One Dead Seagull by Scot Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

laterthanplannedandwithoutme.Theycameinand apologised forhavingtoleave‘in mytimeofneed’,as Graciecalledit.Bazsaidtheyweren ’ tgoingtotakethe boat,they haddecidedtoleavethatmomentouslaunchingforalatertripwhenIwasbette r .
    Whateve r .
    Apparentlylosingyourhandisn ’ tsuchabigoperation, ormaybeitwasbecause
Mumwasanurse.Shetookme homeonthe T uesdayandorganisedtimeoffworktolook afterme.Itwasthefirsttimeinaboutayearthatshe’d hadtimeoffwork.Thelasttimewaswhenshehadtheflu
andIhadthoughtshewasgoingtocoughupalung.She spentherdaysbringingmefoodandmedication,making sureI wascomfortable.Boughtmeanewlittletellyand setitupinmybedroom.AndaVCR.Once,whenshewas out shoppingIrememberedIhadacoupleofporno
videosunder mybottom drawe r .Ihadfound
themin DavidHenderson ’ slocke r .Iguessit ’ sstealingandIknow heissupposedtobeamateandeve r ythingbutwhat ’ she goingtodoaboutit? T ellMrsKneebone? T ellthecops?I watchedoneofthem.Itwasshit-hot.Itwaslikestick-books
thathadcometolife.Theretheywere,goingforitina hundre d differen t way s wit h al l thi s screamin g and swearingandlickinglips.Gladmydickstillworked.
    Istillhadn ’ t seenDadbutIdidn ’ t reallygiveashit. He’dbedownthepubdrowninghissorrowsoroverat Pat ’ splacebeingindispensable.Ididn ’ t domuchcrazy laughingafterthatfirstmadhourorsobutIstartedto get pissedoff.Notsomuchaboutlosingmyhand,justabout
life. Mum booked mein to seeDr Stevensonatthe hospitaltotalkaboutlosingmyhand. T urnedouthewas apsychologistbuthehadtwohandsandtwolegssoI
guessedIalready knewmoreaboutlosingahandthanhe
did.Hewasanoldmanwholookedlikeheshouldhave
retiredagesago.Hespoketome likeIwastwoyearsold andthat
pissedmeoff evenmore.Iwas
supposedto arrangeforaweeklyvisitbutIleftthatuptoMum.
    IwonderedifIshouldgobacktoschool.Beingthe
freakdidn ’ t reallyappeal.IreckonedI’dhadenoughof
schoolanywa y .Iwasthelegalagetoleavesothatwasan option . W ell , nearl y . Sometime s bein g fiftee n nearly sixteenislikebeingstuckinno-man ’ s-land.Icanreally enjoyadrinkorsixbutI’mtooyoungtobuyitandI’dcop
acaningifMumfoundout.Christ,IcouldbeafatherifI laydownwiththerightwomanattherighttime. W ouldn ’ t
wanttobeafatheryetbutthere ’ snoharmindreaming
aboutit.
    Mum told methatIhadactuallydiedatonestage
beforetheycould givememoreblood.
Shesaidthat Mickeywasshoutinganddancingaroundtheoperating theatrewhileshestoodoutsidethedoorpanicking.She saidshecouldn ’ t
findwordstoexplainhowhelplessshe felthavingallherqualificationsbutnotbeingabletodo
athing forme.Shewatchedthempumpmychestand wisheditwasherinsteadofme.Howcool.I’veactually
beendead.WishIcouldrememberit.
     
    On Sundayafternoon
the sun was streaming in my bedroomwindo w .Ithad abitofakickinit,likesummer
wasn ’ tthatfarawa y .Itwascallingtome,beggingmeto comeoutsidebutIcouldn ’ tbestuffed.Ipushedthe mute ontheremotewhenIthoughtIheardsomemusic.Itwas
amagpieinthepaperbarkattheback ofthe V elos’ singingaquietballadthatseemedabitsad.Iwatchedthe footywiththesoundoffforawhileandlistenedtothe
magpie.Theyhadafull-screenshotofaseagullstrutting atquartertime,neckarchedandbeak
openwide.I imaginedthesounditwouldhavebeenmaking anditwas nothing likethemagpie.EventuallyMumcameinand
shatteredthe stillness.Sodidthe Humes.Back fromtheir
holidayandallsicklysympathetic.Den hadacoldandhe soundedretardedwith hisblockednose.It mademe laughacoupleoftimeswhenhewast r yingtobesincere
andfriendl y .Acoupleofminutesafterthey leftDad arrived.Icouldhearhimarguingwith Mumontheporch. Ahh,thegoodolddays.Thedoorslammedandacar roaredoff.
    Helookeddifferent.Hisclotheswereironedandhe’d hadashave.Hesmelledlike L ynx‘Aztec’.Maybehedid getthehintafterall?Hesatatmydeskactingreallycool, talkingaboutthefootyandshit.Heproppedafistonone
hipandtheotherhandrestedonhisknee.
    ‘Listen mate,I’m sor r yIdidn ’ t getto
seeyouat hospital.I’vebeenabitbusyand .. .youknowhowIam
abouthospitalsandthat.’
    Inoddedandwatchedanothergoalpoundedhomeon thescreen.Thiswasturningintoaslaughte r .
    ‘ T