Dear Charlie. Natália Gomes

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ not listening. I’m not ready,’ she said again.

      ‘The sign’s been up for weeks! And now you tell me?’

      ‘I didn’t think we’d have any interest this soon. I thought because of the journalists still outside that it would take months, maybe even a year? I thought we had more time here.’

      ‘Well, we do have interest. Two people have already contacted the agent.’

      ‘So cancel!’

      ‘We’re having the open house today. I’m not cancelling. And that’s the end of it.’

      ‘And what about me?’ she cried.

      ‘For once, let’s not make this about you,’ he snapped, slamming down his coffee cup. Drops of black liquid seeped over the edge and trickled down the cup, forming a circle on the tile. After he went into the garage and Mum stormed upstairs, slamming the door behind her, I cleaned up the coffee with a dampened rag by the sink, worried that it would stain.

      Quickly showering and throwing on some jeans, I packed a bag with textbooks and a notepad and jogged to the bus stop. But instead of taking bus 09 to Knightsbridge town centre for the library, I took bus 11 to Priory Road in Pembrook, where the town’s cemetery was located.

      When I got off the bus, a dark gloomy cloud hung in the sky and seemed to follow me overhead. I hadn’t worn my raincoat, but whether it rained or not was the furthest thought from my mind. A path snaked around the cemetery and eventually led to the back section where a dozen new graves sat. Slowly making my way from one to the other, I read each headstone carefully, absorbing the names, the birthdates, the messages from their loved ones. Too many deaths. Too much loss. Mr Healey, Gregory, Mr Smith, Nick, David M., David R., Stephen, Laura, Michael, Cara, Geoff, Andrew, Robert, Joseph. There they all were, six feet underground, beneath the soles of my shoes as if they’d never existed at all. It was like their voices had never carried in the hallways, as if their laughter hadn’t filled the classrooms. But they had existed. I had seen them. I had heard them. And now they were reduced to merely bones and decaying flesh.

      I hadn’t thought much about the afterlife before that morning in June. The theory of heaven and hell isn’t exactly a popular discussion topic for teenagers. When you’re sixteen years old, death isn’t a possibility. It’s a story that you read about in the news, a sadness that spreads through hospitals, a tragedy that frequently visits the elderly, but never the young. Death should never meet the young. But it did. Thanks to my brother, death made fourteen new friends that day. Maybe even fifteen, if you count Charlie. But I don’t think death came for him. I think something darker and more sinister took his soul. When I imagine those students looking down, like that dark cloud above, I know my brother isn’t with them. I don’t know where he is.

      Walking over to section B of the cemetery, I glanced back at the new graves as they withered into rows of stone and fresh flowers. Section B was starkly different, its headstones made of remnant material and the flower bouquets reduced to a single stem. And there it was. It looked smaller, less worthy of the attention it had gathered. No amount of protest and headline could stop the development of Charlie’s stone. I didn’t know why people had got so angry. His body wasn’t even buried there. We had had him cremated, as he wished, with the intention of scattering his ashes at Harper’s Beach, where we had played as children. But the urn still sat on my mother’s bedside table, allowing her a place to think of my brother, away from my dad’s judging eyes and my face, which reminded her too much – and not enough – of Charlie’s. But my parents, or rather my mum, had decided on a granite bevel marker to represent a place of rest. As per my dad’s wishes, she had kept it simple: his name, date of birth and date of death. No message or prayer, just facts.

      When I got to my brother’s stone, I dropped to my knees. Someone had poured soil on top and garnished it with headless thorny rose stems. Scooping the earth off, I polished the granite beneath with the sleeve of my jumper until a pale greyish blue shone through. Words sizzled in my mouth, rising to the surface, but when I opened my mouth, images of fourteen graves entered my mind. So I left the cemetery, having not done what I had gone there to do – forgive my brother.

      I returned home earlier than I should have. Not even one o’clock. A silver Jeep Cherokee sat in the driveway. I quietly sneaked in and up the stairs, hearing my dad talk business to a guy who looked to be in his twenties. He looked a little young to be buying a house, especially for this neighbourhood. But when I reached the top, it quickly sunk in why he was there. Positioned in the doorway, almost too afraid to step any closer, was a young woman taking photos of my brother’s room.

