Free The Amazing Mind of Alice Makin by Alan Shea Page B

fingers. Dropsy. So what about it?’
    I jump off. He jumps on.
    â€˜Thing is, you’re clever so you know the difference. But how do I know if I’m just telling lies or making up a good story? You sure you dropped the stick, I can’t see . . . hold on . . . picksmeup!’
    â€˜Good question, Norm. My stepdad doesn’t think I know the difference either.’
    Norman stands up on the running board. Sits on the top bit of the roundabout, stick in hand.
    â€˜So what’s a good answer?’
    The roundabout slows.
    â€˜Think you have to work that out for yourself, Norm.’
    â€˜Al?’
    â€˜Yeah?’
    â€˜I feel a bit sick.’
    â€˜Yeah, know what you mean.’
    â€˜â€™Ere, Al?’
    â€˜Yes, Norm?’
    â€˜D’you think I could ever write a play like what you do?’
    â€˜â€™Course you could; it’s easy.’
    â€˜How easy?’
    I look back at the swings moving gently in the breeze. Look at the blood drying on his knee.
    â€˜Easy as falling off a swing, Norm.’
    He pulls his balaclava down under his chin and smiles.

12
Getting wet
    R eggie’s sitting on the end of the little wooden jetty by the boating pond. Flash is looking at his reflection in the water. Tries to dip his paws in.
    â€˜You t-took your time.’
    â€˜I was talking to Norman.’
    On the jetty, red-faced men fish. They tie worms to hooks, talking about all the big fish they caught last week when there was no one there to see them. I look around for Charlie. He’s painting an old, upturned rowing boat. He smiles when he sees us. He’s a walking plant – flowerpot boots, a grizzled beard of white prickles. We help him to look after his customers sometimes: take money, help them into the boats.
    â€˜Charlie s-said he wasn’t very busy; we can take one out for a while.’
    â€˜Bags you row.’
    â€˜I b-bags you row.’
    â€˜I said it first.’
    â€˜I said it s-second.’
    Charlie looks up. ‘Leave Flash here, I’ll look after him. Looks like he’s in need of a bowl of water.’
    Flash doesn’t seem to like that idea; tries to get into the boat. Charlie goes to grab him. Flash ducks between his legs. Reggie calls him, makes him sit. Flash doesn’t look too pleased about that either. I think he fancied doing a bit of rowing himself.
    We step into the boat. I take one oar, Reggie takes the other. We work well together and soon get halfway across the lake, heading for Swan Island. The sky is clear and blue. We stop rowing and rest. It’s great out here, like being miles away from everybody. The people on the jetty have shrunk to doll size.
    We drift around the other side of Swan Island. I sit back. Overhead, birds swoop, darting their black, cut-out shapes against the sun. The air is calm, tranquil. I trail my fingers through the water – cool and dark and deep. The sun is hot on my head. I close my eyes, lift my face up. Once, people used to worship the sun. I can see why. I decide I’m just going to think of nice things. Thatched cottages, the chocolates I’m going to get for Mum, and let my mind drift off. The boat is a cradle. It’s so peaceful here. The light on the water. The sound of the birds. I feel the world rocking me to sleep.
    Something changes. I open my eyes. The sun is fading. Clouds have appeared from nowhere. They’re bubbling in the sky. Simmering. The little boat jerks. The clouds boil. The sky is changing colour. The surface of the water rises and falls. I sit up and look around, wondering what’s going on. Everything seems restless, disturbed, like some seamonster is trying to surface below us. I look up at the sun again. It seems to be shrinking, collapsing into itself. The light deserts the sky. A strange yellow mist rises up.
    I look at Reggie. He’s staring out at the water, looking puzzled.
    â€˜What’s going on?’
    He