Free Like it Matters by David Cornwell Page B

have to do it all over again. For a while there, it almost felt like it was going to be eternal, like one of those Greek punishments
    And it did take ages and ages—
    But Christ, it was magnificent when it was done.
    We stood there looking at it, the three of us, and it was another perfect afternoon, and in that gold light, the thing looked like it belonged in a cathedral. We stood there forever, just looking at it
    Nobody saying anything
    Then Charlotte said, “Maybe we should leave it like this? Just do another coat, like a rich cream or something.”
    Duade said, “Kiff.”
    “Ja, I thought about that,” I said. “But the problem with that’s all it takes is a couple of seagulls to shit on it, a couple of dirty winds to blow in from the Flats and a grey day overhead, and the thing’s going to look fucking vertraag all over again. It won’t look like marble forever, no matter what we do. I think we’ve just got to enjoy this for now. Safe in their alabaster chambers.”
    Duade said, “What?”
    I told him, “It’s a poem.”
    We stared at it a bit longer but then as soon as the light started fading the thing did start looking cheap and the show was over, just like that, and we threw a cover over it and then knocked in some pegs to hold the cover down. Then we said cheers to Duade and started heading home.
    I wasn’t as tired as the day before, but still, I was pretty tired and we didn’t really talk on the walk back, just held hands.
    But when we turned the last corner on the way to the house—
    From four blocks away—
    We could see that fucking van parked right outside the gate.
    And a cop car parked just behind it.
    Charlotte stopped walking. I looked back at her. She looked so angry I had no idea what she was going to do next. She put her face in her hands and scratched and pulled at her hair, then just moaned, “
Fuck’s
sake.”
    I went back up the road to her. “Oh, shit, what?” I said. “Did you take something?”
    The way she’d been breathing and hugging herself really did have me worried, but then I heard something else, a laugh, and then she looked up at me with this glee on her face.
    “You mean, like something
valuable
, on my way out?” She giggled. “Is that what you think of me?”
    “Hey,” I said. “No judgement here. I was this close to kifing those coasters.”
    She smiled and kissed me, just quickly. “I’ll handle this, okay? You just get Freddy to go home.”
    “How’d they find us?”
    “Ag, Freddy knows everybody. It’s fucking irritating.”
    When we got closer to the house, the cop car started up and her dad climbed out the passenger seat. I didn’t see if it was Freddy or not, they drove off before we could tell. I tried to make eye contact with her dad but his eyes were fixed on Charlotte, and I felt a bit worried but she told me again just to go inside—
    So I did, I went in and started making supper.
    I didn’t have a radio or anything, and they were loud out there in the street, even above the sound of the stuff frying in the pan, and unless the train was going past, I had to sing to myself to block them out.
    I didn’t want to hear them, but I couldn’t help watching from the window. It was horrible but I couldn’t look away—they started on their feet, squared off, and they leaned their chins forward while they shouted at each other and I told myself if he raised a hand at her I was going to run outside and deck him.
    But then suddenly, he just went and sat on the pavement, feet in the gutter, and she rounded on him—she stood over him and she was pointing at him and shouting—and he was shouting back but his voice was thick, you could hear he was losing, at some point he started crying and then he was making horrible sounds, almost like a dog.
    They got quieter after a while and I could hear her voice had gone stern, not vicious anymore—then he got in the van and drove off soon after the streetlights came on.
    There was something like a smile