Free Winterton Blue by Trezza Azzopardi

voice going up at the edges.
    Nothing, said their mother, Now will one of you go and fetch us a taxi before I bleeds to death!
    At the hospital, she presented the packet of frozen peas to the casualty nurse, who was already shooing her to the frontof the queue. They went on through the double doors and out of sight. Lewis and Wayne and Manny sat in the waiting-room and said nothing, until Manny saw Lewis’s face, like plastic melting, and said,
    Don’t worry, son, they’ll sew that finger back on. She kept it nice and cold. Shall we get us a drink from that machine?

    Manny always was good at evasion; back then, it was about his mother’s finger—or maybe he didn’t understand that sometimes truth was a better option. As they walked back to the van, Lewis had the distinct feeling of being a child again, and that Manny would happily lie to comfort him. But he was no longer a child. He didn’t care for comfort.
    Manny sighed heavily behind him. It might have been out of frustration at the way Lewis had behaved, or in sympathy with the reception he received. Either way, Lewis didn’t care. He had to resist the urge to turn about, push past Manny, and run back inside; he would have knocked the boyfriend flat if Manny hadn’t stopped him. Neither of them spoke as they climbed in the van, but Manny let out another sigh, loud and long.
    Something on your mind? asked Lewis
    No, chief.
    What did he call himself again?
    Gary Barrett, said Manny, He’s local.
    You know him?
    Not really, said Manny, then after a beat, He drinks in the Old Airport with our Carl. They do scuba club on Tuesday nights.
    Lewis did a double take.
    Your Carl? Scuba? Fucking
scuba
?
    Manny grimaced.
    I know, son. Unbelievable.
    And this Gary Barrett, said Lewis, D’you think he was telling the truth? About her?
    Search me.
    Lewis pondered this. The man was polite enough after the initial encounter, but he wouldn’t tell Lewis anything about where his mother had gone or when she’d be back.
    It’s not really my place to say, he said, But I’ll tell her you called. Leave us your number, just in case she wants to get in touch.
    It was the
just in case
that made Lewis’s blood pump in his neck. That, and the feeling he had, that his mother had been upstairs, standing behind the bedroom door, listening.
    Manny watched the skeleton dangling off the rear-view mirror, swinging his head in time to the rocking motion it made. Now and then he’d flip a finger at it, making it twirl.
    Does he glow in the dark, then? he asked. Lewis shrugged.
    Like I say, it’s not really my van.
    He turned the radio up, and they sat together, staring ahead, listening to the music. Manny turned it down when the disc jockey started to talk.
    Can’t stand all that yakking, he said, finally.
    Lewis didn’t respond. They remained silent until Manny started to fidget again. Lewis could tell he was building up to something; he waited for it to work itself out.
    You could always stop with me, Manny said at last, Just for a bit, until you’ve sorted something for yourself. And since Sylvie went—it’d be company. After a fashion, like.
    Thanks, said Lewis.
    You’ll want to think about it, of course, said Manny, offended, I expect the offers are flooding in.
    How old is Gary Barrett, do you think? Lewis asked.
    Manny shrugged.
    Don’t know. Mid thirties? About your age, I reckon.
    Exactly, said Lewis.
    And that’s what’s eating you?
    Yep.
    Well, you know, son, squaring up to her boyfriend—however old you think he is—isn’t going to get you in her good books. You can’t just go barging into people’s lives without a by-your-leave. Not after all this time.
    Lewis snorted, jabbing his foot so hard on the accelerator that Manny jerked forward in his seat.
    After all what time? said Lewis, It’s stopped still for her. For a minute, I thought it was Errol standing