Fragments Read Online Free PDF Page A

That’s when I know there’s no point entertaining any ideas about her letting me stay here and play at farmers. She’s getting straight on the phone to the police after she’s calmed that shrieking baby down.
    I could run, but the thing is, I really need the toilet. There’s no way I’m going in any straw again. I’ve still got scratches on my bum from last night. I reckon I’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before she’s calling the cops. I’ll go to the loo. Might get a drink of water and see if there’s any money lying around too.
    We cross a narrow road. Mrs Miserable opens another gate. There’s a sign saying Craydale Farm . The house I could see from up the hill is up a short driveway. It’s old-fashioned looking and red brick with rows of windows criss-crossed with metal. Completely different from the modern one that I stayed in with Cal and everyone. The one that got blown to bits.
    No, no, don’t think about that now , I tell myself. Got enough on my plate.
    We crunch up the gravel driveway, the baby-siren wailing the entire time. Ariella keeps her mouth shut but shoots glances at me every few seconds.
    Parked in front of the house is one of those big hybrid SUVs. The chassis is so high up most people need to use the elevating platform to get into the thing, or so Jax told me, who loved these cars.
    A huge grey dog springs up outside the front door. I stop abruptly. I don’t do dogs. And this is no handbag mutt. This thing is more like a horse. It’s the colour of a rainy sky and has eyes that seem to look right through to my juicy innards. It goes to nudge its massive head against me and my hands fly up in self-defence.
    The dog comes up to Ariella’s shoulder but she casually elbows it out of the way.

    ‘Lie down, Brutus!’ she says crossly. To my amazement, the beast trots away and slumps down with a weary sigh.
    The front door opens and Ariella’s mother walks right in, glancing back over her shoulder as if to check I’m still there.
    ‘Can I use the toilet?’ I say quickly. She stops, looking at me with a blank expression.
    ‘One through there,’ she says. ‘Ariella, you go with her.’
    Yeah, because I’m gonna nick your soap, you stuck-up cow , I think, even though I might.
    Ariella leads me to a downstairs toilet where the walls are painted bright blue and covered in small pictures of flowers in matching frames.
    When I come out, Ariella is waiting for me. She smiles a bit weakly. I reckon even she’s lost hope of me and her mother bonding.
    ‘Mummy’s feeding Kit in the kitchen,’ she says in a conspiratorial way. I nod and follow her through to a big room, brightly lit by spotlights in the ceiling. There’s a huge kitchen table and swanky metal countertops everywhere. Mum would have done anything for a kitchen like this. It’s a bit of a mess, though. There are dirty dishes piled up next to the sink and the table is covered with baby stuff: a changing mat, nappies and one of those colourful gym things babies lie under doing God knows what.
    I stand in the doorway, shuffling my feet. I don’t really know what to do. But I’d like a drink before I go. I’m sort of curious too. I’m not getting vibes that the police have been called yet.
    Ariella’s mother is sitting at the table. The baby’s head is turned towards a huge white breast covered in horrible blue veins. The boob is bigger than the baby’s head. I decide there and then that I am never, ever having kids. I snap my gaze elsewhere.
    ‘Come in for a minute,’ she says, her eyes hard, as though she knows exactly what I was thinking.
    I look at Ariella, who nods vigorously from over by the fridge, where she is getting out a large bottle of Coke. She busies herself slopping it into three plastic cups.
    I slide onto a chair and regard her mother warily.
    ‘Are you going to call the police?’ I didn’t know I was planning to say this until the words came out. I’d rather know where I stand, is all.
    ‘Should