The Amazing Mind of Alice Makin by Alan Shea Read Free Book Online Page B

shrugging. But he’s not getting away with it that easily. I can see he doesn’t want me to ask questions, so I do.
    â€˜Come on, Reggie. What d’you mean? Fireworks don’t suddenly turn up for the night like they’ve got nothing else to do.’
    From behind us a rocket fires into the sky.
    â€˜L-look at that one.’
    â€˜Never mind about that. Where did they come from?’
    â€˜Does it m-matter?’
    â€˜You didn’t nick them, did you?’
    All around us rockets fizz, spit, then take off. Storm up in the sky. Die in the night. Then burst into life again. In the corner of the darkness, a fold of shadows, a Catherine wheel spins light. A spiral of colour, spitting golden sparks, like it’s telling its own story to the night. It goes on for ages, singing out its life, then stutters to a dying finish. When I look round, there are lots of people over by the bonfire. More are coming over from the next street.
    â€˜There’s N-Norman and the others.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t know how you got them, but they’re brilliant. I couldn’t have imagined fireworks like this, not in my wildest dreams.’
    Reggie turns. Gives me a funny look. ‘I think you c-could, Alice.’ And he says the ‘you’ in a strange kind of way. Like if it was in a book, it’d be underlined. I think he’s got a screw loose.
    Norman shouts something about Germans invading and to get our ammunition, or some such rubbish. He takes careful aim at the launching rockets. Shoots with deadly accuracy as they explode.
    George and Veronica arrive. Veronica dances around. Centre of attention, as usual. George stands, hands in pockets. Then Veronica comes over.
    â€˜Great fireworks. We could see them from the Spicers’ bonfire. Much better than theirs.’
    Firework after firework lights up the sky, till it seems like it’s going to go on for ever. Everybody’s saying what a great display it is. I remember I’ve still got the sparklers in my pocket. I light them from the bonfire and give them to some little kids. They run through the darkness, trailing sparks. Wheeling and turning, making Spitfire noises.
    Flash joins in: chasing sparks, chasing his tail, eating smoke, barking. A lot of dogs don’t like fireworks, but to Flash it’s a big adventure. Mum’s right, he is a bit scatty; in a nice way. I reckon his idea of heaven would be riding in the cart with a bone, waving sparklers. You get the feeling if you gave him a lighted sparkler he would run around with it making Spitfire noises too.
    One thing’s for sure. It’s the best bonfire night I could ever have imagined.
    Mum gets me up early. We’re out of bread. It’s cold. I feel sleepy still, only half awake. Snow has scattered itself, icing-sugar white, on the pavements. I carefully tread the first shapes. Announce myself in footprints to the morning. Breathe whispers of secret fog to heaven.
    The snow changes the streets. Deadens noise. Footsteps become a crunch of tight sound. I put out my arm and letsome flakes settle on it, fragile papery layers of light, crystal-thin. I catch some on my tongue; they melt like dreams.
    I’m cold. My shoe has a hole in it. The snow soaks my sock, freezing my foot. I move quickly, half walking, half sliding on the pavements. I have to cross the old bomb site where we had our bonfire last night; the ashes are still smouldering. I stand looking around for a while. Remembering. Trying to see the colour of last night in the silver-white snow sky of the day. I mimic the noises of rockets, pirouette like the Catherine wheel. Get embarrassed. Hope no one’s seen me.
    I make my way down to the street, slipping and sliding, to where the Spicer twins were last night. Then I take a short cut across another lot of rubble. As I cross I can see where they had their bonfire. Smouldering ashes are still sending wispy signals. Doesn’t look as though