Another Night, Another Day by Sarah Rayner Read Free Book Online

following Saturday, something feels different. It’s early, but that’s not unusual. She almost never sleeps beyond six as Callum is invariably up
by then, though since she bought a light with a rotating sun and moon to help him understand there are set hours for waking and slumber, he’s grasped he needs to stay in bed a while longer.
So if it’s not Callum, what is it? The orange glow of the streetlight outside seems brighter, but it’s not yet dawn, and there’s a ghostly hush in the air, as if the volume button
to the whole city has been turned down. She goes to the bay window, pulls back the curtains.
    Snow!
    It’s still falling, large flakes of children’s-book white. It’s settled over the roofs of the pastel-coloured houses running up to the South Downs, where it blankets the fields
in a virginal hue. Close by it weighs down branches and coats garden walls and dustbin lids. Even the streets are bleached and brilliant, as yet unsullied by tyres, and there’s not a single
human footprint as far as Abby can see – only the twig-like imprints of a bird on their front lawn immediately below.
    She claps her hands in excitement. This is quite a rarity on the south coast, a treat.
    ‘Why don’t you take Callum to the park, build a snowman?’ she suggests to her husband after she’s attempted to give Callum breakfast. ‘He’d love that.’
Saturday morning is supposed to be her time out, and tempted as she is to go with them, she needs a break more.
    Glenn frowns, then says, ‘No.’
    It hurts to have the balloon of her enthusiasm pricked so swiftly. ‘Come on, Glenn, give it a go.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I’ve had a shit week. I don’t want to put myself through it.’
    And mine’s been a real blast, thinks Abby. She’s glad Callum is out of earshot; she can hear him fast-forwarding and rewinding the VCR in the lounge. Other families have DVDs and
downloads but her little boy is obsessed with specific songs and noises – video cassettes are more robust.
    ‘He’ll be fine.’ Abby pictures Glenn and Callum together, gloved hands patting the snow to compact it.
    ‘You know he’s not good around other kids.’
    ‘You could find a quiet space somewhere.’
    ‘Can you imagine Preston Park today? Everyone screaming and throwing snowballs, tobogganing . . .’
    But it could be fun, thinks Abby. ‘It won’t be that noisy everywhere. Anyway, snow dampens sound.’
    Glenn’s expression is rigid. ‘Callum’s not used to snow. He’s bad at spontaneity.’
    ‘So are you,’ Abby mutters. Luckily Glenn doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore her. It’s a familiar pattern and her cheeks flush with irritation.
I take risks every
single day with our son – why can’t you do it for once?
she wants to spit.
How’s he ever going to enjoy playing in the elements if that’s your attitude?
‘Does it matter so much if other people think he’s a bit of an oddball?’ she says.
    ‘He’s not a “bit of an oddball”, he’s a social liability. He’ll go up to some other kids’ snowman and start eating it or laughing hysterically for no
apparent reason. Or he’ll overreact to a flying snowball or a sledge swooshing by or something – and before I know it, he’ll be having a complete paddy.’ Her husband escapes
from the room.
    There’s truth in Glenn’s observations, Abby is aware. But what a glass-half-empty view of the morning ahead! She is so upset her hands are trembling, so she wipes the table
vigorously in a bid to calm herself down.
    Maybe if Callum had not been our firstborn it would have been easier, she thinks, scooping crumbs into her palm. If we’d had a sibling to gauge him against, I would have known it
wasn’t normal for a kid to be so terrified of revving motorbikes and echoing swimming pools, and not to be able to travel in lifts or on escalators because they’d induce the most
God-awful tantrums. I wouldn’t have allowed my mother-in-law to say it was because