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She’s Not There. Tamsin Grey
Читать онлайн.Название She’s Not There
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008245627
Автор произведения Tamsin Grey
Издательство HarperCollins
‘Don’t say fuck, Raff.’
‘Why? He said it!’ Raff yanked up his pyjama bottoms. ‘And you just said it, you fuckin’ giraffe neck!’
‘Anyway. It’s time to get dressed.’ Their school uniforms would be downstairs, among the dirty washing on the kitchen floor. Out in the street, the Green Shop door opened, and the Raggedy Man fell silent. The Green Shop Man came out, holding the stick with the hook on the end that he used to push up his metal blinds. Raff aimed an imaginary catapult at him, pulling back the stone in the sling, then letting go, his fingers exploding into a star, his lips blowing a kind of raspberry. ‘Phwoof! Right in the head!’ His pyjama bottoms fell to his ankles. He reached down to pull them back up. ‘Is it Haredale’s Got Talent this week?’
‘Yes. Thursday.’
‘Yesss!’ Raff went spinning off, doing his dance again. ‘Is Mayo writing her diary in the garden, like yesterday?’
‘No.’
‘Oh my days! It’s Sports Day on Thursday too!’
‘Yes.’ It would be a bit of a scramble, Mr Mann had said, but he didn’t want to deprive the athletes of their moments of glory; and parents who were already planning to come to the talent show could come early and kill two birds with one stone.
‘Is she still better, or is she back to being ill?’ Raff had stopped dancing.
‘Better.’ Brighter. The squiggly words on the fluttering page.
‘Where is she, anyway?’ Raff was suddenly very still, his tortoiseshell eyes fixed on Jonah.
‘I’m not sure. Probably gone to the park.’
The Green Shop Man pushed at his stick. The huge noise of the metal blinds going up filled the air.
The pint of milk on the doorstep had already gone warm. It had a note under it from the milkman – a bill probably. Jonah carried the milk and the note into the kitchen. The mango and the bottle of wine were still there, and the ants were still crawling up and down the jug to their deaths. Raff sat down, and Jonah got the Weetabix out of the cupboard. The only clean bowls he could find were a wooden salad bowl and a white mixing bowl. Raff looked at the bowls and snorted.
‘Or we could do some washing up,’ Jonah said.
Raff raised one eyebrow. ‘No way is I doing washing up, Little Peck!’
‘Raff, you are not allowed to call me that.’
‘Who you tellin’, Dirty Little Peck?’ Raff jumped up from the chair and shoved his face close to Jonah’s.
Jonah moved away, ignoring him, which is what Lucy told him was always the best policy, and got on with putting three Weetabix into each bowl.
‘Come on then, Peck!’ Raff was snarling, his lips rolling back, showing his tiny white teeth. He lifted his arms, aiming his catapult at him. ‘Peck versus the Slingsman! Phwooff!’
‘Shut up, Raff!’ He put his hands over his ears, but he could still hear Raff saying it, and making his stupid raspberry sounds.
‘Little Peck. Fuckin’ Peck.’
‘Don’t swear!’ In a rush of rage, Jonah pushed Raff to the floor.
Raff jumped straight up and threw himself at Jonah, and they staggered through the kitchen and out into the hall, where Jonah managed to shove his brother off him. Raff fell back against the stairs, grabbing the stepladder as he went, and it fell on top of him, and he started crying, really loudly.
Panicked, Jonah shoved the stepladder away and knelt beside him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Are you OK, Raff? Where does it hurt?’
Raff just screamed louder, like when he was a toddler. ‘Mayo!’ he was screaming, over and over, and Jonah put his hands over his ears again.
‘STOP!’
Raff stopped. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Raff slid himself off the stairs and opened up his arms, and Jonah knelt down and hugged him. They rolled over and lay side by side, amongst the shoes.
‘What’s she doing in the park?’ asked Raff.
‘Yoga.’
‘But her yoga mat’s in the sitting room.’
‘Yes, but your Ben 10 puzzle’s on it. She probably didn’t want to break it.’ Out of the side of his eye Jonah could see the yellow word on the rusty red of the can they’d filled up at the service station. GASOLINE. The American word for petrol. Closer in, by his temple, the chewed-up heel of one of her clogs. Why haven’t you got your shoes on? he asked her silently.
‘Jonah,’ Raff whispered.
‘What?’
‘Is Bad Granny going to come?’
Jonah got a flash of Bad Granny’s looming, brightly coloured face, and felt a shiver run through his body. ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. Raff had sounded like a really young child, which he was, of course. Jonah wriggled his arm under his shoulders.
‘Alright, me old Peck,’ said Raff, but in a little cockney chirrup, not that horrible gangster voice. Jonah giggled.
‘How nice to meet you, Lord Pecker!’ he said in his Your Majesty voice, and Raff rolled around, snorting. Jonah chuckled. It was usually Raff who made him laugh. Through their laughing came a sound, which Jonah hardly heard, but Raff suddenly sat up straight, looking wide-eyed at the door. ‘Mayo?’ he whispered.
Jonah sat up too. Raff was holding his body very stiff. There was a moment’s silence.
‘What was it?’ Jonah whispered.
‘Someone. Looking through the letter box.’ Raff got to his feet, but Jonah grabbed his ankle.
‘Don’t open it!’ he hissed.
‘Why?’
‘It might be the Raggedy Man.’
‘The Raggedy Man?’ Raff crouched back down. Jonah reached for his hand. They both stared at the letter box, listening hard. A car came up Wanless Road and turned the corner.
‘Why do you think it was the Raggedy Man?’ Raff whispered.
‘I don’t know. Just because he was outside our house.’
‘And he wants to come in?’
‘I don’t know. Are you sure you saw someone?’
Raff nodded. He lifted his arms and aimed his sling at the letter box. ‘Phwoof.’ He made the sound very quietly. Then he stood up and stretched, and pulled up his pyjama bottoms. ‘Bags the wood bowl,’ he said, in a normal voice.
Having breakfast in the enormous bowls made them laugh again, the way they had to reach down to get their spoons to the Weetabix. Then Raff said, ‘Who sent them?’
Jonah looked at the skeletal flowers. On their way to dust. ‘Roland,’ he said.
‘What, from prison?’
‘You