Read Friday Brown for Free Online Page A

nice to be led.
    Silence seemed to be looking for something, or someone. He veered off through a brick arch and into a park. Not just any old park—there the trees were massive and ancient. They blocked out the buildings and I could barely see the sky. Beyond the canopy, pieces of blue like a broken puzzle and the sound of bickering birds. It was like finding the Secret Garden in the middle of a desert.
    Silence stripped a handful of birch seeds and crushed them in his hand. He threw them up into the sky and they coasted on the breeze like a swarm of insects.
    ‘Where are we going?’
    He pointed to a glasshouse.
    ‘What’s in there?’
    He cupped his hands together and made a movement like a fish.
    ‘We’re going fishing?’
    He snorted and shot off, weaving through trees and shrubs, taking paths that looked like they weren’t often taken.
    When I got to the glasshouse, he was already there, sitting on the edge of a circular bricked pond. The water was dark green and murky. Silence bent over and dipped the tip of his nose into the water. I watched him as hundreds of tiny fish swarmed beneath his reflection, nibbling at him. His teeth flashed white, he laughed, his breath dimpled the surface and they darted away.
    ‘I like it here,’ I said.
    He jumped, like he’d forgotten I was there.
    Me too.
    Then his mind came back from a faraway place. His mouth was tight and he walked out of the glasshouse, his hands deep in his pockets. That resolute walk, like he was late for an appointment.
    I ran to catch up. We passed a small lake. Turtles bobbed at the edges and a one-legged heron perched on a rock. There was a kiosk and tables with red and whitestriped umbrellas. Thirty or so Japanese tourists vied for a place in the queue, long-lens cameras swinging from their shoulders.
    Silence moved into the line.
    I waited at one of the tables and pulled out the photo. I stared at the man with his arm around Vivienne’s shoulder. It reminded me that I was there for a reason—to find him. If he wanted to be found. If he didn’t, it would be another dead end and a new beginning for me.
    Part of me wanted to go back to the last place I was happy—before Vivienne got sick—a little town up north. A friendly street, a sun-soaked place where nobody stared at my bare feet and tangled hair. I went to the local high school and started Year Twelve, even though technically I hadn’t finished Year Eleven before we left the last town.
    Silence was having a conversation with one of the tourists, moving his hands in a language of his own. He pulled his hood away from his hair and mussed the front.
    A woman laughed. She touched his hair. She nodded and bowed and said, ‘Yes, yes! You have photo? Yes?’
    Silence seemed embarrassed. No, no.
    The woman pointed at him and some of the others smiled and raised their cameras. She put her arm around his shoulder.
    I saw how still he was. Lines of concentration on his forehead.
    He moved away from her.
    No, no, he waved his hand. Abruptly, Silence left the line.
    I knew that look already. That casual swagger. I stood and put the photo back in my pocket.
    The Japanese tourist who had found Silence so engaging was at the front of the queue. She was digging in her bag. I knew her hand would come up empty.
    Silence kept moving towards me.
    I met him halfway.
    As he fumbled and tried to shove the purse down the front of his jeans, I grabbed it and hid it behind my back. I moved smoothly into the line.
    The woman wailed and spat rapid-fire Japanese. She turned and pointed at Silence.
    He was frozen, probably torn between saving himself and waiting for me. That moment of hesitation was his downfall; a tour-bus driver in khaki shorts grabbed him by the shoulder and pinned him there. Silence wriggled and twisted but the driver had him by his hoodie.
    ‘Is this yours?’ I stooped and pretended to pick up the purse. ‘You must have dropped it.’
    The woman put her arm down. She took the purse and bowed,