Free Breaking Light by Karin Altenberg Page B

size of bulls’ hooves.
    Thud!
    Fish and chips by the harbour.
    Thud!
    And then Michael’s fingers were on the block, trying to steady a woodlouse for its sacrifice, but he did not pull his hand away quickly enough. Surely Gabriel would not have let the hammer fall on to those thin fingers? And yet this time there was a different kind of thud and a terrible scream. Gabriel stared at the fingers, which, for a brief moment, seem unharmed and abnormally white before there was suddenly blood everywhere. And, in all that bright panic and howling, there was a strange and terrible warmth inside Gabriel.
    And so, at the end of that first summer, they ended up in hospital together – Gabriel having his face fixed and Michael three of his fingers. Because they were the best of friends, they were allowed to recover in the same ward. And, although they were not allowed to lie together like they used to up on the moors, behind their closed eyelids they would dream the same dreams of roaming and adventure. The green and blue dreams that race along serpentine roads with eight cylinders or merge thickly out of underground caves. Although they were supposed to be asleep – and the nurses, with their beautiful, cool hands smelling of soap and their kind, kind smiles, had pulled the curtain aroundeach bed – Gabriel could still feel the warmth of Michael’s heart against his, smell the nearness. Brothers in arms. Blood brothers.
    *
    The house was all too quiet. He must have fallen asleep but he was convinced that Mrs Ludgate was still downstairs. She would not have left without making herself known. He sat up on the bed and felt with his feet on the floor for his shoes. The room was cold and he rubbed his hands together and shrugged his shoulders before getting up. He pulled his cardigan down over his stomach but, to his dismay, this only made it ride up at the rear, exposing his lower back. How come my clothes are shrinking? he thought to himself as he started down the stairs. Yet another addition to the general catalogue of indignities. He found Mrs Ludgate bent over a framed photograph in the drawing room. It had been taken on the front steps sometime in the late forties or early fifties. He could feel an unreasonable anger rising inside him. ‘What are you doing? I thought you said you were here to work.’
    She stood back quickly, her throat reddening. ‘I was just admiring this photograph,’ she confessed. ‘Is that your family?’
    He glanced at the photograph, quickly. ‘Yes.’
    â€˜Aww! Then that cute little boy must be you, is he?’
    â€˜Yes …’ He was beginning to hate her.
    â€˜So you actually grew up in this house?’
    â€˜I … I lived here for a little while when I was very young,’ he said, cautiously.
    â€˜I can’t quite imagine a family living here – it seems so quiet …’ and, after a second’s thought, she added, ‘It’s a huge house for a single man, isn’t it?’
    â€˜I wish you would mind your own business and get back to the cleaning.’ He could not stop himself any longer – and they were both a bit frightened.
    â€˜All
right
, all right.’ She pulled at her fleece jacket so that the border of sheep bounced along her hips. ‘No bother; I was on my way, anyway. It took me all this while only to clean the kitchen – it was that filthy.’ Suddenly she snorted. There was a lot at stake here – something she had realised when she saw the advertisement on Mrs Edwards’ noticeboard. Yes, she had known straight away and she had ripped it down quickly, in case anyone was watching, and hurried out of the post office without staying for the gossip.
    â€˜Good thing you hired me – you clearly can’t cope on your own,’ she said now, knowing it wasn’t quite true. In any case, she wasn’t particularly good at putting things