Read Online Lamb by Bernard Maclaverty - Free Book Online Page A

Tower of London, the Zoo, Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament, but the boy just shrugged and said ‘I dunno’ after each one.
    â€˜Is there anything you want to see?’
    Owen thought, screwing up his eyes. Then his face became animated. His eyes widened and lit up.
    â€˜Any slot machines?’ he shouted.
    Michael sunk his head in his hands.
    â€˜Aw God, Owen. The capital of the world and all you can think of is slot machines. Where do you think you are, Bundoran? There’s no slot machines in London.’
    The boy sat on the unmade bed and swung his feet.
    â€˜Anywhere you like then,’ he said.
    â€˜I think . . . ’ said Michael. He paused. ‘I think . . . we’re not organized. There’s confusion in the camp. I think . . . ’ He began again. ‘We’ll go to Piccadilly and start from there.’ He stubbed the Underground map decisively with his finger. The boy looked at the maze of coloured lines.
    â€˜There’s a couple of things we have to do today,’ said Michael, clapping his hands together.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Get our story right, for one. And buy a radio.’
    â€˜Smashin’,’ said Owen.
    Michael did not like to admit it to the boy, but he was stunned by the Underground. The moving stairs that bore them down to the guts of the city, the stopping each time they came to a sign to interpret it as people rushed around them. Northbound or southbound? The speed at which the trains thundered into the stations, pushing a warm gale in front of them. He kept assuring the boy that he knew what he was doing. On the platforms Owen stood very close to him. After only one mistake they arrived at Piccadilly.
    Above on the pavement, Owen let out a shout:
    â€˜Look. Look, Brother!’ The boy was dancing up and down, pointing. He stuck out his tongue at Michael. Michael followed the line of his finger and saw a huge amusement arcade, its double doors open, its machines whirring and whining, their coloured lights flickering.
    â€˜Can we go in?’
    â€˜O.K.,’ Michael laughed, ‘but we’re not going to spend all day.’
    But they spent the best part of an hour and about four pounds as Owen ran from one fruit machine to another. Michael stayed on the same machine, thinking it was bound to pay out sooner or later. His only substantial win was on three lemons. They also played T.V. games in various forms, trying to shoot one another down as British and German pilots, condemning one another to horrible deaths in knocked-out sunken submarines.
    Eventually Michael could stick the noise no longer. The air was full of the whine of diving planes and gunfire and police sirens and clattering coins. A policeman had been standing inside the door for some time and Michael kept an eye on him. He seemed to be scrutinizing the crowd, which was mostly teenage lads.
    â€˜Come on, Owen. Let’s go.’
    â€˜Just another while.’
    â€˜No.’
    Michael took him firmly by the shoulder and led him towards the door. The policeman gave them a funny look as they left.
    They began to walk round Piccadilly. The sun was shining and it was warm. In the crowd Michael felt relaxed. He was about to say something to Owen when he discovered he was not there. He spun round, his eyes searching for the boy’s blue denim and blond hair. He began to retrace his steps, slowly trying to batten down the feeling of panic that was rising inside him. The crowd surged about him in both directions. Faces he didn’t know or want to know. Then he saw him. Standing by a shop window full of magazines. Girls pouting forward clutching their breasts, with their legs open, bums, flesh. He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and shouted,
    â€˜ OWEN, DON’T WANDER AWAY FROM ME .’
    â€˜Would you look at that,’ said the boy, not taking the slightest notice of Michael’s anger. Michael pulled him away, the boy