The Man Who Built the World Read Online Free PDF Page B

old, worn hiking boots, then dirty rainproof trousers and finally a long shotgun in the stranger’s other hand. He froze for a second, tried to raise his hands, then saw two dead pheasants hanging from the man’s belt.
    Lines scored the man’s stoic, hardened face, and the hair beneath the cap had undoubtedly greyed. But the eyes, a deep brown, still shone with a mixture of darkness and light which terrified Matt even more because he recognised them.
    A hand reached out to pull him up. ‘A little wet, aren’t you?’
    Mat brushed himself down, although it made no difference. Soaked head to foot, his cheek and hands throbbed with a sore warmth.
    He had prepared perhaps a hundred different introductions. None of them came.
    ‘I –’
    ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you cleaned up. Just thought I’d get us something a little fresh for dinner, and I’ve always been rather fond of hunting by torchlight. You were staying for dinner, weren’t you?’
    The torchlight flicked off. In the darkness the man’s expression was unreadable. Then he gave a short chuckle. ‘How are you, son ?’
    ‘A little wet, Dad. And I think I’ve busted my lip.’
    The man laughed, a thick, hearty sound like a roaring fire. ‘Let’s get inside, out of the rain. We’ll soon get you cleaned up.’
    Matt let himself be steered back towards the house. His father held his shoulder with one hand, supporting Matt until the courtyard came into view and the ground leveled out.
    Matt’s sense of foreboding grew as they approached the house. In the upper floor window, the rogue light flashed on then off again.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    7
     
    ‘Of course he’s coming back, Luke.’ Rachel frowned, running a hand through her son’s hair. She forced a smile. ‘Don’t be so silly. Is that what’s been bothering you?’
    Luke looked away from her, his face puckering up in the way that children’s sometimes do, as though he had done something wrong and been found out.
    ‘It’s okay, sweetie, I’ll understand.’
    ‘All you and Daddy do is shouting.’ Luke began to pick at his fingernails, face red, tears imminent. ‘Like the other night –’
    Oh God . He hadn’t heard them, surely? She had been certain the children had been in bed, asleep.
    The night Matt hit her.
    The door had been closed; they couldn’t have seen.
    ‘Luke, honey –’
    ‘Mummy, do you and Daddy still love each other?’
    Their house’s previous owners – an elderly couple Rachel had only met once, on the day they had come for a viewing – had built the kitchen as an extension, and had knocked through the wall of the old kitchen to increase the size of the lounge, to cope with a horde of grandchildren, she had assumed. The old couple had left the old door attached, the old back door.
    Matt and Rachel had never got around to replacing it, just stripped it down and given it a lick of paint.
    The keyhole was still there.
    ‘Mummy, have you sent Daddy away?’
    ‘Luke, honey . . .’ She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight to her. ‘Daddy’s just gone to have a think for a while . . .’
    She felt her son crying quietly into her arms, hiding his sobs, even at such a young age embarrassed to cry in front of her. She stroked his hair, and after a moment realised she was crying too.

 
     
     
    ###
     
    Bethany’s Diary , November 28th, 1984
     
    It snowed bad today, diary. Woohoo! I went out, made a snowman, gave him coals for eyes, a carrot for a nose and everything, just like in my fairystory books. He looked so nice. But then Matty came and kicked him down, stamped Ralph – that was his name, Ralph – all over the ground, until only his eyes were left, looking up at me, really sad. I think he wanted to speak but the gravel I got for his mouth was all over the snow, so he could only go ‘jobba jobba jobba!!’ which I couldn’t understand.
    Mummy came again tonight. I pretended to be asleep, but watched her from under the covers. She sat by my