To The Grave Read Online Free Page B

was fitted all the way to her knees so that she waddled like a duck when she came into the room.  At least that’s how Mena saw things, but the smile on Edward’s face as he rushed to meet her suggested to Mena that he liked the effect.  What really set the look off was the fact that she was already wearing her strawberry-blonde hair in the same kind of up-do Mena had planned for herself that evening.  Mary must have known that Eddie would be gone again by then.
    There followed a kiss that lasted all of five seconds but which felt to Mena more like five minutes.  Her father looked away into the fireplace and continued to puff on his pipe as Mena watched her sister’s ankle slide the length of her slender calf and back again.  She wished her calves were that slender.  She thought how unfair it was that she should still carry the softness of her childhood just as she was beginning to feel like a woman, but she figured the Land Army would soon sort that out.  It would be a ‘healthy, happy job’ according to the poster she had in her room and there was certainly nothing soft about the pitchfork-wielding girl in the green pullover and khaki corduroy breeches depicted in the advertisement.  Mena saw Edward whisper into Mary’s ear and Mary whispered something back.  She couldn’t hear what it was, but it set the young lovers giggling.  A year ago, perhaps two, Mena would have charged in and insisted they tell her what they were giggling about, but she was all grown-up now and knew better.
    When at last Mary and Edward managed to peel themselves apart they came hand in hand to the fireplace, smiling broadly and already glowing long before they reached it.  Mary seemed to see Mena then for the first time.
    “Is that our Mena?” she said.  “No, it can’t be.”
    Mena knew her sister was teasing, but it was the first time she’d made herself up at home and she was enjoying the compliments.  She couldn’t suppress her smile, however hard she tried to.  She gave a little curtsey and lowered her head to hide her blush.
    “You look beautiful,” Mary said.  She leant in and they touched cheeks.  “Merry Christmas, sis,” she added.  Then she kissed her father and said, “You too, Pop.  Merry Christmas.”
    There was no preceding knock at the sitting-room door the next time it opened and the sight of her mother standing in the glow of the frame reminded Mena that she had been by the fire too long.  Margaret Lasseter looked flushed as she continued to wipe her hands on the stained apron that covered her cornflower-blue day-dress.  She was a slim woman, almost as tall as Pop, with short mousy hair, sharp-set features and eyes that missed nothing.  There was the hint of a smile there somewhere, probably for the benefit of their guest, but Mena knew she was in trouble.
    “Sorry, Mother, I was just coming.”
    “Well hurry along, girl!” Margaret said.  She smiled more fully, yet unconvincingly, at Edward.  “Edward’s brought Christmas with him this year,” she added.  “Enough to last the week, I should think.  Real turkey, too, and there’s bacon for breakfast and a dozen real eggs.”  She was talking to the room now.  Then directly to Mena, she added, “It all has to be prepared, you know.  Quickly girl.  Unless you want us all eating dinner at tea-time.”
    Mena quickened her pace, but as she approached the doorway, she faltered.  Her mother’s feigned smile had all but collapsed, replaced by disbelief as she clutched at the wooden crucifix she always wore on a rough length of string around her neck.  Another step and Mena could hear the air drawing in through her nose and she knew she was really in for it when she saw her mother’s lips begin to tremble and shift as if in utterance of some silent prayer. 
    It came without further warning.
    Mena reached the door and that dirty apron was suddenly in her face, rubbing and scratching and tearing at her mouth.  She felt her