The Bombs That Brought Us Together by Brian Conaghan Read Free Book Online

said.
    ‘We’ll sort something out later, eh?’ The Big Man winked before slapping the roof of the car two times.
    Our shed would soon be an ultra cool place to hang out in, doing quality things like reading, teaching, chatting and generally having some sanctuary from life in Little Town. But it wasn’t the coolness of the shed, nor the comfy chairs, nor the smooth table, nor the safe locks that I was thinking about on the journey home. I wish it had been. I was thinking about what The Big Man said before his car slap.
    We’ll sort something out later, eh?
    Sort out what?

10
My Book
    On return from The Big Man’s place, cave, den, factory or warehouse – I wasn’t too sure what to call it – my face was the colour of snow. In the mirror I saw beads of sweat on my brow. My pupils were dilated. My tongue bone dry. I stared intently at the figure in that mirror, wondering who was staring back. Thinking to myself: What have you done, Charlie? You’ve allowed The Big Man into your life, what have you done? I knew then and there that life would be different, that there would be a Charlie Law pre The Big Man and a Charlie Law NOW.
    But maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was all about a few chairs and a lock. Maybe it was a favour and nothing more. A decent gesture by a decent man. Maybe I’d got it all wrong about The Big Man being some crazed tyrant. He seemedOK after all. He didn’t do any of the things that were part of Little Town’s urban tales: headbutting, kneecapping, blowtorching, nail-yanking. He treated us well. He liked us. Sure, what type of malfunctioned brain would you have to have if you decided to blowtorch a couple of fourteen-year-olds? No, The Big Man had his wired up properly. I was a good judge of character and could tell his brain was functioning well.
    So why did he say it? Why did he say those words? Why did he tell us that we’ll sort something out later, eh? I couldn’t figure it out. All I wanted to do was lie in bed, get excited about the shed and think about how I could improve Pav’s lingo skills, which books would help me achieve this, which approach was best suited to Pav’s needs. Yet my mind wouldn’t let go of The Big Man’s words. I didn’t want to sort anything out later.
    I really didn’t.

    Mum and Dad used to speak fondly about the library that Little Town once had. Apparently they used to cart me along to it when I was a toddler. The Regime closed it down when I was six so I don’t have much of a memory for it. They did say that a brand spanking new one would be built instead. Still waiting.
    However, Little Town did still have a bookshop. Called The Bookshop, it sold books, obviously, pens and paper. All colours. Except white pens. My mission was to get my handson a lingo book with loads of exercises and diagrams in it, a book that was simple to follow for the basic speaker (Pav), a book teeming with so many new words that it would seem as if they were being fired at you like a hundred-rounds-a-second Uzi.
    Boat BOOM!
    Dish towel BOOM!
    Lampshade BOOM!
    Shoelace BOOM!
    Tank BOOM!
    Grenade BOOM!
    My job would be to tie them all together with my own diagrams, verbs and innovative teaching style. Easy. When my eyes opened from a troubled dream, that was my day’s mission.
    Our table, when it came, would look so much better with some books and a few pens strewn over it. I wanted the shed to be a beautiful functioning thing. A home from home for me and Pav. It should never be empty. After all, a chair without a bum on it is just a chair. The good guy in me thought it would be nice to put a smile on Pav’s chops as well; the poor fella had been dragging his chin off the floor lately.
    Pav said the worst thing was how everybody made vile comments about refugee folk from Old Country. His mum felt that Little Town was one giant women’s prison. Like Pav’s dad, she’d had a big job in Old Country, writing forpapers and stuff (like my dad). But here she was chained to a bread