Read Breaking Light for Free Online Page B

amongst last year’s bracken, scattering off with empty panic in their inane eyes as he passed. He crossed a river that sang of the sea and hurried its white water under a clapper bridge. He climbed a tor and the rain seemed to lift for a moment as he crested the hill and dug his heels into the slope on the other side, where Uncle Gerry’s cottage came into view. The longhouse was built into the hillside, facing a narrow valley of enclosed paddocks. A dirt track passed the cottage along the valley and connected it to the Stagstead and Mortford roads on either side. Uncle Gerry kept a few sheep in a pen and chickens in the yard, which had left it mucky with dung and wet straw. Gabriel didn’t stop to knock but burst through the door, which opened straight on to the parlour. A peat fire was fadingin the large flagstone fireplace and a kerosene lamp stood in the globe of its own light on an oak table in the middle of the room. The stone walls were lined with books and a dark oil painting hung over the mantelpiece. A stuffed buzzard, perched on a peg, watched the door, flanked on the other side by a set of stag’s antlers. The gramophone was turning without music.
    Uncle Gerry had been asleep in his chair, but woke to the commotion.
    â€˜Evening, Gabe; what’s new, lad?’ The bottle of Bell’s on the side table was still half full.
    Gabriel didn’t answer. He dropped his damp mac over the back of a wooden chair and fetched a couple of turves from the wicker basket and stoked the fire. Flames danced in his eyes as warm light fell on to a rug of deep colour. The sudden heat made his cheek pulse again. His damp shorts reeked like dog’s fur. Uncle Gerry rose to put on a new record. The jazz filled the small room but did not shift the silence between the man and the boy.
    â€˜Go on, tell me what’s wrong.’ If he slurred the words it was because he had been woken from a dream of how it might have been. He smiled, his eyes still sentimental.
    â€˜Mother says I can’t play with my new friend.’
    â€˜Why ever not?’
    â€˜She says it’s unnatural for me to have a friend like Michael. Is it, Uncle Gerry? He knows what I am and he still wants to be my friend. Honest – he tested me and I came out all right.’ He tried not to blink. ‘I
did
feel the current,’ he added, hoping it was the truth.
    The smile waned from Uncle Gerry’s face. ‘You know your mother’s nerves are frail and she gets very tired at times. Perhaps she’s having one of her headaches?’ he suggested.
    The boy, who had hoped for an alliance, sulked.
    â€˜Who’s your new friend, then?’
    â€˜He’s called Michael and he lives in a big house surrounded by trees and he has a Captain Marvel poster and a dead dog and a mother with a ring that sparkles.’ He could have gone on, but stopped – and reddened.
    â€˜That would be a diamond, lad. It seems you’re mixing with posh folk, Gabe.’ He poured a stiff drink and frowned. ‘But your mother never held
that
against anyone. Does this boy not have a father?’
    â€˜Oh, yes, he does! One that comes at weekends. He works in London, for the government. He was a hero in the war and met Mrs Bradley in France when there were lots of Nazis around.’
    Uncle Gerry put down the glass with a clink and looked straight at Gabriel – his eyes suddenly quite focused. ‘Does Michael live at Oakstone?’
    â€˜Yes – how did you know?’ Gabriel was amazed; his eyes shone with admiration. Uncle Gerry knew everything.
    The boy’s uncle cleared his throat and looked away. ‘Oh, I just guessed; it’s the only posh house around here, apart from the manor.’ His voice was sharper now.
    â€˜Do you know Mr Bradley, then?’
    â€˜What? No, not really … That is, I might have done, a long time ago.’ He stood up and turned to inspect one of