Fraser's Line Read Online Free PDF Page B

She knew he would forgive her, as he always did, but even so she wished she had not said it.
    Even when she was not expecting anyone Marjorie often stood at the window and watched the world go by. People knew her in the small village and would look to see if she was there, and wave. Those who knew her best would mouth the question ‘All right?’, and she would nod, and they would pass on by. It was a comforting feeling.
    Suddenly she felt rather tired and went to sit down. It wasn’t just the world outside that was passing by – her personal world was doing so too. She was well aware that Margaret, and Fraser up to a point, wanted her to go into a home where she could be looked after. When they talked to her about it she would smile obligingly and nod, but she had no intention of doing so. She had lived in this cottage ever since her marriage, and she was determined she would stay there until they had to carry her out – preferably dead.
    She loved both her children dearly, but knew in her heart of hearts that her favourite was Fraser. He was a good, kind man, and still, in a way, very vulnerable. She remembered him as a little boy, always happy, and busy, putting things together, or trying to make something, and wanting to help his mother. He was contented with simple pleasures – some materials from which he could make something, and a stick of barley sugar. Apart from the sweetness of it, the simple twisting design seemed to provide a pleasure of its own. And when things went wrong with what he was trying to do, as they inevitably did at times, he did not get into a temper. He raised those solemn brown eyes to her, with a look of pain and bewilderment which tore at her heart strings, silently beseeching her to make everything all right again.
    Perhaps the worst sorrow she had to cope with was when he was only five years old, and she knew Allen was not coming back from the war. Her own suffering was one thing, but seeing her little son hurt by the knowledge was far, far worse. How could she explain it to him? All those books so patronisingly ready to dish out practical advice to new mothers were completely silent on the subject of death.
    ‘Why won’t Daddy come back?’ he had asked. ‘Doesn’t he like us any more?’
    ‘He loves us dearly,’ said Marjorie, ‘but he’s had to go and live in heaven. He didn’t want to leave us, but he couldn’t help it. Some bad people have stopped him coming back.’
    ‘Can’t we go to heaven and fetch him?’ pleaded Fraser, his little, anxious, uncomprehending face sending a knife through her.
    ‘We have to make Daddy very proud of us,’ said Marjorie. ‘You’ll be the man of the house now, and you’ll be able to help me look after baby Margaret.’
    He had drawn a deep breath and puffed up his chest. ‘I’ll help you,’ he had said. And he did, as much as a little boy could. He never mentioned his Daddy again.
    One of his favourite playthings was his meccano set. He started out with a basic box, and gradually she had added some extra parts. Sometimes he followed the illustrations, but at other times he created something of his own. He would produce a car, or a tractor, and his pride of possession when he was eight was a beautiful crane.
    Ben, a classmate, came to play one afternoon. He did not have the same creative skills and watched in amazement as Fraser demonstrated how the crane worked, lifting small items on its hook. Ben kept trying to attach items that were too heavy and in danger of bending the tiny hook, but Fraser wouldn’t let him, explaining that the crane wasn’t designed for anything like that. Then, when Fraser left the room for a few moments, Ben picked up the crane, threw it on the floor, and stamped on it. Fraser couldn’t believe that his prized creation was now a tangled mass of bent metal. He brought it to Marjorie, saying sadly, ‘It won’t work now.’ Marjorie saw the bewilderment in his eyes, and the pain. She felt helpless to