Read Online Last Day in the Dynamite Factory by Annah Faulkner - Free Book Online Page B

shock. Why don’t you go and wash up and I’ll finish making lunch. You’ll feel better after something to eat.’
    She will, anyway.
    He goes to the bathroom, now cleared of his smelly distress, and washes his face with a bar of pear and ginger soap.
    Back in his den, Fletcher waits on the drawing board.
A Crying Room
, he mutters.
A place where you can cry without being embarrassed.
    A crying room. What a good idea. Chris runs his eyes over Mrs Stanton’s drawing. Who needs a third toilet, anyway? He’s about to redesignate Mrs Stanton’s toilet when Diane comes to the door.
    â€˜Lunch is ready.’
    Chris attends a Caesar salad.
    â€˜They should have told you,’ Diane says. ‘When you were old enough to understand.’
    â€˜Understand
what?
My mother had a baby with her sister’s husband. How … how could she
do
that?’
    A Vita-Weat on its way to Diane’s mouth stalls. ‘She was young, Chris. Young girls do foolish things. Things they wouldn’t do if they were thinking straight.’
    â€˜She didn’t do it on her own. Ben was hardly a kid; he was the same age as us when we had Phoebe.’ He screws up his eyes. ‘Can you imagine pretending Phoebe wasn’t ours? Nothing could make me do that; not starvation, war, torture or universal annihilation –
nothing
.’
    â€˜It was a different era back then. I suppose he did what he thought was right at the time.’
    â€˜You’re defending him?’
    â€˜No, but … at least he didn’t abandon you.’
    â€˜Jesus.’ Chris drops his fork and stares at his plate as if memories are stored in lettuce and olives and feta. ‘I thought it took the finest kind of person to love a kid you got lumbered with through no choice of your own. And when your own child died, it took greatness to keep loving that kid with no apparent resentment that he’s alive and yours is dead. All my life I’ve thought that. But it was bullshit; I was cheated of relationships that were rightfully mine. Liam was my brother, Diane. My
brother
.’

    Jo’s parents arrived at Liam’s memorial services dressed head to foot in black. Mary Johansson allowed her cool, unfocussed gaze to rest briefly on her surviving bastard grandson before turning away, as if his presence, when her legitimate grandson was dead, was unbearable. Her tall, dour-faced Swedish husband stared straight ahead.
    Ben’s parents came from their farm in the Mary Valley. Grandpa could only stay a day – the cows needed milking – but Gran stayed on to cook, wash and take down the Christmas decorations. She made things look normal again, even though they weren’t.
    Liam had gone, yet he was still there. Jo and Ben were still there, but they had gone. Uncle Ben stayed in his shed, appearing only for meals which he barely touched. Aunty Jo lay on their bed and cried, a terrible sound that came from so deep inside her it was no more than a wheeze by the time it got out. Chris was locked in silence, most of his communication coming through Fletcher.
    Eventually Gran had to go home. There was nothing more she could do. Before she left she took Chris outside and sat with him under the jacaranda tree.
    â€˜I need you to promise me something, Christopher. What you and I saw – what really happened to Liam – we must never tell anybody. Yes, I know you can’t talk now, but soon you will be able to, and you must never tell anyone about the – the glass. Uncle Ben and Aunty Jo didn’t see what happened. They think Liam drowned, and it’s kinder to let them think that because drowning is a much more peaceful way to die. It’s their only consolation. Do you understand?’
    Chris stared at the ground, at the mossy softness of lies, and nodded.
    â€˜Promise me?’
    Again, he nodded.
    â€˜Good boy.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘You’re all they have now, so go