Broken Places by Wendy Perriam Read Free Book Online

switching to his wife and daughter: 5000 miles away, and with no intention of returning.
    ‘But we’ll keep a look-out. What’s its name?’
    ‘Charlie.’
    ‘Charlie’s a man’s name.’
    ‘I know. My daughter christened her.’
    The two men returned to their game, and who could blame them? A lost wife, lost daughter and now lost cat might be the stuff of tragedy for him, but not for the world in general.
    Sighing, he mooched on to the launderette. The vast, pock-marked woman was there, as usual, guarding a row of empty machines. Today, this Vauxhall backwater resembled a Sunday in the fifties – at least from what he’d heard – a day of rest, stagnation, with everybody closeted indoors.
    ‘I did see a black cat. It was hanging around outside all day yesterday.’
    ‘No, mine’s ginger.’ Eric flushed, expecting the usual jibes about onecopper-knob finding comfort with another. But the woman only shifted her huge bulk and stooped down (with difficulty) to inspect a broken machine.
    ‘Why not ask at the farm?’ she said. ‘Your cat might have ended up there, for a bit of warmth and company.
    ‘Thanks. Great idea!’ He’d never actually set foot in the Vauxhall City Farm, despite the fact it was just along the road.
    He passed the boarded-up George and Dragon , and then a row of shops with iron grilles across the windows. The contrast with his previous home was marked. Kingston, although a mere ten miles away in distance, was a different world entirely. Most people in this area were shabby, scruffy, poor, and just didn’t have the luxury of good schools, pretty gardens and relative peace and quiet. Sirens deafened the streets here, jolting one from sleep most nights. And the dreary, soulless council blocks did little to raise one’s spirits. In fact, it was a relief to reach the farm and discover a green oasis, and even rustic smells of hay and straw.
    As he picked his way between the muddy puddles, a small boy came up to greet him, wearing a sweatshirt blazoned ‘VOLUNTEER’. ‘Hi!’ he said. ‘Want me to show you round?’
    ‘That’s kind,’ said Eric, ‘but I’m looking for my cat. She ran off last night and—’
    ‘Hold on a tick. I’ll ask Bella.’ The boy went dashing up to a black woman, busy sweeping the yard. A rather gorgeous female, Eric thought, looking surreptitiously at her big, bouncy breasts, prominently displayed in a skin-tight scarlet sweater.
    ‘No, sorry,’ the boy said, tearing back again. ‘She hasn’t seen any cats. But now you’re here, why not stop and see the rabbits?’
    Before Eric could decline, the boy reached down over the fence of an enclosure, picked up a plump grey rabbit and transferred it into Eric’s arms. After the first ripple of surprise, Eric felt strangely comforted by the cuddly, flop-eared creature, which displayed no fear at all at being handled by a stranger, but settled contentedly against his chest.
    ‘She’s called Pebbles,’ the boy informed him, clearly glad of company.
    ‘And what are you called?’
    ‘Zack. Short for Zachariah.’
    Eric fought a sudden longing to grab Zack by the hand and take him and Pebbles back home to his flat. He had always wanted a son – wanted lots more kids; a whole tribe of them, like these rabbits.
    ‘Rabbits have twenty-eight teeth, you know. That’s one for almost everyday of the month. See that rabbit there?’ Zach pointed to the pen, where a huge brown and white creature was nibbling on a lettuce leaf. ‘She’s a rare breed – what’s called an English Giant. We have rare chickens, too. Come and have a look.’ Having grabbed the flop-eared rabbit, Zack replaced it in its enclosure and led Eric towards a life-size plastic cow, made of plastic or polystyrene , but looking surprisingly real. Beneath its black-and-white belly, a variety of unusual-looking hens were sheltering in a seething, clucking mass.
    Eric was tempted to join them, if only to shelter from the rain, although in point of