The History Room Read Online Free PDF

established whereby Rory and Sam, aged six and eight, stayed in the stable block with their Aunt Merry and Samson, and had, as their mother put
it, a riot. They stayed up late and ate and drank things normally banished from their Clapham home-cooked diets. I suspected that these visits were designed as much to distract me as for the
convenience of my sister. It would have been entirely possible for the boys to sleep in the main house. But whatever the motive, it worked. While the children were with me I almost forgot Hugh. And
Mum.
    ‘Oh yes.’ I heard the enthusiasm in my voice. I was already mentally shopping for ingredients to make them their favourite breakfast of pancakes and milkshakes. I only had one lesson
on Saturday mornings. I’d take the boys swimming at the local leisure centre. Then make them monster sandwiches. And perhaps we could hire a DVD and make popcorn in the evening.
    ‘That’s so kind.’ She sounded pleased. My affection for her sons made up for many of my deficiencies. Even if I was incapable of cooking them a wholesome supper of
shepherd’s pie and apple crumble. Clara and I had been close as young children but from teenagerhood onwards Clara had drifted away from me. Or perhaps I’d started the drift.
She’d always seemed so sure of herself, of what she wanted to do, who she wanted to be with, where she wanted to live, how many children she wanted, and when. And everything had happened
according to plan.
    Only when I’d heard the news about my husband and the explosive device in Afghanistan had I grown closer to Clara again. After I’d taken the phone call from the field hospital in
Camp Bastion she’d sat beside me for hours, holding my hand, saying nothing but letting me talk or stay silent as I preferred. Those quiet times together had washed away memories of teenage
spats: the time she’d accused me of ruining her new jeans, the time I’d thought she’d made a play for the sixth-form boy here I had my teenage eye on. Then Mum had died so
suddenly and we’d found ourselves clinging to one another again like two young girls.
    I went to bed feeling that at least there was one thing I was good at being: an aunt. It mightn’t sound like much, but it was a start. One day I might make a good teacher, too. Then
there’d be two things.

 
Five
    I must have forgotten to set the alarm. I woke with light streaming round the edges of the blinds. Muttering swearwords to myself I dashed for the shower. No time for
breakfast. I fed the dog and pulled his lead off the hook by the door. He performed his usual happy dance. The morning was cool, reminding me that it really was autumn now. My still-damp hair felt
cold against my head.
    I grabbed a beige baseball cap. ‘Bliss’ was written on the front, superimposed upon a palm tree. Hugh had bought it on a holiday to the Great Barrier Reef a few years back.
    I was due in assembly in twenty minutes. Unlike me to oversleep. But I’d spent a night haunted by strange images: a baby in a cupboard cried at me. I’d opened a wardrobe to rescue it
and found Hugh’s bloody severed leg sitting on a shelf. My husband had appeared, shouting that I’d stolen his limb and ruined his life. Then my mother had walked in and told us to stop
our fighting: we were disturbing a Latin lesson. I’d woken and sat bolt upright, pulse racing. I hadn’t slept properly again after that.
    I increased my pace to try and force the dreams from my mind. Samson, pleased at the acceleration, broke into a run, nose down to the dewy grass, zigzagging, picking up the scent of rabbits.
    My hair was almost dry now. I stuffed the baseball cap into my jacket pocket, hoping my bob wouldn’t be completely squashed flat. Sometimes, standing in front of a group of teenagers,
I’d feel their eyes sweeping my appearance: appraising, judging, sometimes – rarely – approving. ‘You should be so lucky,’ Deidre had told me. ‘When they
don’t even bother checking