Free The Invisible Man from Salem by Christoffer Carlsson Page B

signature. A scrap of paper was glued to the page — what I later realised was the original. He studied it for a second, before flipping back through and, with a couple of deft hand movements, copying the signature. He ripped the page out and showed it to Julia.
    â€˜Will that do?’
    It was an exact copy of the original.
    â€˜Perfect,’ Julia said.
    He folded the page across the middle and gave it to her.
    â€˜They noticed that we were forging them,’ she said, looking at me. ‘They even had a meeting about it in our class, so if you’re going to get away with it now, it has to be really well done.’
    â€˜Seriously?’
    â€˜Seriously.’ She got up and folded the note again and stuffed it into her back pocket. ‘I’ve got to go — lesson’s about to start.’
    â€˜See you at home,’ said Grim.
    â€˜See you round,’ I said, attempting a smile.
    â€˜Yeah, see you round,’ Julia said, before disappearing back through the door.
    HE SHOT BIRDS with an air rifle, smelled his way to cash, and could forge his parents’ signatures. And he was called Grim. He was more like a cartoon character or someone from a film. But he wasn’t. He was completely ordinary and real.
    â€˜Someone has to pay the bills and sign things,’ he said once we were on the bus back to Rönninge High. ‘That’s how it is in all families, including yours, I assume. It’s really not that strange.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘In my family it’s me, because no one else remembers to do it.’
    It had started when their mum forgot to sign a form from the welfare office. Grim had found it lying on the coffee table. Their dad was off sick at the time, and the form was about the family’s financial support. Next to it lay another form, from Social Services, which was also missing a signature. Grim dug out a form with his mum’s signature on it, and practised it a couple of times on a notepad before carefully reproducing it on the two forms and posting them off. After that, similar things had happened a few times, and Grim told Julia, who told their dad.
    â€˜He was furious, of course. It was sort of illegal, really. I don’t know. But before long I knew more about their finances than they did. Dad can’t be bothered with it, and Mum’s ill. The medication makes it hard for her to keep on top of things. I do it — I mean take care of the bills and stuff — for Julia’s sake really, so that she can … I don’t know. So she doesn’t need to worry.’
    The bus driver had the radio on, and the silence between me and Grim meant I could hear the song playing up front.
    â€˜What kind of ill?’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜You said your mum was ill.’
    â€˜Hadn’t I said that before?’
    â€˜I don’t think so.’
    He sighed and stared out the window.
    â€˜After Julia was born, she got depressed. Psychotic even, for a while. They said it was down to the birth. She was … she tried …’ Grim hesitated, for a long time. ‘I was angry when she came along, when Julia was born. At least that’s what I’ve been told; I’d only just turned two at the time. I got angry that she was getting all the attention. But one day, when the psychosis had started, I was sitting on the floor at home somewhere, and Julia was screaming. They say you don’t have memories from that early, but I’m certain that I do because it’s all so vivid. I came into the living room and it looked like she had been sitting there breastfeeding Julia. Suddenly she just put her down on the floor, or dropped her, or let her go; I don’t actually know, and I don’t really want to. Either way, she just left her lying there. Dad was at work, so I picked her up, and we sat on the sofa until she stopped crying. It took ages — at least that’s what it felt like. I