Free Wilderness by Roddy Doyle Page B

if I tell you a bit about me?”
    Gráinne shrugged again.
    â€œIf you like.”
    â€œWell,” said her mother. “You know I live in New York.”
    Gráinne nodded. But this was weird.
    â€œWhere?” she said.
    â€œWhere, what?”
    â€œWhere in New York?” said Gráinne.
    â€œManhattan,” said her mother. “The Upper West
    Side.”
    Gráinne nodded. She’d imagined herself there. All her
    life she’d seen herself walking down one of the streets.
    Or, since she’d found out where her mother lived.
    â€œWhat number street?” she said.
    â€œOne hundred and sixteenth,” said her mother. “And Amsterdam.”
    She lived near the corner of one hundred and
    sixteenth Street and Amsterdam Avenue. Streets
    across, avenues up and down. Gráinne had seen maps
    of New York on the internet. She’d printed one out. It
    was on her bedroom wall.
    â€œDo you live in an apartment?” she asked.
    â€œYes,” said her mother. “They don’t have houses like
    here.”
    Gráinne nodded.
    â€œOn your own?” she said.
    It was out. It was like the table had fallen away and
    there was nothing to lean on.
    â€œI’m sorry?” said her mother.
    â€œDo you, like – do you live on your own?”
    â€œNo,” said her mother. “No, I don’t.”
    She was blushing.
    â€œI was going to tell you other things first,” she said.
    â€œThe good news, then the bad news,” said Gráinne.
    â€œNo,” said her mother. “Just – God.”
    She clutched her collar. She let go of it.
    â€œMaybe I shouldn’t have come,” she said. “This isn’t
    what I expected.”
    â€œWhat did you expect?” said Gráinne.
    â€œI don’t know,” said her mother.
    â€œYou thought it would be easy.”
    â€œNo,” said her mother. “Not really. But, yes.”
    â€œMe too,” said Gráinne. “I thought it wouldn’t
     matter what you said, or anything.”
    Her mother nodded.
    â€œI thought we’d have to just see each other,” said
    Gráinne. “I’ve always thought that.”
    â€œHow long?”
    â€œAlways,” said Gráinne.
    She watched her mother cry. She watched her wipe
    her eyes.
    â€œI don’t like the way you talk,” said Gráinne.
    She watched her mother.
    â€œI don’t think you’re honest,” said Gráinne. “I
    thought it would be different.”
    She gulped back. She knew she wouldn’t cry.
    â€œI thought it would make sense. When I saw you.”
    Her mother nodded. She wiped her eyes again.
    â€œWill we start again?” she said.
    â€œThat’s not honest either,” said Gráinne. “It’s just crap.”
    She stood up. She took her bag off the floor. She
    walked out.
    She walked down the street. She didn’t look back. She didn’t hear anything. She walked to the bus stop. She waited. It was cold. Her mother hadn’t followed her.
    She got on the bus. She went home.
    Her dad was at work. She went up to her room. She
    shut the door. She put on her headphones.
    She wouldn’t hear the bell. She wouldn’t hear
    the phone.

 
CHAPTER SEVEN
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    Â 
    It was dark now. It seemed like ages since they’d left,
even a different day. But it hadn’t been very long. It
just felt like that. The boys were tired, even though
they’d done nothing. The fresh air did it; that was
what their mother said. They’d been gulping down the
freshest air they’d ever tasted. They couldn’t stop
    yawning.
    They went along the tracks they’d made that
    morning. The tracks were hardened, and icy. It was
     getting even colder.
    The dogs hadn’t slowed a bit. They were still flying,
    little steps. Ears up, and tails in the air. One of the
    dogs had pooed while he ran. His bum was near the
    ground but he kept moving