The Thief of Broken Toys Read Free

from the harbour were a challenge for
Ray, someone half her age.
    He was so surprised that he could not find
an answer.
    â€œSo how’re you?” she asked.
    â€œI’m . . .”
Terrible
, he thought.
I’m stuck a
year ago
. “I’m not too bad,” he said, and found
a smile creeping across his face.
    â€œGood to hear it,” the woman said. She
puffed a little, rubbing at her knees. “I’m
always here. Well, nearly always. If you need
me for anything.”
    â€œThank you,” Ray said. He knew her house,
an old fisherman’s cottage with its rough
plaster walls inlaid with a beautiful array of
shells. Toby had called it the shell house, and
Ray remembered her talking to him once when
he’d run on ahead. Ray and Elizabeth had
climbed the hill to find their son accepting
a slice of cake from the woman’s withered
hands. For them she’d only had a smile, but
that had been enough to make them feel good.
    She nodded and started past him, and Ray
half turned on the narrow path.
    â€œReally. Thank you.”
    â€œNo need,” she said, but her breath was
harsh now she was walking again. He watched
her go, then turned and trotted down the steps
to the wider path that led to the harbour.
    This was the back end of Skentipple, the
part where only the most adventurous tourists
explored. There were no shops or cafés here,
no pasty bakers or souvenir sellers, and it
was rare that he saw anyone he didn’t know
walking this route. The path curved across
the base of the hillside and opened up into the
wide area around the harbour, and then he
was among people.
    As he walked, Ray had to force himself to
look up from his shoes. He’d never understood
where the shame of grief came from. At first
it had been nervousness about people talking
to him, and how they would deal with what
had happened: some tried to act as if nothing
had changed, and he hated that; others
approached with sadness and uncertainty,
and he hated that more. He’d soon come to
realize that he preferred being left alone, and
somehow and somewhere he’d managed to
exude that desire. Occasionally he wondered
what they thought of him now, but usually he
didn’t care. It was all part of blaming himself.
    He walked around the harbour front, shops
and pubs and cafés on his right, the harbour
to his left. The tide was out with the boats,
and the few crafts left were tilted over like
one-legged men waiting to be lifted again.
Dead fish silvered the silty bed, and seagulls
strutted their stuff, taking their fill of the free
meat. In one area, hundreds of crabs’ claws
lay half-buried where a crab fisherman tied
his boat. The stream cut a path through the
muddy bed, eventually joining the sea where
it lapped at the harbour entrance.
    Ray saw several people he knew. Max, the
Weird Fish clothing shop owner, was taking in
the jackets and sweaters he always hung across
the outside of the shop’s hoarding. He nodded
once; Ray nodded and turned away. Next to
Max’s shop was the Seaview Café, and Muriel
the owner sat outside, smoking. A huge mug
of tea was on the table beside her, and from
inside he heard some unidentifiable music
rustling through the radio. Tourist season
almost over, Muriel would adjust her opening
times now to cater for the fishermen when
they went out and came back in. She caught
his eye and breathed out smoke, hiding behind
it.
She’s Elizabeth’s
, Ray thought. He hated how
what had happened to him and Elizabeth had
polarized their friends.
    â€œAfternoon, Muriel,” he said as he passed
by, not expecting or receiving an answer.
    Jeff the seafood seller, his stall down on
the harbour front where it had been for years.
Franz the beachcomber, an old guy who lived a
few miles inland, but who spent every Tuesday
on Skentipple’s small beach with his metal
detector and rucksack. Where he spent the
other days, Ray had never asked. Susan the
barmaid.