Finding Grace Read Online Free PDF Page A

breath on my neck, and smelt it—sour and cloying. I pulled the shirt and shorts on her, tried not to look or think about it too much and dressed her as quickly as possible.
    I pushed her into the bed and pulled up the covers around her neck.
    “Well, then. Nighty-spritey.”
    The Grace woman closed her eyes and I sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her for a little while.
    I noticed that her leg was tucked up in an uncomfortable way, so I pulled the covers back and straightened it.
    It was weird. I hoped I was doing it right. All I did was move her from one room to another.
    I walked through the house, switched off lights and checked that all the doors were locked. I left one of the back windows open so Prickles could hop in and out.
    I sat on my new bed, put my hands out behind me and swung my feet back and forth like a little kid. This was my room, my home now, my first home away from my real home, where my mother was.
    I knew I could do this. It would be easy. It was going to be just like babysitting except that the Grace woman was quieter and I wouldn't have to play with her.
    I'd started a new job. I was a grown-up. Except I didn't feel like a grown-up, I mean, I knew most things—not
everything
, but I did know, for example, that if someone were to offer me a gift horse, the first thing I should
not
do would be to look it in the mouth. I would be far more likely to wave my arms about and shout, “What the devil am I to do with this, then?”

My first day alone with the Grace woman was fairly hectic. Actually, it was a disaster. I woke up in a strange bed in a strange house. When I looked at the clock, I could see that I'd slept in, which was unusual because I'm a morning person. Always, since I was little, as soon as I opened my eyes I would jump up! I'd skip around, ready for another exciting day.
    I always do a quick lap of the house just to check if anything has changed in the last eight hours. This isn't as silly as it might sound, you know, because in the whole course of my life there have been seventy-two separate occasions when some person or being has entered the house while I have slept and left gifts or chocolates or both. You never know unless you check.
    My mother is Dutch, so we celebrate both Christmas and St. Nicholas Day. We also celebrate a variety of other days that may have origins in religion but are much more likely to be inventions of my mother's. Blueberry Day springs to mind. On Blueberry Day we wear blue and celebrate the blueberry by eating blueberries in endless combinations: blueberry pancakes, blueberry pie and, of course, what Blueberry Day would be complete without fish in blueberry sauce?
    Of all the fruit-based celebrations that my mother has held (Avocado Weekend, Lime Day, Mango Week), Blueberry Day has been the most consistent. The most memorable, however, would be the Inaugural Lychee Day 1988.
    It was remarkable for two reasons, the first being that it was the one and only time I inquired after my father. My mother, in a manner that I can only describe as
wildly
uncharacteristic, blanched and then said very quickly, “It doesn't really matter. Have another lychee.” She then proceeded to poke lychees down my neck in an exceptional display of dexterity.
    The other reason that Lychee Day was remarkable and, I imagine, the primary reason why it has not been celebrated since, is that it became apparent early in the day that Brody reacted to lychees with explosive diarrhea. (As if normal diarrhea isn't unpleasant enough!)
    Later, on Lychee Night, I found my mother crying. When she saw me she wiped her eyes brusquely with the back of her hand and beamed at me. It was the first time it occurred to me that perhaps she wasn't invincible.
    Anyway, I have never questioned any of the mythology surrounding any of these customs (nor ever asked againabout the other source of my genetic makeup). If these people/creatures wish to leave presents around, fine.
    So I jump up. No