Lies Like Love Read Free

morning. It’s the weekend so you can lie in. And I’ll grab you those pills; they’ll help with the head. Poor sausage.’
    She closed the door softly behind her and I lay in the glowing dark, listening to the house breathing around me. It wheezed and groaned and I listened closer, listened through the walls, beyond the bricks, to the world outside and how it grew and shifted, the grass creeping higher, squeaking and whistling as it pushed its way through the soil, the trees shuffling towards us, their heavy tread shaking the earth, the very air expanding and shrinking, pulsing like blood.
    The next morning Mum went out early and Peter and I raced out of the flat, down the stairs and out towards the woods.
    My brother pelted ahead, and I followed, branches cracking underfoot, wood pigeons calling on the breeze. Here and there the trees opened out into clearings and under a towering larch we paused.
    ‘Let’s make a den,’ said Peter, ‘with a camp and a fort and everything. Can we, Aud?’
    ‘Course,’ I said, and, handing my brother branches, we began to build. Sharp ends were jammed into soft soil and he ran to find more wood, good tall pieces.
    ‘Here, Aud, this’ll be a good one, won’t it?’ Peter dragged a heavy branch, still covered in dark green leaves, towards us. I took it, slotted it in, patting the wood with the palm of my hand, enjoying how dry and strong it felt.
    ‘From here we’ll see all the birds, won’t we?’ he said.
    I nodded. ‘Yup. And maybe if we’re really still and really quiet, we could see rabbits or badgers. Mice. I don’t know. There could be all kinds of animals around.’
    I ought to know more – Peter was looking at me in wonder and then gazing everywhere, his cheeks rosier than they’d been in a long time, his whole face sparkling.
    ‘What else?’
    ‘Shrews,’ I said in desperation, casting about for something more exciting, ‘maybe deer or a hare.’ I wouldn’t say that if he looked really carefully, he’d see hearts beating inside the trees, hear their inhalations, the steady rumble of life. All was calm today though, nothing jumping out of time: the woods were sleeping.
    Our fort was a messy bunch of spindly twigs tangledwith the odd sturdy branch and somehow remaining upright – not too bad for a pair of city kids.
    ‘What do you think?’ I asked.
    ‘Awesome.’ Peter dropped to his knees and crawled inside. ‘It’s really cool in here, Aud, come in with me.’ He patted the ground. We sat, snug, quiet, taking care not to touch the sides and send the whole thing toppling. It might last the afternoon if we were lucky.
    ‘You’re right. This isn’t bad, Pete.’
    ‘Shhh. If you talk, the animals won’t come. We’re supposed to be quiet.’ He set out his stones in a row and talked to them for a bit, but after a while his head drooped against my side and we waited, Peter with a short stick clutched in one hand, grass stains on his knees and elbows. Leaves in his hair. He sighed and shifted, wriggled, kicked out a leg and I held his foot, reminded him to be careful.
    ‘Sorry, Aud,’ he whispered.
    ‘It’s OK, mate,’ I said, squeezing him tighter. ‘You’re doing well, being really patient.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yeah. Like a proper woodsman.’
    ‘Knight you mean.’ I smiled.
    ‘Can we come here every day and do this?’
    ‘Well, maybe. At the weekends or after school.’
    ‘Shh,’ Peter told me and we stared together at the deep thickness of trees, watched for the faintest stirring, for a miracle or magic. And then as the sun broke through the thick canopy of leaves and caught a patch of earth,lighting it like fire, a tiny rabbit hopped into the circle of light – its ears pricked, its nose twitching – and we froze, our breath held, skin prickling.
    ‘Can I catch it?’ my brother whispered. ‘Keep it for a pet?’ He shifted, tensed, aching to hurl himself out towards the bunny, but the creature darted away and Peter charged after