Triskellion 3: The Gathering by Will Peterson Page B

“Rudolph’s hitting me and pinching me.” The boy was wearing shorts and a grey jumper. He had tears in his eyes and held his forearm out to show his mother the pinch mark.
    “He did it to himself,” the bigger boy whined. He was a couple of years older, and to Celia looked somehow more American, with long trousers, a plaid shirt and his hair cut in a military style called a flat-top. “He’s just trying to get me in trouble again.”
    “Is this true, Hilary?” Eleanor looked sternly at her younger son. The small boy fixed his mother with bright blue eyes.
    “He’s lying, Mommy. He hurt me.”
    “I’ll talk to you both about this later,” Eleanor said. “Now go to your rooms. Your father will be home in a minute and he will not be pleased.”
    Both boys turned and left the room. Hilary glanced back at Celia as he went and poked out his tongue.
    “I’m sorry about that,” Eleanor said. “I’m afraid an air force base is not the best place to bring up children.”
    “Have you been married to Gerry long?” Celia coloured, suddenly feeling she was becoming a little too personal, but Eleanor’s face registered no surprise.
    “Oh, just over seven years,” she said. “Rudi’s my son from my first marriage.”
    Seven years, Celia thought. Just about the length of time since Gerry had last written to her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Rude of me to pry.”
    Eleanor went up to the window and pulled a curtain aside. A military Jeep had rumbled up to the front of the house and Celia heard a door slam.
    “Speaking of Gerry,” Eleanor said, “here he is now… Keep quiet; this will be such a surprise!”

    Surprise was not the word Celia would have chosen to describe the look on Gerald Wing’s face when he saw her standing in the middle of his sitting room. Horror, perhaps, or confusion. Rage, even.
    “Celia?” he said.
    “Hello, Gerry.” She could see that he was trying to contain himself, to conceal from his wife whatever emotion he was going through.
    “Let me fix some drinks,” Eleanor said, walking towards the kitchen.
    As soon as his wife had left the room, Wing turned on Celia. “What the devil are you doing here?” he whispered hoarsely. “Are you mad?”
    “I thought you’d be pleased. I didn’t know you were married.”
    “Well, I am,” Wing said. “And that’s that.”
    “Why did you stop writing?” Celia’s voice was beginning to crack.
    “How could I write?” he said. “I was married! Besides the authorities wouldn’t allow it. No contact with home was permitted.”
    “Do you love her?” Celia blurted out. She didn’t care about the authorities – or his work.
    Wing’s head dropped, and when he raised it again to look at her, the anger had gone from his eyes. “You know you and I could never have married, Celia … and you know why.”
    Against her better instincts, tears began to prick at Celia’s eyes. Wing looked away and saw his stepson eavesdropping at the bottom of the staircase. The boy darted back upstairs.
    Wing handed Celia a large handkerchief. His voice soft-ened. “Chin up, old girl. Eleanor will be in with the drinks in a moment and I don’t want her thinking I’ve made you cry.”
    But the softening of Wing’s voice did exactly that and, mumbling an apology, Celia rushed to the front door and stumbled into the street. Gerald followed and pulled her back, and there was no more than a momentary resistance before she was in his arms and they were kissing each other.
    Lost in their embrace, neither saw the two boys watching them from the upstairs windows…

I t had begun to get dark and Gabriel suggested that they find somewhere to spend the night. Somewhere to relax and work out what their next move would be.
    “Let’s go stay at some swanky hotel,” Adam had suggested.
    Rachel had agreed, as desperate as her brother for a hot shower and the space to relax and take in what they had read and “seen” of their grandmother’s past.
    They had