Read Online Breaking Light by Karin Altenberg - Free Book Online Page A

scented Hello Kitty stickers and Barbour oilskins. The hardware store catered for the gentleman farmer, burnt-out banker and staycation tourist alike. With a rising sense of panic, he slogged past stacks of purple-glazed pottery, sheepskin slippers and New Age calendars, only to bump his foot on a sit-on lawnmower, conveniently parked at the end of an aisle. He whimpered damply but soldiered on until he reached the homeware section where he was faced with a dizzying array of cleaning products. Their names seemed negatively correlated to their chemical content, so that, on reading the label, one would realise that ‘Spring Fresh’ was slightly more poisonous than ‘Fields of Lavender’, whereas ‘Footprint’ was not quite as filthy as it sounded. There was even a washing-up liquid dispenser shaped like a toy gun, called ‘Sani-girl’. Mr Askew looked anxiously along the shelves until, at last, he found the ‘Mr Muscle’ section. Quickly, he grabbed a few bright coloured bottles and looked around for some rubber gloves and sponges. Thus fully armed, he started the retreat towards the till. Apologising profusely, he squeezed past a couple of equestrian-looking women – who stepped aside, as if to let pass the great unwashed – and a Japanese tourist studying a doorstopper in the shape of a skimpily-dressed fairy bending over unnecessarily to smell a flower at her feet.
    The shop assistant had not yet grown out of her puppy fat, and her breasts bulged alarmingly out of a tight top, which read, ‘ BRAIN FIRST, BODY SECOND ’.
    â€˜You get one of these half price with any purchase over ten quid,’ she said, as her text-trained fingers stamped the figures into an old-fashioned till.
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’
    She looked up at him then, but without interest, and gestured towards a rack of neon-coloured plastic key holders to one side. ‘You get to choose one of them with your name on it.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Only half price – it’s a bargain – and they glow in the dark.’
    He looked in despair at the names on the plastic rectangles. Gabriel did not appear amongst the Beverleys, Olivias, Alfies, Mohammeds and Dylans. ‘That is –’ he hesitated – ‘most kind, but no thank you.’
    â€˜Are you sure?’ She looked unaffectedly perplexed, one of her acrylic nails hovering uncertainly over the
enter
button.
    â€˜Yes, yes, quite sure.’
    â€˜Ah, well, you’re really missing a bargain.’ She was good at her job, and disappointed in him.
    *
    It had started to rain by the time he got out into the street and a mound of horse manure was disintegrating into the cobbles at his feet. He took a deep breath, holding the bag with his shopping tightly against his chest. He could no longer face going to the allotment today, and yet he could not stay at home – the new cleaning lady was expected at noon. How he wished that he had not let himself be inconvenienced in this manner. But this, he realised, like so many other things, was something that he would just have to endure. He started shuffling along Market Street, his mac flapping around his calves and his downturned gaze recognising every pebble, curb and dent along the worn-out route.
    Outside Wilkinson’s, something colourful stirred in the corner of his eye and he looked up to see the woman from the allotment holding a box of root vegetables in her arms. He was surprised, almost shocked, to see her there, out of their commonelement. Suddenly he was aware of the sour smell from under his pullover and held his arms closer to his body. She had spotted him and smiled as if about to say something. Just then a young man opened the door of the shop and exclaimed, ‘Wow, look at that. Thanks so much – that’s an amazing crop for this time of year.’
    â€˜Yes,’ she laughed, ‘I’ll say it is.’
    He