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Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Part One
  6. Chapter 1
  7. Chapter 2
  8. Chapter 3
  9. Chapter 4
  10. Chapter 5
  11. Chapter 6
  12. Chapter 7
  13. Chapter 8
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Part Two
  17. Chapter 1
  18. Chapter 2
  19. Chapter 3
  20. Chapter 4
  21. Chapter 5
  22. Chapter 6
  23. Chapter 7
  24. Chapter 8
  25. Chapter 9
  26. Chapter 10
  27. Chapter 11
  28. Chapter 12
  29. Part Three
  30. Chapter 1
  31. Chapter 2
  32. Chapter 3
  33. Chapter 4
  34. Chapter 5
  35. Chapter 6
  36. Chapter 7
  37. Part Four
  38. Chapter 1
  39. Chapter 2
  40. Chapter 3
  41. Chapter 4
  42. Chapter 5
  43. Chapter 6
  44. Chapter 7
  45. Chapter 8
  46. Chapter 9
  47. Part Five
  48. Chapter 1
  49. Chapter 2
  50. Chapter 3
  51. Chapter 4
  52. Chapter 5
  53. Chapter 6
  54. Chapter 7
  55. Chapter 8
  56. Chapter 9
  57. Chapter 10
  58. Chapter 11
  59. Part Six
  60. Chapter 1
  61. Chapter 2
  62. Chapter 3
  63. Chapter 4
  64. Chapter 5
  65. Chapter 6
  66. Chapter 7
  67. Part Seven
  68. Chapter 1
  69. Chapter 2
  70. Chapter 3
  71. Chapter 4
  72. Chapter 5
  73. Chapter 6
  74. Chapter 7
  75. Chapter 8
  76. Chapter 9
  77. Chapter 10
  78. Chapter 11
  79. Part Eight
  80. Chapter 1
  81. Chapter 2
  82. Chapter 3
  83. Chapter 4
  84. Chapter 5
  85. Chapter 6
  86. Chapter 7
  87. Chapter 8
  88. Chapter 9
  89. Epilogue
  90. Acknowledgments
  91. Reading Group Guide
  92. About the Author
  93. Copyright

Mousey, that’s all over now. Poodle’s gone and spoiled everything. I can never go to his house; or talk to him in his form room; or even give him his present. It’s over, just like Netherton Green. I may as well get used to it. I don’t need to tell you what happened, of course. That’s something I’ll never forget. But it makes me feel like something died. I mean, something apart from the obvious. And the worst of it is, I can’t even tell—not even you, Mousey.

I kept the copy of The Wall I was going to give Mr. Clarke. I’ve hidden it away, along with the list of albums I’m going to buy. Except I probably won’t buy them now. I don’t know if I’ll ever dare. Not because it makes me feel bad to remember, but actually, quite the opposite. I know I ought to be feeling bad. But, Mousey, I feel so alive. More alive than I’ve ever been; like I’m immortal or something. For the first time since I can remember, I’m not afraid of dying. I can see everything clearly now. My Condition; my future. Everything is shiny and new, like a fresh fall of Christmas snow. When it snows, you can forget what’s hidden under the surface. Even the clay pits are beautiful under a nice fresh fall of snow. The old cars are wearing crisp white hoods; even the dog shit on the ground is erased. When the sun shines, it’s like everything is covered in powdered diamonds. The surface of the Pit Shaft is dotted with small islands. And the dark and lonely water is under a layer of silver lace, like a zombie bride beneath her rotted, mouldy wedding veil.

Resolution Number Four: stop thinking about it, Mousey. Let the memory stay buried under that layer of virgin snow. There’s no point hanging on to it, except that it makes me feel so good, and maybe that’s the problem. Some things just feel too good to stop. Drugs, I suppose. And the Sin of the Flesh—at least, if Goldie is to be believed. Maybe I’ll even stop writing things down. Give it up altogether. Stamp down on the temptation like stamping down on new-fallen snow. Except that we’ll still know it’s there, whatever the surface may look like. We all know I’m not really pure. Just as we know that the snow will melt. Just as we know My Condition won’t change. And just as we know Resolutions—like some people, Mousey—are really just there to be broken.

Chapter 3

3

January 1982