Read Snow Garden for Free Online

a small yawn. Whilst he matched three bolts with three nuts, Alice crawled back inside the box to have another look for the instructions.
    It was a disappointment that Alan couldn’t get Will interested in DIY. It was what fathers and sons did. They built things, and once they’d finished, they drove to specialist shops and looked at new tools with which to build the same things all over again, only slightly better. Alan had tried with Will. ‘Shall we make a set of shelves, son? How about I show you how to use the electric drill?’ But Will stared back at him with his unsettling deep-brown eyes and his long hair tucked behind his ears and those tiny shoulders like a bunch of twigs. There was something so impenetrable about him. ‘For God’s sake,’ Alan would snap. ‘Why can’t you get a haircut?’
    ‘Aha!’ cried Alice from inside the box. ‘I’ve found the instructions. They were tucked inside the flap.’
    Alan had expected a leaflet, but what she had found was a black manual. It looked more like a hymn book than a set of instructions for a kit.
    ‘I’d better take a look,’ he said. Alice was already flicking through the pages, her face bunched into a frown.
    ‘It doesn’t seem to be in English, Alan. It doesn’t even have pictures.’ She pushed the book towards him.
    She was right. What language was this? It was page upon page of curlicues and swirls. It looked more like musical notes than letters, wearing pointed hats and shoes.
    ‘So how are we supposed to make a bicycle if we have no idea what to do?’ she asked. She was almost on the verge of tears. ‘Why did you leave this so late, Alan?’
    There was nothing for it but to be practical. Use his common sense. He rooted through the nuts and bolts, efficiently pairing them together.
    Alice knelt at his side, her hands twitching in her lap. ‘Are you sure I can’t do anything?’
    ‘I think I should just get us started. Ratchet, please.’
    ‘You said we would do this together. What is a ratchet?’
    ‘
This
is a ratchet, Alice. Do I have to do everything?’
    ‘No, Alan. You could let me help. Like we agreed …’
    ‘Once I’ve got the skeleton of the thing, that’s when you can do all the detailed work. I mean, you’re marvellous at the detail, Alice. Look at the soft furnishings. Detail is where you come into your own.’
    Alice inspected her fingernails. She blew out an impatient sigh. She flattened the tips of her hair and sighed again. She cast her eyes over the room. ‘Alan?’ she asked. ‘Is that a new crack?’
    ‘What?’ He was too busy to look.
    ‘Behind you. Where you knocked through to build the conservatory.’
    ‘Of course not. If you could just hold this piece – whoa now, gently – Alice? Alice? What are you doing? Why aren’t you helping me? Where are you going?’
    The clock chimed nine.
    Alice stood with her face to the wall. She was right about the new crack. It reached – now she examined it – from the picture rail at the top, down to the floor tiles. It hadn’t been there before. She’d have noticed when she was vacuuming. There was definitely a hairline split in the plaster just at the point where the outer panel of the conservatory met the external brickwork of the house. She pressed her cheeks against it. It felt strangely soothing, like a cold hand. She could even hear something – what was it? – a small sad sigh, as if something was travelling towards her from very far away.
    ‘Alice!’ called Alan. ‘Alice! Spanner!’
    ‘Get it yourself!’
    Alice gave a start. She never snapped. And she’d worked so hard over the years to lose her estuary vowels, but here they were all over again. She had barely voiced those consonants.
    ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Alan.
    ‘I’m TireD,’ she said carefully (sounding more like Alice). ‘I’m TireD of passing things. I wanT to helP.’
    ‘There was no need to be rude,’ said Alan (sounding exactly like himself). ‘You wouldn’t have spoken