A City of Strangers Read Online Free PDF Page B

environment.”
    â€œNo harm in that if you did.”
    â€œYou think I’ve conceived a romantic mission to rescue him.”
    â€œI think there may be something of that. But don’t you think he may have rescued himself?”
    â€œYes. Yes, of course, that is true. That’s the miracle of it. But it’s the years ahead I’m worried about. The teens are so difficult for a child. . . . It’s the moral squalor that he’s surrounded by that worries me—do you see?”
    â€œAye, I see. Of course, it’s a moral question. I’m not a religious body, by and large, but I know the difference between right and wrong. And I know that what he’s surrounded by is nasty and ugly. But look at the difference between him and his brothers and sisters. He’s not taken harm this far, and it’s my judgment he won’t take harm in the years ahead—God willing.”
    They were interrupted by a knock at the kitchen door. Lottie shouted “Come in,” and the face of a young black woman appeared, and then the rest of her.
    â€œSorry—you’ve got visitors.”
    â€œHello, Selena—I was hoping you wouldn’t come,” said Lottie Makepeace.
    â€œThanks very much,” the woman said, coming over and taking no offense. She was young, pretty, and overflowing with life—not least because she was very pregnant. Her eyes danced with inquisitiveness and mischief, but there was also a steeliness that betokened determination: not a lady to cross, Carol guessed. “We’re just off to the new house, and I thought I’d take those roots of primula you promised me.”
    â€œMike Phelan’s teacher,” said Lottie, indicating Carol. Selena laughed.
    â€œOh— that’s why you’d rather I hadn’t come. I’m Selena Cray.” They shook hands and sat at either side of the kitchen table. “What have you been telling her, Lottie? That Jack Phelan is nothing worse than a likeable rogue?”
    Lottie was busying herself with bundles of newspaper on the draining board, from which fragments of earth fell. Then she came over and poured three cups of tea.
    â€œI’m telling her nothing but the truth. There’s no need for a prosecuting council when I’m around.”
    â€œI think I saw he was something worse than a likeable rogue, the one encounter I had with him,” said Carol.
    â€œWell, you try being pregnant, the wife of a policeman, and black,” said Selena equably. “If you’ve had an encounter, you can imagine the sort of things he says, or shouts. The pregnancy jokes I can stand. You get ‘bun in the oven’ jokes anywhere—though Phelan’s are remarkably uninventive. The gibes about Malcolm being a policeman I can grit my teeth and bear. There’sothers around here don’t like the idea of ‘the fuzz’ actually living on the Estate. But I definitely do draw the line—or I would with anyone else—at ‘nigger’ and ‘wog’ and that sort of thing. Sometimes they all get mixed up—you know: ‘What color’s the bun in your oven?’ or ‘Is he going to come out with a helmet on?’—really brilliant stuff.”
    â€œHow do you cope?”
    â€œGood humor. It may seem like a cop-out, but I decided that with him it was the only way. ‘Lovely morning, Mr. Phelan,’ ‘Got out of bed the wrong side today, did you, Mr. Phelan?’—that sort of thing. With a dazzling smile. It doesn’t stop him, of course, but it leaves me less drained than anger would.” She paused. “It’s the children that are more difficult.”
    â€œOh,” said Carol. “Them too.”
    â€œWhat can you expect, with a father like that? When you get kids shouting horrible or just plain stupid insults at you, it all seems so . . . hopeless. And then there’s that terrible boy