Chapter Nine

Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed – it means a lot. As normal I own nothing. Sigh.

Art was dead.

Deaddeaddead.

Sure, he'd heard about death before, but it had never seemed to close, so real, so scary. But now... Someone Jack knew was dead. And he wasn't coming back.

It was strange.

It had been five days since The Incident. Everyone else had moved on. The gossip was now about Ruth Jones, who was pregnant but not married. The broken machinery had been cleared away. But Jack hadn't forgotten – how could he forget? He half expected to see Art coming up, neckerchief pressed over mouth, waving madly at him.

The funeral was to take place that afternoon. It wasn't much of a funeral – more of a commemorative service the factory had provided. They'd paid for the cheapest grave possible, in the nearest graveyard.

Jack had been invited – most of the factory had. That was why he was walking home alone, half an hour early, choosing not to stay and eat after the funeral. John would undoubtedly be furious that his son hadn't waited, but Jack didn't really care. He felt... numb.

It began to rain just as Jack passed the pub. He broke into a run – keeping up the pace for the rest of the journey. His hurried footsteps matched the sound of rain hitting the cobbles. Thump – thump – thump.

"I'm 'ome," he called, as he entered the house. It was empty, and dark. "Mum? It's jus' me. 'E's still at the funeral. Mum?"
"You alone?" Nora's voice came from the bedroom. It was hoarse, nervous.
"Yeah. Are you alrigh'?"

Nora appeared in the doorway. She had on her faded bonnet, and was holding a bundle. Her mouth was set in a slanted, determined line.

"We're leavin' Jackie."
"What?"
"We're leavin'. Now, Jackie. C'mon. I've packed all our things. I've got us bread and cheese for today, and a few coins."
"Leavin'? Without 'im?"
"Without your father. We're runnin' away from 'im Jackie."

For the first time in five days, Jack felt something. A flicker of... hope, perhaps?

"Where will we go?"
"I don't know yet, but we'll find somewhere. I promise."
"It's rainin'."
"I know."

Nora bundled her son out into the street, and put an arm around his shoulders, steering him down the road. The rain was falling heavily. Jack could barely see his mother, let alone the street ahead.

"I've been thinkin' about Art, an' what I'd do if I lost you, and I decided I 'ad to do this. For you. I'm not brave Jackie, but we'll do this. Together. You an' me."
"Yeah." Jack said.

He couldn't help but remember his mother's weak chest – that had caused her problems earlier in the year. He wished it would stop raining. He imagined he heard footsteps on the cobbles, and his heart leapt into his throat, thinking it was his father.

But it wasn't.

Jack was never sure how long they walked. He had barely left the little maze of alleyways that surrounded his house, and his regular haunts consisted of the factory, the bakery and the pub. All he knew was that when they reached Covent Garden it was deserted.

"We'll spend the night 'ere, yeah darlin'?" Nora said, ushering her son over to a doorway that was mercifully dry.

They huddled in the shadows, and Jack drifted off into an uneasy sleep. His last conscious thought was that, for the first time in a long time, his mother sounded happy.

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