Free The Brilliant Light of Amber Sunrise by Matthew Crow Page B

feeling up to it. Reckon I could swipe some of those free hot chocolate packets if nothing else.”
    From outside there was more noise than usual as a bustling of feet and voices came down the corridor.
    â€œ. . . there are an abundance of herbal remedies, too. I have a friend who deals in Chinese medicine. . . .” I heard a woman’s voice saying as she slowly came into view.
    â€œBloody hell, it’s a walking, talking scarecrow,” Mum said, and Grandma tried not to laugh.
    The new arrival did look a bit odd. She had graying hair that seemed to do as it pleased, and flat, sensible shoes that looked like they had survived at least one major war. Her clothes were all rags and materials that flapped and folded around one another in a hundred different colors. On her thin wrist there were what looked like a dozen bracelets, each carrying a different type of stone. “Well,” she said, as Jackie led them onto the ward, “I’m glad to see those big windows . . . such beautiful natural light. How fortifying.”
    â€œMaybe so. The sills are a nightmare to clean, though,” Jackie said, leading her toward the bed next to mine.
    Two girls followed in their wake. One was younger, and dressed like the woman. The other was around my age, wearing a plain T-shirt and nondescript jeans, with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked like she was dressed for a fight. “You’ll be . . .” Jackie started to say, but was cut short by the eldest girl.
    â€œ. . . in the bed with my name on it. I’m there,” she said, hopping up onto the mattress.
    â€œI’ll let you get settled in then,” Jackie said, leaving us all in peace.
    â€œWell, isn’t this charming?” the mother said to the ponytailed girl, who seemed wholly uninterested. Then the woman turned to us. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Colette . . . Colette Spratt.”
    â€œJulie,” Mum said. She went to shake Colette’s hand but she ducked the handshake and pulled Mum into a tight hug. I thought Chris was going to pass out from trying not to laugh.
    â€œIsn’t this just charming . . . they’ve gone all out,” Colette enthused.
    The eldest girl dragged her dirty backpack onto the bed and kicked off her Converse before folding her legs beneath her. She turned to us and stared right at me, like she was taking aim.
    â€œI’m Amber,” she said. “What’s your name?”
    â€œFrancis.”
    â€œFrancis,” she said, as if examining the word with her tongue. “That’s a . . . gentle name.”
    â€œYou don’t know the half of it, love,” Grandma snorted, and I started wishing Mum had left her at home.
    â€œShall we close the curtain?” Mum asked no one in ­particular.
    Amber sat cross-legged on her bed and started pulling out all manner of curiosities from her backpack: postcards and photographs, CDs and old books. Nothing was new, everything cracked or faded and looking like it came with a history.
    â€œYou can,” she said, answering Mum for us, “but it’ll be a waste of everyone’s time. We’ll still be able to hear everything you say. Point well made, though.”
    â€œShe’s got your number,” Chris said, and Mum glared daggers at him.
    â€œQuite right. We may as well become acquainted,” Colette said. “Seeing as we’ll be bunking down together.”
    Amber upturned her backpack and the rest of the contents scattered messily onto the covers, followed by a fine mist of black dust, which coated the white sheets.
    She picked out a giant Toblerone and unwrapped the foil, pointing the stick at Mum.
    â€œTriangle of Switzerland’s finest?”
    Mum raised one hand and shook her head.
    â€œFrancis?” Amber asked.
    I said yes and she brought the bar over to me.
    â€œLook at us breaking bread together. . . . I like your snazzy sweater,” she said to