The maid and the cook moved with us as they lived in. Cook said to me, "Master Jerry, what's the matter?" Cookie, it doesn't look like home."She hugged me and said, "Don't worry, 's new, 's what them posh people call 'art decor', I've read about it in me Woman's Own."At the time cook seemed to be old but was probably in her early twenties.I settled into Cliff House and went to the local school. I settled in fairly quickly but I was still an only child and spent a lot of time on my own. Father used to travel to London each day and we used to eat at the big table every night.My next major milestone was when I turned eleven. That summer I left the single room village school for the last time. I was going to the Grammar school in Eastbourne in September. Waiting for the bus at the end of the lane on a drizzly September morning I was confused. I got on the bus and when we got to the school I followed the other children but had no idea where to go, it was huge with long corridors and rooms. Please wait downstairs by the front door. He'll be right there."I went downstairs and waited near the door, keeping out of the way of people coming and going. It struck me as odd how many people came through a police station at that time of night; guess that showed what a sheltered life I'd led!When I spotted Johnson and Pam coming toward me, I noticed immediately that she had been crying; her face was wet, her eyes were swollen and she kept a tissue dabbing at her tears. She was huddled into a shell, as if trying to curl herself into a protective ball. She kept her eyes on the floor, never looking up at me. That started a new round of questions soaring through my mind: who, or what, were the tears for?Johnson put us in the back seat of his car, then climbed into the driver's seat and backed out. We were barely underway when Pam put a hand on my arm.I shook it off and hissed, "Don't touch me, bitch!"She cringed as if I had struck her. I have to admit that I wasn't far from it — I.
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