Read Online Goodnight Mister Tom by Michelle Magorian - Free Book Online

bulging. He had also a box of groceries to pick up and some wooden and cardboard boxes that he thought would be useful for Willie’s room.
    Within half an hour he was back at the library. He peered through the glass at the top of the door. Willie was kneeling on a chair absorbed in books, his elbows resting on a long wooden table. Miss Thorne towered beside him, pointing at something on one of the pages. Tom hesitated for a moment and then walked hurriedly on to the small road back towards the artist’s shop.
    ‘Forty-odd years,’ he muttered, staring into its window. ‘Is that how long it is?’
    He pushed the door ajar. It gave a loud tinkle. Even the same bell, he thought. He paused for an instant and then stepped inside.
    Willie felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was Tom. He was carrying a parcel.
    ‘Ready to go now,’ he said quietly.
    Willie had his finger on a large letter. ‘That’s an “O”, ain’t it, mister?’ Tom bent down to look. The book was filled with pictures of a marmalade coloured cat. ‘That’s right,’ said Tom. ‘You knows yer alphabet then?’
    ‘I nearly knows it.’ He looked up quickly. ‘Mister Tom,’ he asked timidly, ‘will you help me?’ He looked down at the book, clenched his hands and held his breath. Now he’d be for it. Don’t ask help from anyone, his mum had said. He waited for the cuff around the ear.
    ‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘I expect I can talk to Mrs Hartridge or whoever’s your teacher and ask what you need to practise.’
    Miss Thorne interrupted him. ‘Don’t go working him too hard. Looks like he could do with some of our country air.’
    ‘He’ll git plenty of that,’ snapped Tom. ‘There’s veg to plant and Dobbs to look after, and weeding.’
    Miss Thorne said no more. Poor boy, she thought, away from his loving home and now dumped with an irritable old man.
    Tom picked up Willie’s three books and gave them to him to carry. The one Miss Thorne had chosen was Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories .
    ‘It’s not very educational, I’m afraid, Mr Oakley.’
    ‘Did I say I wanted somethin’ educational?’
    ‘No, Mr Oakley.’
    ‘Then don’t put words in my mouth.’
    ‘No, Mr Oakley,’ and she suppressed a smile.
    After they had left, she stood in the doorway and watched them walking down the main street past the square.
    ‘What an odd couple,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Wait till I tell May!’

    ‘Run,’ roared Tom, and he and Willie tore down the pathway to the cottage. They were only just in time. The sky gave one almighty shake and split open. Rain and hail bounced on the tiled roof with such venom that Tom and Willie were quite deafened. They had to shout to make themselves heard. Sam growled and barked out of the front window.
    Tom put the blacks up, lit the lamps and began unpacking the parcels.
    ‘These are pyjamas, William,’ he said, lifting up two blue-and-white striped garments. ‘You wear them in bed.’
    ‘Pie-jarmers,’ repeated Willie copying Tom’s way of speaking.
    ‘That’s right. Now,’ he said, ‘you going to sleep in the bed tonight?’
    Willie looked startled.
    ‘Bed’s for dead people, ain’t it?’
    Tom stood up.
    ‘Come with me.’
    Willie followed him across the passage to Tom’s bedroom. He hovered in the doorway.
    ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘Don’t dally.’ Willie took a step in. ‘See this here bed. I’ve slept in it fer forty yer or more and I ent dead yet, and that basket at the end is Sammy’s bed, when he’s a mind.’
    They returned to the front room and, after a light tea of eggs and toast, Willie changed for bed and positioned himself by the armchair, next to Tom. The rain continued to fall heavily outside rattling the windows unceasingly.
    ‘I’ll have to fairly shout this story,’ yelled Tom above the noise.
    Willie sat in his crisp new pyjamas. It had felt strange the previous night going to bed without wearing his underpants; but this odd suit felt even