Cold Skin Read Online Free PDF Page A

boy. Help!
    For heaven’s sake!’
    I reach the track
    and see the coal train rounding the bend.
    Dad screams from the bank,
    ‘Jump, you coward.
    Jump!’

Eddie
    Jump?
    Is Dad yelling at me?
    The water surges below.
    My legs balance, wobble, step.
    If my feet miss the sleepers
    I’ll be trapped with Mr Paley.
    The train is thundering towards the bridge.
    I can see the driver
    blowing his whistle,
    pulling the emergency brake.
    He’s shouting
    but all I can hear is the furious screeching
    of wheels on the track.
    I leap over three sleepers at a time,
    reaching out to Mr Paley
    even though I’m still too far away.
    ‘STOP!’
    Mr Paley twists to face the train.
    He flings his hands up
    as if he can stop it.
    ‘NO!’
    He jumps
    and I throw myself after him.
    I grab nothing but air,
    falling,
    my arms flailing.
    The river rushes to meet me.

Eddie
    In my dream
    I’m fourteen years old
    and Dad is wearing his army uniform,
    with boots and buttons polished.
    Mum, Larry and me are waiting at the platform.
    Dad jumps from the train
    before it stops
    and wraps his big arms around me.
    I can smell his tobacco breath
    and feel the tingling prickle of his stubble.
    Although he still has his duffle bag
    slung over one shoulder,
    he’s so strong he lifts me in a bear-hug,
    grinning and saying,
    ‘It’s good to be home.’
    We walk across town.
    I’m carrying his bag
    and he’s holding Mum’s hand.
    Our shack by the river
    is covered in streamers to welcome him.
    People from town visit all afternoon
    to say hello and thank him for what he did.
    Everyone points to the sign I painted
    over the front door.
    For my dad.
    Who fought in the war,
    side by side with Frank O’Connor.
    Deep in the jungle,
    with the enemy all around.
    In my dream.

Eddie
    I wake in bed
    and my head is throbbing so much
    it hurts to open my eyes.
    Mum’s voice comes from under the door.
    ‘You had no right!
    To put your son in danger like that . . .’
    I try to get up
    but dizziness overwhelms me.
    I lie back
    and wait for a few minutes
    until I can open my eyes again.
    All I remember is jumping
    and the train-driver’s face twisted in agony
    as I fell
    and he reached out the window,
    a despairing arm,
    trying to catch me,
    but I kept falling.
    Then I remember.
    I fell past Mr Paley.
    The rope held.
    The mayor is dead.
    For all I know he’s still there
    swinging below the bridge.
    I couldn’t save him.
    I squeeze my eyes tight
    to stop myself seeing his face.
    Roaring in my head
    is the certainty that I failed.
    I stuff the sheet into my mouth
    and bite down hard
    to stop myself from screaming.

Albert Holding
    Eddie rushed across the river
    and my guts tightened
    like I’d been punched.
    I knew what he was going to do.
    Even if he could make it to Paley
    he’d never free the rope in time.
    Not before the train.
    I shouted with all the venom I felt
    for Fatty to jump
    and spare my son.
    My son’s life
    in the hands of a coward.
    Fatty waited until it was too late,
    I closed my eyes,
    unable to watch
    as the train stormed past.
    I was on my knees
    beating my fists on the ground,
    sure that Fatty had not only killed Colleen
    but now he’d taken my son.
    Then I saw him.
    Eddie had jumped.
    He was face down in the water
    near the bank.
    I dragged him out,
    crying,
    calling his name over and over,
    afraid he couldn’t hear me,
    would never hear me again.
    He whispered something.
    Someone’s name.
    I carried him up the track to our house.
    My son in my arms.
    As I reached the bend
    I looked back.
    Paley was hanging from the bridge,
    the rope swinging tight,
    his eyes lifeless,
    staring straight across the water
    at me.

Sergeant Grainger
    Albert is in the yard
    swinging his axe,
    splitting firewood.
    He sits on the chopping block
    and rolls a smoke,
    offering me the packet
    as he shields his eyes
    from the setting sun.
    ‘Do you know Mr Paley is dead?’
    He shrugs and drags deeply on the cigarette,
    letting the smoke drift away.
    I say,
    ‘It