Bone Jack Read Free

used to be such good friends. I wish you’d try again with him.’
    ‘I tried lots of times.’ His face grew hot. It wasn’t exactly a lie – he had made an effort after Mark’s dad hanged himself. But bad things seemed to collect around Mark after his dad died. Dark and violent things. When Mark pushed him away, Ash let himself be pushed and then time passed and things got awkward. These days they scarcely saw each other.
    He couldn’t explain all that to Mum. She wouldn’t get it. She’d remind him that Mark had been his best friend, tell him not to be so superstitious and silly. There’d be disappointment in her eyes, in her voice.
    He couldn’t stand that.
    He cleared his throat and changed the subject. ‘Has Dad called yet?’
    Stupid question. If he had called, she’d have told him by now.
    ‘Not yet,’ said Mum. Her voice suddenly sounded too cheerful. ‘I’m sure he’ll be home soon though.’
    Ash nodded and drained his glass of juice. ‘Right. I’ll go and have a shower.’
    ‘Good idea,’ said Mum. ‘I didn’t want to mention it but …’
    ‘Yeah, I’m all sweaty and I stink. I know, Mum.’
    He stood in the shower for a long time, letting the hot water sluice away the sweat and dust from his run. Then he towelled himself dry, went up to his bedroom in the attic and put on fresh clothes.
    Through the open bedroom window, he heard the garden gate shriek on its hinges.
    It was probably just the postman, he told himself. But his heart leaped anyway and he rushed to the window.
    It wasn’t the postman.
    It was Dad.

FOUR
    Dad was standing in the driveway, just inside the gate. He looked the way Ash remembered: tall, broad-shouldered, tough as teak. His jaw was shadowed with stubble. He was dressed in his civvies and his dark hair was messy, despite the regulation army cut, but he still looked a soldier through and through.
    Captain Stephen Tyler, home from war.
    Then Dad walked out onto the lawn and it all started to fall apart. He looked loose somehow, as if his bones weren’t properly connected. Dragging his feet, swaying, stumbling.
    Like a puppet with its strings cut.
    Ash watched and a tiny knife of anxiety twisted inside him.
    In the middle of the lawn, Dad stopped. He stared at the house as if it was somewhere he remembered from a dream. Then he looked straight up at the open window where Ash was.
    Ash stuck out his head. ‘Dad! Hey, Dad!’
    Dad just went on staring, as if Ash was a stranger to him. No smile, no wave, not even a flicker of recognition.
    Ash flinched as if he’d been slapped across the face.
    Dad took another step, lurched sideways, almost fell.
    Drunk, thought Ash. Or something else wrong, something worse.
    Anxiety cut through him again.
    Mum came around the side of the house. She was still wearing her old straw hat. She stopped for a long moment, watching Dad. He hadn’t noticed her. He was still staring up at the house as if he’d never seen it before. She called out to him, her voice soft and low and so full of love that Ash suddenly felt afraid for her.
    Dad looked across at her. He smiled weirdly, then a sob broke from him and he buckled, seemed about to crumple to his knees on the grass. Then Mum was running towards him and she caught him in her arms, held him close, held him up.
    Ash turned away, embarrassed. They didn’t seem like his parents any more. Instead they were like two strangers caught in the middle of something huge and terrible, something he didn’t understand, didn’t want to see.
    He lay on his bed, stared at the ceiling.
    A door slammed downstairs. He closed his eyes. A blood-red glare behind his eyelids, and circling specks of black that opened dark wings and flapped away like carrion crows over a battlefield.
    He curled up into a ball, rocked himself for a while, opened his eyes again.
    However much he wanted to, he couldn’t stay up here for ever. Sunshine outside, Dad downstairs. Mum. The Stag Chase only a fortnight away. Everything