Read Online Ghost Girl by Lesley Thomson - Free Book Online Page B

was tall in his brown weekend trousers and his blue and white chequered shirt blew out like a balloon in the wind. She decided he was more like a cowboy with his sleeves rolled up and she wished that he was a cowboy so they could canter off together on horses as if he were her real daddy.
    They hadn’t seen her do her skid. Mary twisted the bike around and mooched over the handlebars, her chin on her fists. Daddy was teaching Michael to ride his bike properly the way she could, although he hadn’t said that. It was a secret, one she had decided to keep, that Michael did not like his new present. He’d told her he had wanted a microscope. She actually did think that would have been a nicer present for him and was sorry for him, especially as the bike was too big. All Michael’s things were too big: his trousers, his new blazer, even his shoes. He was supposed to grow into them. What if he didn’t?
    Michael had refused to have lessons off her, so now he was being punished because lessons with Daddy were worse. He had to pretend to be big and brave, which he wasn’t. He was too scared to tell Mummy and Daddy that he was frightened stiff of falling off. To them Michael was brave and courageous: their little soldier. They didn’t know he was terrified of everything.
    Mary Thornton had tried to prevent Bob and Jean Thornton knowing how frightened their son was of climbing trees, playing football or riding a bicycle. At six that morning he had sneaked into her bedroom and asked her to finish the bedtime story their mother had been reading to them. Mary agreed because she knew he lived in fear of the rattling attic door in the corner of his new room. Then he annoyed her with questions about her new name, so she had sent him packing. When Bob Thornton announced he was taking Michael round to the square to get him used to his bike without the stabilizers, Mary had ignored Michael’s pleading stare and said nothing.
    At the park she had ridden around with no hands partly to take Daddy’s mind off unscrewing the wheels and partly to show him she was highly skilled on her bike. But the plan had not worked because he carried on as if she were invisible. He ignored her suggestion that she do things on her bike to show Michael how to do it. He did not see her lift up her front wheel and mount the hump on the path like a cowgirl on a horse and now he had missed the best skid she had ever done. Mary eyed them dolefully from across the grass.
    After a bit, she let the wheels meander along the slope to the statue of the Greek Runner.
    The statue had no clothes on. Mary was not interested in penises – Michael had one – so she didn’t bother with the nude man and scooted her bike around and around the base. On the last lap she stole another look at her father and brother. Their heads were still close together. Secrets. She was inflamed. Michael was helping her daddy with the wheels. Traitor! Boys will be boys, her mum said. ‘Leave them to it, Mary.’
    Her dad arched backwards and stretched. Michael was like a statue. He was staring at the ground, which wouldn’t help him balance. Mary was startled by her dad’s shout: ‘Ready, steady… go!’
    Michael tried to stand in his seat as she had done. Despite her worry for him Mary was outraged that her daddy was keeping his hand on the bike rack and running along with Michael, help he had not given her. It meant Michael would never learn to ride by himself.
    As if he could read his daughter’s mind, Bob Thornton let go of the rack and ran on for a few more paces beside the bike, his hand out as if still gripping the rack. He dropped back and slowed to a stop and, hands on hips, watched Michael cycle away along the path.
    Michael had seen Mary and was coming right at her, his eyes fixed on her as he had done when he was learning to walk and was made to cross the room to her. She felt panic. He did not know Daddy had let go and he was going too fast. She started to climb off her bike.