HOPE

By Tessa Harvey

CHAPTER THREE

(Continued)

Hope had been to Bridie and Declan's church once or twice. Her dad had not seemed to mind. Sometimes he talked to her sensibly, but often he seemed vague and confused. It really bothered her. Slipping on a coat and shoes one Saturday morning, she went to talk to Bridie and Declan. It was a cold crisp morning and the sky was a lemony colour in the early morning.

As she neared her friends' house, she could smell cooking. She opened the back door and Smokey raced out, almost making her fall over. "Hey, Smokey," she called, "Nice day to you too!"

Bridie hugged her in the doorway, laughing. "She is probably feeling a bit desperate! Poor cat doesn't like the new cat litter. Looks awful. Made of walnut shells. We couldn't get the usual stuff."

"Let the poor girl and shut the door," yelled Declan, frying bacon and turning to smile at Hope. Hungry lass?"

"Oh boy, yes. Thanks."

Hope sat down happily. There was always a place for her here. She felt loved and cared for - and hungry! Quickly they said grace and tucked into the delicious crunchy bacon and fried eggs. Hope did not eat the added mushrooms, but Declan loved them. He always cooked extra for Hope so he could eat them. Funny man!

Steve Simpson sat nursing his drink and his grievances at his usual table at the Red Lion Pub. It had always been an escape for him. Steve saw himself as a victim since his wife turned away from him. He only liked a few pints and a little flutter on the dogs or horses now and then. What was wrong with that? The twins yelled a lot, and seemed always noisy or smelly or hungry.

Meals were seldom on time. He did all the work at the factory. Now the boss was grizzling, saying he was not as reliable. Life wasn't fair.

A couple of his cronies wandered in and offered to get him a drink.

"Thanks, mates. Great!"

All thoughts of home, of Hope, of work vanished like chimney smoke on a windy day.

His life was being stolen from him, just as ephemeral as the twisting smoke.