Story so far

(Story so far: Jean’s dad is in prison and Jean and his mum are short of money. He has been caught shoplifting and is being interviewed at the police station.)

The flic asked, “Are you part of a gang? Were you going to deliver the items to a gang member?”
“No way. We are skint and I only take what we need to eat. Mum does not know I do this. I hate gangs and have nothing to do with them. They are full of thugs and bullies, and I am a small kid. My dad ended up in the nick cos of drug gangs.”
The policeman looked blank but the police woman’s eyes widened as if she was impressed, “You seem to know your way about and you are wise to say out of gangs.”
The officers and the social worker went aside for a conflab. They must have thought that mum and I were a pathetic pair.
Returning to us, the policeman, sounding a bit official, said to us, “We are not going to charge you on this occasion but I am giving you a final warning. If you commit another offence, you will be going before the Children’s Court and you could end up in a children’s home. Do you understand? This incident will be recorded and in effect you will have a criminal record. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”
Mum and I both nodded to show we understood. The food items were on the table and I boldly asked, “Can I take this stuff away?” They all looked blank.
The policeman coming back to life replied, “Certainly not. They are not yours. They will have to go back to the shop.”
The police woman was more pragmatic. “The shop won’t want them now, Thiery. They are all perishables and they have been out of the chiller too long. They would throw them away. He might as well take them.”
Her colleague did not disagree.
We were left to talk to the social worker, who asked mum about our financial situation. She reckoned that we were entitled to more benefits than we were getting. Mum said. “It is hard for me to understand all this stuff, as I don’t have a computer.”
“I could come and see you with my laptop and we could sort it out for you.”
“That would be really good, but I am out working most of the time. It would have to be late evening.” “That’s okay.”
The meeting went well. Mum got more benefits and decided to clean offices only in the early morning and to have most evenings and weekends at home.
We both kept thinking about Gérard as we had not heard anything from him for months, not since he told us that he was going away on special assignment which was top secret. In November, I watched a film on our small TV about a US soldier coming home from the Vietnam War at Christmas. He joined his family in a fine villa, with a roaring log fire and lots of Christmas food on the table. Great big Yankee cars in the driveway. Happiness all around and the singing of Christmas tunes. So different from our place. That film stuck in my mind and I kept hoping that Gérard would come home in time for Christmas.
It got bitterly cold in December. We could not keep our place warm as it was too expensive for us to run the electric radiators. Mum got bad flu and felt very ill. She stayed in bed with as many blankets as we had over her. Each evening when I was coming home from school I was worried that she might not have made it, but she was okay although weak and unable to eat much. It took her three weeks to be well enough to go back to work.
Then school broke up for Christmas. Each day I went to the train station to wait for trains from Paris hoping that Gérard might be on one of them. This was just desperate hope. I was usually there at the middle of the day which seemed to me to be the most likely time of his arrival. I thought he would surely ring to let us know he was on his way, but I waited there anyway. Like a dog waiting for his master.
Christmas Eve arrived and I had given up hope but even so I was still there waiting for trains from Paris. I knew that his barracks were in that city and assumed that he would arrive from there. Three trains from Paris arrived including two TGVs, but he was not on one. I thought it was time to go home, when a train arrived from the south on the platform nearest to me. A huge crowd got off the train and, as the very last of them were passing me, I saw him, a tall and powerfully-built man, who resembled dad in appearance. He was walking slowly and on crutches, and a porter was wheeling his case for him. I ran to him and put my arms around him. The porter said, “Well someone is glad to see you.” Gérard smiled.
“What has happened to your leg?” I enquired. “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you all I can when we get home.” “Is it painful?” “Yes, sometimes.”
(To be continued. Will things get better or worse now that Gérard has arrived?)

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