The Drowning by Rachel Ward Read Free Book Online

Tearful. Drunk. Missing. Tears start welling up. She’s being too nice and I’m just not used to it.
    “She’s okay,” I say. “She’s doing okay.”
    “Give her my best,” she says. “Tell her Sue from the launderette sends her love.”
    I nod my head, then pocket the coins and make a swift exit carrying my stuff in a thin plastic bag. I open the Coke outside the shop. It’s cold and sweet and fizzy, with that prickly edge to it that you get from the first sip. I neck it thirstily as I walkacross to the rec and the bubbles go up my nose, and another memory comes out of the fog in my mind.
    I pass her the can and she takes a hearty swig, then hands the can back quickly, laughing and flapping her hand in front of her face.
    “You all right?”
    “Yeah, went up my nose. That’ll teach me to drink so fast.”
    I put the can to my lips, slurping at the liquid that’s collected just inside the top rim, aware of my lips touching the lip gloss she’s left behind.
    She stretches her legs out in front of her, leans back into the park bench, and puts her hands behind her head. The sun is bright in our faces and she closes her eyes.
    “This is nice,” she says.
    I don’t close my eyes. I sip at the Coke and look at Neisha’s face, her beautiful face, in the sunshine.
    The rec is filling up with kids — little ones in the play park, bigger ones in uniforms hanging around the monkey bars or swinging on a tire someone’s rigged up in a tree. They stream onto the square of grass and mud from one corner and it takes a minute until I get it: They’re all coming out of school.
    School. Mum hasn’t mentioned it and I simply forgot all about it. It doesn’t seem, I dunno, important. No one can expect me to sit in class and take it all in when my brother’s died, can they? I’m fifteen. I can’t even remember who my schoolmates are. If I’ve got any. Perhaps I’ll never have to go to school again.
    I lean against a tree and finish my Coke. There’s a heavy feeling behind my eyes, a sort of pressure, and I realize I’m not far from crying again.
    I look at the ground in front of me and scuff the toe of my sneakers in the dirt, then throw my empty Coke can toward the bin. It misses. I leave it lying on the ground, turn away, and start walking back to the flat, eyes on the ground.
    “Aren’t you going to pick that up?”
    I look up. Coming toward me is a woman in a different uniform. She’s young — younger than Mum, anyway — sturdy-looking, with gingerish curly hair that’s trying to escape from under her hat.
    “I’ll get it,” she says. “This time.” She stoops down, picks up the can, and drops it in the bin, then walks over to stand next to me. “How are you doing, Carl? I’m surprised to see you out. Only got home yesterday, didn’t you?”
    She seems to know all about me, but I don’t know her. At least I don’t think I do. I’m suddenly aware of the can in my inside pocket, the cigarettes, the knife, the phone, the photos. Oh God. I fold my arms across my front.
    “I’m okay,” I say, avoiding her look.
    “I stopped by earlier but no one answered,” she says. “We need to talk to you about Tuesday. I know you talked about it to someone in the hospital, but this is important. We need to go over it again. You on your way home now?”
    “Yeah, but I’m not sure …” If the house is still empty. Where Mum’s gone. If she’s ever coming back.
    “It’s okay, I’ll give your mum a ring. See if I can come around. It needs to be today, really. Sooner rather than later.”
    She’s saying it kindly, but I’ve got alarm bells going off. Whatdoes she want? I’ve got nothing to tell her. All the stuff I can remember isn’t the sort of stuff you’d tell a copper.
    “Yeah, okay …” I say vaguely and start to wander away.
    “I’m sorry about Rob,” she says. I stop and stare at the ground. “We had our ups and downs, but I was very sorry to hear what happened. It’s a terrible