BooksBarbecue
Back Grow Save as PDF
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 slash through the bush in the corner and there it is, the well, still visible in the early evening light. I have to move a few half-rotten planks, the wood crumbling in my fists as I pull at them, the nails at the ends soon giving up and slipping from the wood with a damp screech. I make a big enough hole to post the remains of the laptop through, and I let it go, listening for the crash as it hits the bottom. There’s a second sound as all the bits of screen and keys and circuit boards land just after. It is a sound like rain.

I sit for I don’t know how long, breathing heavily, clutching my school bag to my chest.

Soon, I’m vaguely aware of a lump in the bottom of the bag. I reach in, past the schoolbooks, my pencil case. My hand lands on a rustling ball of brown paper. Inside, a dozen brown spheres that look like onions.

Grandad’s bulbs.

FORTY-TWO

FORTY TWO

When I get back to the house a few hours later, I’m not surprised by the police car that’s parked next to Mum’s in the driveway, or the voices coming from the sitting room stop as I let myself in.

Mum comes into the hallway. She’s been crying. More than usual. She gives me a look which is part pleased-to-see-you, part are-you-ok, and part something else which I don’t recognise. She steps back and points, weakly, towards the sitting room. ‘There’s someone to see you.’

‘I know,’ I say as I walk past her and, as I do, she puts her hand out to stop me, placing it very gently on my cheek. I smile, weakly.

On the sofa, and taking up most of it with her yellow jacket, bulky vest and an assortment of things around her waist, is a police officer. She stands as I come in.

‘Hello Josh.’

‘Hi.’

‘I think you know why I’m here.’

I nod. ‘Is he OK? Jamie?’

‘Yes, he’ll be fine. He’ll stay in hospital overnight, but he’ll be out in the morning.’

I swallow. ‘What about the other one? The boy on the bike?’

The police officer looks at the floor for a second. ‘In hospital as well. We’ll let you know if there’s a change. But it doesn’t look good. He wasn’t wearing a helmet.’

A pause. A long one. I can hear Mum breathing.

‘Why don’t you sit down, Josh?’ The police officer points to the easy chair in the window.

I notice as I round the room that there are three cups on the coffee table, only one of them still full. Cold.

I sit. The police officer pulls a notebook from a pocket of her vest.

‘Jamie says you weren’t right today. That you seemed angry. Want to tell me what’s going on?’