overslept by the bloated feeling in his head. He panicked for a moment, unsure of where he was. The sensation passed when he saw Webster,
showered and dressed, appearing from the bathroom, towelling down his head to leave spikes of black hair.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Morning,’ said James. ‘How did you sleep?’
But Webster didn’t seem to hear with the towel buzzing his hair.
The suit smelt clean and soapy and was glassy in spots. The white shirt and tie fitted well. James smoothed down his hair and in the mirror he saw the glimmer of a future where
he was grown up, with a job and a house and a family of his own, although he was unsure how he would ever get there.
‘Life is everything you want to make of it,’ said Webster, as if reading his mind.
And James’s heart gleamed because he hoped it was true. But the longer he stared into the mirror, the more he felt something black unwinding through his guts. And the black was cold.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Webster softly.
But James just shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’m OK. Let’s go.’
The church was open. An organ was playing as Webster and James crunched along the gravel path between the gravestones. The boy picked at the threads around the buttons of his
suit as a shiver licked goosebumps over his skin. That black was in his guts again.
When he looked up, Webster was staring at him. James realized he was standing quite still on the path with his fists clenched.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, opening his hands.
But then he licked his lips.
Folded his arms.
Shivered in the sunlight and shook his head.
‘I’m not as brave as I thought I was.’
Webster bent down beside him. ‘I thought the suit might make a good impression,’ he said quietly. ‘That it was a good idea. I didn’t think hard enough about it. I’m
sorry. And I’m sorry about your mum too.’
‘That’s OK. It’s not your fault.’
‘Think you’ll be all right?’
‘Yes. I think so. Just give me a moment.’
‘Nobody lives forever,’ said Webster.
‘Why?’ asked James in a tiny, cracked voice.
And Webster sighed and shook his head and looked at the gravestones. Some of them lying face down on the grass. Others slowly falling.
James wiped his eyes. Shuddered as he sucked up a breath. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘No. It’s not. Whoever decided it must have been as mad as a hatter.’
James managed a smile at that.
Webster crouched down and took hold of the boy’s wrists as though they were made of glass. ‘I bet your mum’s listening to everything you tell her. Wherever she is. So never
give up on telling her things.’
And then James bit his lip because he realized what Webster was really trying to tell him. That he had been awake last night.
‘I don’t have anyone else,’ said Webster.
‘Neither do I,’ James said quickly and squeezed Webster’s hands as hard as he could. When the man squeezed gently back, something prickly in James’s chest vanished and he
breathed more easily after that.
They stayed in the sun, warming themselves, looking into the open black mouth of the church as the organ played. When James stopped shaking, Webster let go of his hands. And when they were ready
they went on down the path.
Inside the church, the air was cool, bitter with polish. The stained-glass windows down one side glowed as sunlight played over the flagstone floor. An old man in a dark suit
handed both of them a prayer book and a green hymn book as soon as they walked in.
‘Feel free to sit wherever you can,’ he said, raising his eyebrows because the church was empty except for two old ladies in the front pew.
As Webster and James sat and listened to the music, a handful of other people arrived in ones and twos and took their places.
The service took less than an hour. Webster sang the hymns as loudly as he could, chest puffed out like a pigeon.
James remembered the rhythm of everything as they stood and sat and knelt, just as he had done it
showered and dressed, appearing from the bathroom, towelling down his head to leave spikes of black hair.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Morning,’ said James. ‘How did you sleep?’
But Webster didn’t seem to hear with the towel buzzing his hair.
The suit smelt clean and soapy and was glassy in spots. The white shirt and tie fitted well. James smoothed down his hair and in the mirror he saw the glimmer of a future where
he was grown up, with a job and a house and a family of his own, although he was unsure how he would ever get there.
‘Life is everything you want to make of it,’ said Webster, as if reading his mind.
And James’s heart gleamed because he hoped it was true. But the longer he stared into the mirror, the more he felt something black unwinding through his guts. And the black was cold.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Webster softly.
But James just shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’m OK. Let’s go.’
The church was open. An organ was playing as Webster and James crunched along the gravel path between the gravestones. The boy picked at the threads around the buttons of his
suit as a shiver licked goosebumps over his skin. That black was in his guts again.
When he looked up, Webster was staring at him. James realized he was standing quite still on the path with his fists clenched.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, opening his hands.
But then he licked his lips.
Folded his arms.
Shivered in the sunlight and shook his head.
‘I’m not as brave as I thought I was.’
Webster bent down beside him. ‘I thought the suit might make a good impression,’ he said quietly. ‘That it was a good idea. I didn’t think hard enough about it. I’m
sorry. And I’m sorry about your mum too.’
‘That’s OK. It’s not your fault.’
‘Think you’ll be all right?’
‘Yes. I think so. Just give me a moment.’
‘Nobody lives forever,’ said Webster.
‘Why?’ asked James in a tiny, cracked voice.
And Webster sighed and shook his head and looked at the gravestones. Some of them lying face down on the grass. Others slowly falling.
James wiped his eyes. Shuddered as he sucked up a breath. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘No. It’s not. Whoever decided it must have been as mad as a hatter.’
James managed a smile at that.
Webster crouched down and took hold of the boy’s wrists as though they were made of glass. ‘I bet your mum’s listening to everything you tell her. Wherever she is. So never
give up on telling her things.’
And then James bit his lip because he realized what Webster was really trying to tell him. That he had been awake last night.
‘I don’t have anyone else,’ said Webster.
‘Neither do I,’ James said quickly and squeezed Webster’s hands as hard as he could. When the man squeezed gently back, something prickly in James’s chest vanished and he
breathed more easily after that.
They stayed in the sun, warming themselves, looking into the open black mouth of the church as the organ played. When James stopped shaking, Webster let go of his hands. And when they were ready
they went on down the path.
Inside the church, the air was cool, bitter with polish. The stained-glass windows down one side glowed as sunlight played over the flagstone floor. An old man in a dark suit
handed both of them a prayer book and a green hymn book as soon as they walked in.
‘Feel free to sit wherever you can,’ he said, raising his eyebrows because the church was empty except for two old ladies in the front pew.
As Webster and James sat and listened to the music, a handful of other people arrived in ones and twos and took their places.
The service took less than an hour. Webster sang the hymns as loudly as he could, chest puffed out like a pigeon.
James remembered the rhythm of everything as they stood and sat and knelt, just as he had done it
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