Cosmo Cosmolino (27 page)

‘It looked all right when I left,' he said. ‘Maybe the light's different down here. Things look shabbier.'

Ray ploughed a path into the depths of the truck, and sank on to the split vinyl armchair. He laid his arms along its puffy purple rests. God, he was tired. From where he sat, the outside world with its treacheries was reduced to a simple rectangle: a frame containing a fence, a tree trunk, a gate, and his brother's bowed head down in the bottom right-hand corner. He wished he could press a button on the remote, and make the whole rotten thing fade to black. He leaned
his head against the chairback.

‘I don't want to
live
like this any more,' he said. ‘I can't. And I'm not going to.'

Alby sank his neck into his collar. Cold struck up through the seat of his pants and entered his bones. Rain began to fall at random, a drop here, another there. The rich smell of wet bitumen rose in the street. Janet, drawn by the shouting, came out the gate with the rubber gloves still on, and stood next to Alby at the open back of the truck.

‘Look,' called Ray bitterly from his throne in the truck's deep room. ‘Look at what he's brought. This is what he dragged down the highway. I give up. I just give up.'

Alby raised his face to Janet and gave a sheepish smile. He got up from the kerb and stared down the street, with his arms folded high on his chest. She saw that he was beyond argument. He was too tired to think. He should be asleep.

‘It's certainly not very stylish,' she said carefully.

‘He can drive the whole thing away,' shouted Ray. ‘Tip it off a cliff. That's all it's worth.'

The rain fell more heavily: Ray heard the drops clang on the truck's red body and roof. He drew a hollow sigh, and got to his feet. He leaned for a moment against the inner wall; then he climbed out on to the step, seized the roller handle, and pulled the door down. It struck the step with a crash. He jumped
to the ground.

Off the rim of the truck's down-slanting roof plummeted a streak of cream and green.

‘Look out—birdshit!' yelled Alby.

Ray leapt back. But a flower, then two more, their stems oozing fresh liquor, landed on the spotted pavement behind the truck.

They stood in a line on the kerb, with the jonquils spread out at their feet.

‘One each,' said Alby wearily.

A fourth one teetered, and fell.

They tilted their heads back and scanned the street, the trees, the steely sky.

A tram went shattering across the intersection.

Rain struck their cheeks and eyelids, and wet their lips. Glances flashed between them, of bewilderment, suspicion, respect. They blinked, hunching their shoulders, and turned up their collars. The flowers lay scattered, in no particular formation, on the blackening asphalt.

We're not finished yet, thought Alby.

Blossom as the rose
,
thought Ray.

Our minds are not hopeful, thought Janet; but our nerves are made of optimistic stuff.

The rain was falling hard. Janet bent down and picked up the flowers with her pink-gloved, clumsy hands.

‘Come on then,' she said. ‘Come in and choose a
room.'

For reading group notes visit
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