Woodhill Wood Read Online Free Page A

centre section, and then a scuttling sound as he raced down the final eleven; Ben still had a long way to go.
    He burst through the door and slid into his place on the opposite bench. He didn't look at his big brother: all his attention was focused on the bowls of vegetables between them. He picked a steaming carrot out of the nearest bowl, but it burnt his fingers so he dropped it on to the table and shook his hand briefly in the air. Two steps warning of the mother's reappearance was enough for him to get the rogue carrot back into the bowl.
    She slumped into her chair and shook her head. Roger was obviously still too busy with his book. He always seemed to find eating with the family a great strain. They never ate in the right way or discussed the things he wanted to discuss, and yet he would always grudgingly drag himself to the table and endure the experience in the interests of fatherliness, wincing at the inane conversation, frowning at the jokes that made Mum laugh, always looking for an excuse to leave. Despite all the pain of the meal, he seemed to feel he had to be there. It was as if eating with the family was the curse of his existence, his punishment for past indiscretions.
    By the time the door from the hall opened Gurde had nearly cleared his plate. They fell silent and waited while the man settled himself. The father took in the usual deep breath before plunging into his requests for things to be passed to him. These he fired off in an almost continuous stream, until his plate was full and the salt and pepper and butter had been administered. Then he picked up his knife and fork and began to arrange the food on his plate. He looked up and scanned the faces around the table.
    "So...," he said.
    Everyone nodded in agreement. There was a slight pause while he waited for some great gem of wisdom from his sons or his wife. When none came he bowed his head and began to shovel food into his mouth.
    The mother's mood was mellowing rapidly. She stopped eating and watched him for a while until she had built enough courage to ask a question, any question. "Well love.... how's the Jenkinson case going..?"
    He raised his hand to signify she had to wait for a reply and started to chew then swallow his mouthful of food. He swallowed a large lump dramatically and then met her eyes.
    "What did you say?"
    "I just wondered how..." she replied.
    "Does it interest you then?"
    Here we go again, Gurde thought. He could hear it in the tone of the father's voice, the cold flat reply warning against further conversation. The mother was either deaf to the sound, or pretended it didn't exist, because, where Gurde would have fallen silent, the mother always redoubled her efforts.
    "Of course it interests me love... I was just wondering.."
    "You know I shouldn't discuss my cases..."
    "I don't see why."
    "No. You wouldn't."
      He took another mouthful of flan and chewed vigorously.
    "I mean, I was just..." she said, but there was already no going back. If he felt inclined, he could wrap her up in her own words and watch her squirm. He normally felt inclined.
    "I'm not allowed to discuss my cases. I've told you that a hundred times. Why do you insist on trying to make me do it?"
    "Why not? I'm not going to...."
    "...shout it around the town?" He let out a short laugh and shoveled a fork full of peas between his lips.
    "What was that laugh for?" she said. She could not stop herself from lighting the fuse.
    "You and your big mouth," he said shaking his head slowly.
    "That's not fair."
    "And still she goes on." He looked up from his plate. "Can't you keep quiet for a minute while I eat? Just for once, as a birthday treat. That would be nice."
    "Why do you always... ?"
    He swallowed in surprise. "Me? Trying to pin another one on me? I was just eating my dinner, wasn't I lads? And what happens? Your mother starts accusing me." 
     
    It was true that she couldn't help herself; she had to talk about something, anything, to prevent the possibility