Free Paradigm (9781909490406) by Ceri A. Lowe

Hutchinson seemed a lot calmer. He reached out a hand and touched Alice gently on the shoulder, then tousled her hair.
    â€˜It’s Alice, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘You must be very scared.’
    â€˜I’m okay,’ said Alice. ‘I’m nearly twelve, you know.’
    â€˜Then I suppose I’d better be here to take care of you.’ Mr Hutchinson cast his eyes around the flat. ‘Your mother might not come back… soon.’ He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. He smelled like a combination of pipe smoke and the mouldiness of Prospect House.
    â€˜I’m okay,’ she said, not sure whether to be angry or happy that Mr Hutchinson thought that, at her age, she needed to be taken care of. She’d done all right so far.
    â€˜I know, Alice. But you’ll be under my care now,’ said Mr Hutchinson and smiled. Alice pressed her fingers hard against the tea towel to stop it slipping down her leg. At first it had stung sweet and sharp but now it was starting to ache down to the bone.
    â€˜What happened here?’ said Mr Hutchinson.
    â€˜Nothing. I fell.’ Alice felt tears prick in her eyes but she blinked and they disappeared into the depths of her insides. Mr Hutchinson peeled back the tea towel.
    â€˜Ouch,’ he said. ‘That looks nasty. We need to do something about that, it’s very deep.’
    â€˜Something like what?’ said Alice, a nervous judder in her chest.
    â€˜I was in the army,’ said Mr Hutchinson. ‘Saw action all over, mostly the Gulf. Other places too. I’ve fixed worse than this. Does your mother have any alcohol here?’ Alice looked blankly at him.
    â€˜I think there’s some upstairs,’ she said in a whisper.
    â€˜Oh, I am sure there is,’ said Mr Hutchinson. ‘In the spare bedroom, the one on the far end—am I right?’ Alice nodded. She didn’t know that Mr Hutchinson had ever been to their flat. The pain in her knee was beginning to throb; she felt sure it was making a dull, just about audible sound but she couldn’t be sure. Her eyes were closing and she felt sleepy but she wanted to stay awake now that there was somebody to talk to—Mr Hutchinson was the first real person she had seen in days.
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    W hen he came back downstairs , Alice’s eyelids were heavy and behind her eyeballs felt gritty and itchy. She could hear him rattling around in the kitchen drawers and when he appeared, the old man carried one of the bottles of clear liquid, the white sheet from the bed and a black pair of scissors that used to sit in their kitchen drawer. Alice rubbed her eyes.
    â€˜Couldn’t find any antiseptic,’ said Mr Hutchinson, brandishing the bottle of vodka, ‘but this will do just fine.’
    Alice jumped up and the tea towel slid down her leg.
    â€˜I think I’m okay,’ she said faintly and sank to the floor.
    â€˜You’ve got a nasty cut there,’ said Mr Hutchinson and starting cutting the sheet into strips. ‘Lay down flat on the sofa and we’ll sort you right out.’ Alice used both arms to lift the injured leg up onto the cushions. It was heavy and dull, like her eyelids, but hurt a lot more.
    â€˜Here, take a sip of this.’ Mr Hutchinson held the bottle to her lips and, before she could protest, tipped her head back and held it there while the harsh liquid slid down her throat. ‘It’ll help with the pain,’ he added and Alice gagged as he held his hand over her mouth. It felt hot and warm inside her stomach, burning away the pain in her knee. She coughed a little and he took the bottle away for a second before replacing it again.
    â€˜Once more,’ he said and she glugged down the vodka. Within moments she felt woozy and sick but relaxed, and the pain seemed to throb away gently in the background without the harsh sting.
    â€˜I feel sick,’ she said as she pushed the