Lemonade and Lies by Elaine Johns Read Free Book Online Page B

that a ripple of relief that passed across his face?
    “Can we go to the pet shop now and start buying stuff for him? He’ll need a really big dog bed, won’t he,” said Tom.
    “We’ll see,” I said, as we walked out into the lane where a bus was supposed to turn up in five minutes. I’d given in and printed off a timetable. I was learning new stuff every day about public transport - like bus timetables were more often prediction rather than fact.
    With luck, by the end of half-term I’d have the car back. The garage had finally got the part and now the only thing the mechanic needed was a window-of - opportunity to fit it. Yeah, right! Still, I was optimistic. Things seemed to be heading in the right approximate direction.
    The bus didn’t come. So we started walking through the back-lanes, once again passing the RSPCA rescue centre. Millie and I had to drag Tom away from the gate and only the promise of a visit to the pet store - for window shopping only - moved him on.
    “What’ve you got in yours?” Millie asked her brother, an hour later, when we’d spent some time in Pets Galore and had finally come in for a landing at the burger bar, conveniently just one block away from the pet shop.
    The serious business of Kiddie Meals was under discussion and the type of toy in the current series. The kids were pleased because these things came free. What can I say?
    “Same as before,” said Tom.
    “Swap you then.” Millie wasn’t overjoyed with hers, but still, I couldn’t see the deal going through, for Tom was unlikely to go for a tiny doll that fitted on the tip of your finger.
    I broke up the party before the discussion turned into a blood-bath and led the kids on a mystery tour. We were off to the cinema. A half-term treat that wouldn’t break the bank (there’d been some money-off-vouchers in the West Briton).
    I loved the film. Millie was a bit more cynical about the possibility of an injured dolphin being able to swim again with a prosthetic tail. But it was in 3D and an off-beat version of the Free Willy type. Tom tried hard not to cry. I think the film reminded him of Rupert, the dog he’d left behind.
    It was a feel-good movie and even Millie, despite her attempt to remain cool and separate herself from anything sentimental, came out smiling.
    We all returned home in a cheerful mood and I let myself believe that my family had finally become used to its new place in the universe, man-free, dad-free.
    That’s what made our homecoming even worse. From happiness to despair in one easy step. I tried to reassure the kids; then took them to their rooms. But Millie refused to stay in her own bedroom - it was on the ground floor, backing onto the garden. Instead, she went upstairs with her brother and flung herself under his duvet. Maybe she thought higher ground would be safer.
    I papered over my own fear for the time being, for kids pick up on that sort of thing. They’re not stupid. Just under five-foot tall and still learning about life’s oddities. I read them one of my stories until they both fell asleep.
    Then I went downstairs and looked around the wreck of my front room. A wave of nausea engulfed me and I fled to the bathroom to throw up. The place had been burgled. No . . . more than burgled. It had been ransacked. Maliciously trashed.
    Everywhere you walked there was the tooth-jarring crunch of glass underfoot. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents spewed carelessly across the floor. The sofa had been slashed.
    I’d left the television switched on, a strategy meant to fool burglars . It now lay marooned on its side in a corner of the room, still doggedly relaying images. Evidence of Japanese engineering skills. The DVD player had been discarded like so much junk, its case ripped apart, the entrails scattered.
    Bill would have been depressed. It had taken him days of going through specs to choose all his techie toys. Now the front room was a junkyard, its contents worth scrap