I should be grateful that you are improving. At least it was switched on.’
    ‘I wondered where it was,’ he said sheepishly.
    ‘Well, never mind,’ she said. She was too relieved that her son was safe to be angry at his father. ‘But, Max,’ she looked seriously at him. She saw her opportunity and she took it. ‘This could have been a bad accident. I might have been unavailable. You really have to carry your phone.’ Then, as an afterthought, ‘And have it switched on. On your person and switched on. That’s nice and easy to remember, isn’t it?’
    ‘I do understand that,’ he said, stroking Nolan’s cheek with the back of his fingers and ignoring Jacquie’s rather patronising tone. ‘I know I ought to be contactable. But I can’t have my phone switched on in lessons. I have banned all phones in my class.’
    ‘I thought they were banned at school in general.’
    He drew back from her and looked at her asthough she was a new and interesting animal just invented by David Attenborough. ‘Dear girl, I had always been led to believe that you were a Woman Policeman. Can you really be that naive?’
    She shook her head, smiling. ‘Sorry, I can’t imagine what I was thinking. But, seriously, Max, can’t you have it on silent?’
    ‘I don’t know. Can I?’
    ‘Of course you can. Or, you could let messages go to voicemail and pick them up in breaks.’
    ‘Again, I must respond – can I?’
    ‘Max, do you know how to use your phone?’
    ‘Of course I do. I’ve phoned you with it.’ He sounded triumphant.
    ‘Yes. I remember those rare times. And, before you say, I have phoned you. Texting?’
    ‘I’ve had texts.’ Triumph was giving way to truculence.
    ‘Sent one?’
    ‘I may have done.’ It was pure Homer Simpson.
    ‘To the right person?’
    ‘Who knows?’ To Maxwell, a text was something historical. They’d called them gobbets in his day; people were rather more unpleasant in his day.
    She sighed and hefted Nolan into a more comfortable position. ‘I tell you what, Max. What if you go and make me a cup of tea? I’ve been sitting here for what seems like hours. I just can’t bear to disturb him. I’m absolutely parched.Then, we’ll have a lesson in how to use a mobile phone.’ He opened his mouth to reply but she was quicker. ‘Properly. In all its web-surfing glory.’
    He tried to