      ‘You should leave before my dad catches you,’ I said, as she spun around, dropping the camera by her feet.

      ‘I… I was just…’ But she didn’t finish her sentence, unable to find a good reason to explain why she was doing what she was doing. She grabbed her camera, called down to her boyfriend and hurried to the Jeep. I met my dad at the front door just in time to see their car reach the end of the street, tyre streaks still visible on the concrete.

      ‘Dad, they were – ’

      ‘ – I know.’ He sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘I know, Sam.’ He sauntered back into the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and quietly closed the garage door behind him. A minute later, I heard him slam something hard against the door. He would later emerge that afternoon in need of a bandage to cover his bloody fist.

      Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

      Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

      Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

      Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.

/9j/4QAYRXhpZgAASUkqAAgAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP/sABFEdWNreQABAAQAAABQAAD/4QNyaHR0cDov L25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wLwA8P3hwYWNrZXQgYmVnaW49Iu+7vyIgaWQ9Ilc1TTBNcENl aGlIenJlU3pOVGN6a2M5ZCI/PiA8eDp4bXBtZXRhIHhtbG5zOng9ImFkb2JlOm5zOm1ldGEvIiB4 OnhtcHRrPSJBZG9iZSBYTVAgQ29yZSA1LjAtYzA2MSA2NC4xNDA5NDksIDIwMTAvMTIvMDctMTA6 NTc6MDEgICAgICAgICI+IDxyZGY6UkRGIHhtbG5zOnJkZj0iaHR0cDovL3d3dy53My5vcmcvMTk5 OS8wMi8yMi1yZGYtc3ludGF4LW5zIyI+IDxyZGY6RGVzY3JpcHRpb24gcmRmOmFib3V0PSIiIHht bG5zOnhtcE1NPSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvbW0vIiB4bWxuczpzdFJlZj0i aHR0cDovL25zLmFkb2JlLmNvbS94YXAvMS4wL3NUeXBlL1Jlc291cmNlUmVmIyIgeG1sbnM6eG1w PSJodHRwOi8vbnMuYWRvYmUuY29tL3hhcC8xLjAvIiB4bXBNTTpPcmlnaW5hbERvY3VtZW50SUQ9 InV1aWQ6NDE0OTE1YzUtNTQxZC00NzZkLTg5OGMtNGM5OWY5MGZkYzNmIiB4bXBNTTpEb2N1bWVu dElEPSJ4bXAuZGlkOkUzQTMzQzgyRjM1RTExRTlBQTg1RDQ3Q0EyNjlDRDFBIiB4bXBNTTpJbnN0 YW5jZUlEPSJ4bXAuaWlkOkUzQTMzQzgxRjM1RTExRTlBQTg1RDQ3Q0EyNjlDRDFBIiB4bXA6Q3Jl YXRvclRvb2w9IkFkb2JlIFBob3Rvc2hvcCBDUzUuMSBNYWNpbnRvc2giPiA8eG1wTU06RGVyaXZl ZEZyb20gc3RSZWY6aW5zdGFuY2VJRD0ieG1wLmlpZDpGMkYyODU4QTI1MjQ2ODExOEE2REI1MzhF QzAwMzFBOCIgc3RSZWY6ZG9jdW1lbnRJRD0ieG1wLmRpZDpGOTNGMzUxQzI1MjQ2ODExOEE2REI1 MzhFQzAwMzFBOCIvPiA8L3JkZjpEZXNjcmlwdGlvbj4gPC9yZGY6UkRGPiA8L3g6eG1wbWV0YT4g PD94cGFja2V0IGVuZD0iciI/Pv/iDFhJQ0NfUFJPRklMRQABAQAADEhMaW5vAhAAAG1udHJSR0Ig WFlaIAfOAAIACQAGADEAAGFjc3BNU0ZUAAAAAElFQyBzUkdCAAAAAAAAAAAAAA СКАЧАТЬ