Free Knife Edge by Fergus McNeill Page B

lean, but at least he didn’t have to suck his stomach in any more – and his arms were toned.
    That was probably the swimming. He’d been dismissive when his counsellor had suggested it as a way to help him get through the bereavement, but he’d tried it anyway and it had worked in a way – maybe lifting his mood a little, but certainly burning through some long, lonely hours, and tiring him so he could sleep.
    He gazed at his reflection for a moment longer, pulling a hand down his jaw – he would shave in the morning, put some wax in his hair if he still had any lying around. Satisfied, he turned away from the mirror and tested the water with his toe. Far too hot. He spun the cold tap and let it run for a moment, paddling the water with his foot to cool the whole bath.
    Before he got in, he retrieved the portable radio from the window sill and switched it on. Quiet voices on Radio 4, winding down the day with a muted discussion of The Arts.
    He eased himself into the bath and lay back, mind and body melting away in the hot water. Steam closed his eyes and carried his thoughts once more to Sue, picturing her face, the way she looked at him – that clear smile, without any of the apprehension or pity that he saw in others when they spoke to him.
    He slid deeper, so that the water gently lapped up over his chest to circle his neck.
    That smile had been for him, her eyes attentive, interested. But what could he offer her? What could she possibly want from someone like him? He wasn’t that much older – that wasn’t the problem. It was just that she had seemed so … happy. Happy inside, unlike himself. He didn’t want to taint that happiness, didn’t want to see her face lose that spark of optimism, like his own troubled reflection.
    Sighing, he turned his wrists upward, finding the hottest water just below the surface, feeling the warmth spreading through his veins. A voice from the radio mentioned that it was getting late.
    He opened his eyes and reached for the soap, holding it to his nose to smell the cinnamon.
    There was nothing he could do about it tonight – best to forget it for now. Sitting up and yawning, he ran the soap down his arm and began to wash the thoughts away.

9
    She dreamed of sunlight, glittering through the trees at the end of the garden. It dappled the neatly mown grass as she twisted the pink handlebar grip back and forth, clicking up and down through the gears of her bicycle. Her small hands paused for a moment, and that was when she became aware of it – an indistinct sound, coming from the house. Resting her bike against the garage wall, she stood still, listening. At first, she thought her mother was calling her, and she skipped across the tiny square lawn to the tall patio doors. Reaching up, she tugged hard on the handle, leaning back to give all her slight weight to it with the eager abandon of a child, but as the heavy double glazing started to slide open, she suddenly heard more clearly. Raised voices in the kitchen, growing louder and louder as the door slid further, despite her trying to stop it.
    ‘… I don’t know why not. It’s never stopped Jerry.’ The shrill, mocking tone was all the more unsettling for coming from her mother.
    ‘That’s your answer to everything.’ Her father’s words were quieter, colder. ‘I swear you won’t be happy till you’ve turned me into a copy of that stuck-up little shit.’
    He sounded so cross. Her small fingers still gripped the smooth metal handle tightly, her body swaying unhappily over the threshold as she stared across the shadowy dining room towards the kitchen door.
    ‘At least
he
knows how to provide for his family.’
    Why did her mother have to argue with him like this? Didn’t she realise how angry she was making him?
    There was a moment of strangled silence before her father began to shout.
    ‘Well I’m sorry you had to settle for someone who
works
for a living.’
    ‘Oh, give it a rest,’ her mother laughed.