in so tight that about five came loose and fell on the floor. He bent down to pick
them up and there was a wooden box at the bottom of the cupboard. It was a big box, pushed right to the back – old wood, dark
like blackwood. He had never seen it before.
He looked down the hall. He could hear Aunty Jean talking, but the door to the kitchen was closed just enough so that he couldn’t
see her.
He squatted down, pulled the box out. It had brass handles and carved flowers on the lid.
Inside there were carefully folded things.
Soft things.
They were all baby things.
‘Miles! The towel!’
Miles shut the lid and slid the box away. He picked up one of the towels and shoved the rest back in the cupboard without
folding them.
While Aunty Jean cut his hair, he stared straight ahead. She talked on and on about selling Granddad’s house, but he just
kept thinking about the box. He just kept thinking about the little blankets and the baby clothes and how all that stuff was
perfect and clean and never used.
‘What am I meant to do? What am I meant to do?’ she kept saying.
And he heard her voice rise up, the familiar tears come.
‘I grew up in that house, Miles. Don’t I deserve something?’
Harry was sitting on the edge of the bath when Miles walked into the bathroom.
‘Jesus,’ he said, his curls all gone, his eyes bigger than normal because his hair was so short. And it made Miles smile,
the way Harry just said Jesus like that, the way they both looked terrible like freshly shorn sheep.
Mum never used to cut Harry’s hair short. She told him that curls were lucky and should be left alone. Harry liked that and
he believed her. He believed everything. He even let her brush his hair every night without complaining.
Dad even brushed Harry’s hair back then to stop it getting knotted.
Miles wiped his neck and face with the face washer to get the hair off before it started itching. His hair was really short.
She may as well have just used the clippers.
‘That’s the last time,’ Miles said.
Harry nodded but he didn’t look convinced.
B y lunchtime the shed was half empty.
Out on the grass the ‘throw away’ pile was much smaller than the ‘keep’ pile thanks to Miles. He fought Joe over every piece
of furniture and every tool, saying it was wrong to throw any of Granddad’s stuff away. Harry agreed but he didn’t say anything.
He just tried to stay out of the way. He waited on the lawn until someone told him what to move and what he could touch and
where to put things because he kept doing everything wrong. Most of the things in the shed were too heavy for him to lift
and it was dark and full of cobwebs and he knew there were spiders in there. He’d already got two splinters from moving wood
because there were no gloves that fit his hands. They were all too big. He should have just gone to Stuart’s.
Joe took the first load of junk to the tip and Harry thought about going into the house and sitting down inside for a bit.
It was cold and the wind was coming off the bay and Miles hadn’t called or come out of the shed for ages. Maybe he’d gone
in the house and Harry hadn’t noticed.
Harry walked over and poked his head through the shed door. It seemed so much bigger inside now that it was half empty – big
and dark. He couldn’t see Miles anywhere.
‘Miles?’
No answer. Harry stayed in the doorway anyway. There was still so much stuff in the shed. It was going to take them all day.
They wouldn’t be doing anything else. Just this.
‘Miles?’
‘I’m here,’ he said. His voice came from down the back, behind a stack of old chairs. Harry made his way over, ducking through
the spaces left between furniture. Miles was sitting down on a low seat leaning against the back wall of the shed.
‘It’s Mum’s,’ he said.
Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. He looked on the ground and then behind him.
‘It’s from the car. The back seat
them up and there was a wooden box at the bottom of the cupboard. It was a big box, pushed right to the back – old wood, dark
like blackwood. He had never seen it before.
He looked down the hall. He could hear Aunty Jean talking, but the door to the kitchen was closed just enough so that he couldn’t
see her.
He squatted down, pulled the box out. It had brass handles and carved flowers on the lid.
Inside there were carefully folded things.
Soft things.
They were all baby things.
‘Miles! The towel!’
Miles shut the lid and slid the box away. He picked up one of the towels and shoved the rest back in the cupboard without
folding them.
While Aunty Jean cut his hair, he stared straight ahead. She talked on and on about selling Granddad’s house, but he just
kept thinking about the box. He just kept thinking about the little blankets and the baby clothes and how all that stuff was
perfect and clean and never used.
‘What am I meant to do? What am I meant to do?’ she kept saying.
And he heard her voice rise up, the familiar tears come.
‘I grew up in that house, Miles. Don’t I deserve something?’
Harry was sitting on the edge of the bath when Miles walked into the bathroom.
‘Jesus,’ he said, his curls all gone, his eyes bigger than normal because his hair was so short. And it made Miles smile,
the way Harry just said Jesus like that, the way they both looked terrible like freshly shorn sheep.
Mum never used to cut Harry’s hair short. She told him that curls were lucky and should be left alone. Harry liked that and
he believed her. He believed everything. He even let her brush his hair every night without complaining.
Dad even brushed Harry’s hair back then to stop it getting knotted.
Miles wiped his neck and face with the face washer to get the hair off before it started itching. His hair was really short.
She may as well have just used the clippers.
‘That’s the last time,’ Miles said.
Harry nodded but he didn’t look convinced.
B y lunchtime the shed was half empty.
Out on the grass the ‘throw away’ pile was much smaller than the ‘keep’ pile thanks to Miles. He fought Joe over every piece
of furniture and every tool, saying it was wrong to throw any of Granddad’s stuff away. Harry agreed but he didn’t say anything.
He just tried to stay out of the way. He waited on the lawn until someone told him what to move and what he could touch and
where to put things because he kept doing everything wrong. Most of the things in the shed were too heavy for him to lift
and it was dark and full of cobwebs and he knew there were spiders in there. He’d already got two splinters from moving wood
because there were no gloves that fit his hands. They were all too big. He should have just gone to Stuart’s.
Joe took the first load of junk to the tip and Harry thought about going into the house and sitting down inside for a bit.
It was cold and the wind was coming off the bay and Miles hadn’t called or come out of the shed for ages. Maybe he’d gone
in the house and Harry hadn’t noticed.
Harry walked over and poked his head through the shed door. It seemed so much bigger inside now that it was half empty – big
and dark. He couldn’t see Miles anywhere.
‘Miles?’
No answer. Harry stayed in the doorway anyway. There was still so much stuff in the shed. It was going to take them all day.
They wouldn’t be doing anything else. Just this.
‘Miles?’
‘I’m here,’ he said. His voice came from down the back, behind a stack of old chairs. Harry made his way over, ducking through
the spaces left between furniture. Miles was sitting down on a low seat leaning against the back wall of the shed.
‘It’s Mum’s,’ he said.
Harry didn’t know what he was talking about. He looked on the ground and then behind him.
‘It’s from the car. The back seat
Similar Books
