BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

I’m not sure, either, of what Jamie says when he puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. All I know is that I want to get away. I want nothing so badly as to go back to that screen with that single, black square that may or not be Dad and to stare at it with all my being until everything else fades away.

But Jamie is asking me questions. His face seems to show a look of concern. He is taking me by both shoulders and shaking me gently, stooping slightly so he can look into my eyes.

I want him to go away.

I don’t hit him so much as push him. It’s not as if I swing a flaming fist into his cheek to give him a bruise and spill red blood all down one side of his face, like mine.

It’s not like that.

Instead, I place both hands on his chest and shove as hard as I can, to get him away from me.

And then I’m fully awake, the black square lifted, and I’m seeing everything very, very clearly.

I see Jamie step backwards, his startled face lost as he struggles to keep his balance. He takes one, two, three steps. Backwards.

Towards the road.

The traffic still isn’t moving very quickly and, behind the wheel of her white 4x4, Ahmed’s mum sees Jamie coming before he steps off the kerb and starts falling backwards. She stops in plenty of time. But we both watch, our faces similarly frozen, as Jamie bounces against the back end of a red car in front of hers, his arms desperate for some kind of solid surface to push against. We watch the red car, unaware of what is happening, creep slowly forward in the flow of traffic and I see through her windscreen Ahmed’s mum’s mouth held in a perfect O, her eyes wide, as Jamie starts to slip sideways and fall into the gap between her car and the red one in front.

In the passenger seat, Ahmed’s eyes are glued to his phone screen, but because she has been watching, Ahmed’s mum reacts quickly, braking hard to bring her car to a stop safely in front of Jamie, who sits in the road, staring at me in disbelief. Ahmed flinches, his head jerking up. He takes it all in. He sees Jamie in the road. He sees me.

But the cyclist, riding fast down the inside of the stationary traffic, his headphones loud, his mind elsewhere, does not see any of it. He doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see Jamie lying in the road.

He passes the white 4x4 at speed.

His front wheel ploughs into Jamie’s leg.

The bike stops. The cyclist doesn’t. He turns a complete somersault over the handlebars, through the air above Jamie’s head, towards the back of the red car.