Drawing with Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

begging on the streets.’
    I don’t argue. Perhaps she’s right. But Bob’s had a sad and horrible time, and it isn’t fair, whatever she says, that he’s ended up homeless. He had a family once. He told me and Kat about it. He’s got a little girl somewhere he never sees. His girlfriend chucked him out and he lost everything.
    We call in to see Amanda, in the video shop. She’s busy at the counter, slipping DVDs into their boxes.
    â€˜You can pick a couple of films for this evening, if you like,’ she says, as soon as she’s finished serving.
    â€˜So, where are you going?’ Rachel asks.
    â€˜Out,’ Amanda says.
    â€˜With whom?’
    â€˜Mind your own bees’ wax!’ Amanda says, but Rachel doesn’t laugh.
    We choose two DVDs from the New Releases shelf. Through the archway into the second room, I glimpse the back of a slim, dark figure that looks familiar. My heart does a little skip. He’s looking along the Foreign Films section. He’s wearing a shabby long coat, and black jeans, and he’s got a rather nice leather bag over one shoulder. I’m pretty sure it is Seb, but he doesn’t turn round, and I’m not ready to tell Rachel about him, not yet . . . so I don’t go up to check.
    â€˜Come on, Rach,’ I say. ‘Let’s go and choose something nice for supper.’
    She’s still in a mood.
    I choose the pizzas (mozzarella and rocket) and chocolate ice cream.
    â€˜Mothers! Yours and mine! What are they like?’ I say in a silly voice while we’re queuing for the checkout, to try and make her laugh, but that doesn’t work either.
    Back at her place, she goes on the computer for ages. I find a novel on the shelves they have in their bathroom (so you can read on the loo), and curl up on the squashy sofa in the living room to read it. It’s about a dead girl who is in heaven and can see everything happening down on earth; how sad her parents and friends are and all that. It’s quite a cool idea: I’ve always thought that it would be a shame to miss out on hearing all the nice things people say about you when you’re dead, at your funeral. At about six I go upstairs again. Rachel’s back at the computer, though the bed’s all ruffled up as if she’s been asleep.
    â€˜Hey, Rach,’ I say. ‘This is silly. Why don’t we talk about it?’
    â€˜What?’ she says, as if she didn’t know. She still won’t look at me.
    â€˜Your mum. Her going out. You feeling like crap.’
    â€˜I’m fine,’ she lies. She’s chatting to Luke on MSN.
    â€˜Are you getting hungry yet?’ I ask.
    â€˜Yes.’ She looks up, finally. ‘Shall we cook?’
    * * *
    Finally, hours later, after the films and when we’re both in bed and the lights are out, Rachel starts to talk about her mum. It’s easier, talking in the dark.
    â€˜It makes me sad,’ she says. ‘Knowing how lonely Mum is. Seeing her going out on these stupid dates. At her age.’
    â€˜She’s not that old!’ I say. ‘And she seems fine to me.’
    â€˜She doesn’t tell me where she’s going or who she’s seeing. I don’t really want to know, I suppose, and she knows that. Deep down, I still can’t help wishing she’d get back with Dad, even after all this time.’ She sniffs.
    Most of the time, Rachel is bright and cheerful, and you’d never guess there was this seam of sadness underneath it all. I remember her when we were about ten, blowing out her birthday candles and making a wish, when we still believed wishes would come true. She used to have the best birthday cakes ever, home-made by Amanda, in special shapes with coloured icing, different each year: a cat, a fairy castle, and one year a leaping dolphin.
    I try to put myself in her shoes, now. I try to imagine what she’s feeling about Amanda, so I can