The Angel of Mons - Chapter eighteen

Eighteen

George was unsure as to whether he had slept at all when he rolled over and noticed a grey steel light seeping cold and damp from under the curtains. He knew he had been dreaming but could not remember precisely where his mind had carried him and in what order. But he found some tiny comfort in the thoughts he had had before he went to bed, and he got up quickly and made his way back to the living room which retained some of its warmth from the heat of the fire place.
He pulled back the curtains and his grey unshaven face once again he looked at the well preserved images on the photographs. He found his wallet on the desk, opened it and took out the small chain of flowers, kissed it and gently slipped it back into the pocket. He straightened his back, stood tall and seemed to walk a little more easily than he had only a few moments before.
George made himself a cup of tea, he shaved, washed and dressed himself making sure to put on several layers of clothing to keep himself warm. He let Bully into the garden and then dried his damp paws when he returned moments later, shivering.
George waited by the kitchen window looking occasionally at the clock and watching it as it crawled its way round with thick slow ticks to seven minutes past eight. He stood with his hands in the soapy water for ten minutes, barely noticing that it was growing cold, his hands constantly ringing a dirty dish cloth which meticulously washed the mug and single tea spoon that he had used that morning.
Their door opened and there he was. Sleepy eyed, chewing his fingers, his shorts twisted and his shirt hanging out at the back, one sock down around his ankles and the other pulled over his knee, he turned toward George his eyes opened and he waved with both hands, his eyes growing ever wilder. George laughed out load and smiled, and called through the glass, “Good morning boy, good morning boy,” his eyes wide and his jaw hanging, his soapy hand dripping and twitching as he waved.
Terri pulled a handkerchief from her small brown handbag, licked the corner and hurriedly wiped jam from the child’s face before ushering him along the path. As she passed the window George briefly caught her eye, but she quickly looked toward the ground. George stopped waving. His hand frozen in time and for a moment he stood perfectly still, frowning, before shaking his head and straining his neck and watching them disappear around the front of the house.
Suddenly George turned and hopped and skipped and tripped out of the kitchen through the living room and down the corridor, until he was confronted with two doors each of which led to a room with a view onto the road in front, he paused. A moment later he stumbled into Grahams old room, a room which he had not been in for several weeks, but the room which he knew would give him a better view up the road. He rushed to the window which he flung open, sticking his head into the cold winter air, his breath like smoke pouring from his mouth and nostrils as he breathed deep from his exertions.
He saw them for only a second or two as they disappeared round the corner and onto Greenway, “Goodbye boy,” he called grabbing for breath, “hurry home, see you later, goodbye boy.” Terri’s body twitched slightly as if a dog had jumped and barked at her threatening and angry, she looked back at George she was frowning, Joseph turned and began to raise his hands about to wave when Terri grabbed him and almost violently pulled him on his way, turning him forward and holding his tiny hand down.
“Don’t George, you’ll frighten them,” said Graham. George’s eyes opened so wide, he smiled, turned and looked back into the empty room.