The Tooth Read Free Page B

pocket, unfolded it, and laid it out in front of him. ‘Here’s the permission slip. You’ve got to sign it.’
    He read the note without expression. ‘The museum, eh?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Do you want to go?’
    ‘Yes, Dad. I really do want to go.’
    He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘OK.’ After a pause he added, ‘I s’pose I should have taken you myself.’ He lowered his head and started playing with the knives and forks. I had some idea of what was going through his mind: he was remembering Mum. She used to work at the museum as a curator—apparently there’s a small plaque commemorating her work. I think that was the part that Dad feared most, seeing something related to her death. For the same reason, we’d never been to the cemetery to see where her ashes lie, or returned to the river where she’d drowned.
    I was the first to break the silence. ‘Dad, it’s time I went to these places and found out about her. I need to know her. Half of me is her. I think it’s important.’
    He nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He pulled out a pen and signed the form.
    As he handed it back, I said, ‘There’s something else I want to do. I want to go back to the place where it happened.’ I went on quickly before he had a chance to say anything. ‘Mits and I want to try and find the place where I spent the night. I’ve got some funny memories about then, and I want to see if they’re right. We plan to do it during the holidays. That’s if I can convince Nanna and Grandad to have Mits as well. And if it’s OK by you.’
    Fortunately our meals arrived then, and for some minutes there was no need for either of us to talk. Halfway through, Dad put down his knife and fork. ‘You’ve given this plenty of thought, then?’
    I nodded.
    He took a couple of mouthfuls before saying, ‘Yes. It’s a good idea.’ Then he went back to his eating. When he’d finished, he looked at me and said, ‘There’s something I’ve got that will help. It’s Grams’s scrapbook from that time. I took it soon after she’d made it. I didn’t want her ever showing it to you.’ He gave a little smile. ‘She spent ages looking for it, thinking she’d misplaced it, and all the time I had it hidden. I think now’s—’
    He was stopped by a woman jumping to her feet and screaming: ‘No, Jamie! No! No!’ Then she rushed towards a young girl at the side of the road.
    Coming along the other side of the road were some tourists on the horse-drawn wagon. The girl, attracted by the horse, stepped onto the road and into the path of a car, which quickly swerved to avoid her. Unfortunately, it crossed the centre line, clipping the side of the horse before piling into the wheel of thewagon and screeching to a stop. The wagon collapsed onto its side, throwing a boy forward and under the feet of the horse.
    By then the horse was seriously upset; pounding its hooves on the road, while throwing its head wildly from side to side. Then it started whinnying—not the friendly whinny of a horse running to greet you, but the scream of an animal in terror.
    From that moment on, all I could see was the horse. Without any thought about what I was doing, I stood and walked towards it. I vaguely remember people screaming. I think I heard Dad shout, ‘No, Tim!’ I definitely heard the horse: it was the sole focus of my attention.
    As I got closer I started talking, ever so softly, yet I knew the horse would hear. I crept forward, talking all the while. His head stopped swinging, and slowly he turned towards me. I held out a hand and the pounding of the hooves lessened. For a moment I thought he was going to pull away, yet still I kept moving towards him. The pounding stopped as my hand touched his nose. I continued talking and began to slowly stroke his head. I could feel the huge animal calming and beginning to trust me. For him and me there was nothing else in the world. I sensed more than saw someone dart in and pull the boy to