The Return of the Indian Read Online Free PDF Page B

mother had come back for a visit.”
    “To her sister, I expect.” His mother turned back to the set.
    “Her
sister?
I didn’t know Patrick had an aunt!”
    “Don’t be silly, of course you did. She lived three doors down from our old house.”
    Omri frowned, remembering. “With those two revolting little girls?”
    “Tamsin and Emma. Bonkins or something. Donkins. They’re Patrick’s cousins.”
    “D’you think Patrick might be
there?”
    “You can soon find out. I’ve still got her phone number in my book. It’s on the hall table.”
    Three minutes later, Omri had Patrick’s voice in his ear.
    “Patrick? It’s me. Omri. I’ve got to see you.”
    “When?”
    “Tonight.”
    “Tonight?”
    “It’s very important.”
    “Can’t it wait?”
    Omri sensed the reluctance in Patrick’s voice. He understood it. “No.”
    “I’m watching a horror film.”
    “The horror film doesn’t start till eleven-thirty,” Omri retorted.
    There was a silence.
    “You’re not going to start up with all that rubbish about—”
    “I’m coming,” said Omri shortly, and rang off.
    He slipped out the back door and was soon running down Hovel Road for the station.
    Some of the shops, and the amusement arcade, were still open. So were the pubs. Their glass doors let out a friendly glow and lots of loud voices as Omri dashed past. In the amusement arcade the skinheads were banging away at the space invaders, not noisy and comradely like the pub-goers, but grim, intent, each bent over a machine. They didn’t notice him. Omri ran swiftly on, with a feeling of relief. This horrible street was actually safer by night.
    Sometimes you had to wait ages for a train, but tonight Omri was lucky, though the journey—only three stops—seemed to take forever. At the other end he began to run again, but he wasn’t scared this time. He found the house of their old neighbor and rang the bell. Patrick came and stood looking at him in a far-from-welcoming way.
    “Well, you’d better come in now you’re here,” he said.
    It was a small house, just like their old one, even to the bicycles crowding the narrow hall. Omri’s mother had said, only half as a joke, that the reason she’d wanted to move to the new house was so they needn’t ever have bikes in the hall any more. Patrick led the way upstairs without a word, into a small back bedroom with a pair of bunk-beds, everything pink and frothy.
    “My aunt makes me sleep in this pouffy girls’ room,” he said. “Glad I’m going home tomorrow.” He sat down on the bottom bunk, leaving Omri standing. There was a brief silence. Patrick glanced up at Omri. His mouth waspinched. His eyes said, “Don’t talk about it.” He was silently begging Omri not to. But Omri was ruthless.
    “Why are you pretending it never happened?” he asked sharply.
    “What?” said Patrick. He had a sullen, stupid look, like those skinheads.
    “You know what.”
    Patrick stared at the floor. He didn’t move.
    “I brought them back,” said Omri.
    Patrick stood up so suddenly he hit his head on the top bunk. His face had gone white. He swore under his breath. Then he said, “I don’t believe you.”
    “I’m telling you. I put them in the cupboard and the same thing happened. It—” (he didn’t like to use the word “magic,” somehow) “it’s still working. Just the same. Only—” Patrick was looking at him now, frowning, incredulous, as if he’d woken from a dream to find the dream was still going on. “The terrible thing is, Little Bear’s been shot.”
    After a pause, Patrick muttered something under his breath.
    Omri leaned forward. “What?”
    “It’s not true. None of it’s true. We just … made it up,” he half whispered.
    Omri took his hand out of his pocket and held something out to Patrick. “Look. And stop kidding yourself.”
    Almost as if he was fighting fear, Patrick slowly looked. He blinked several times. Then he put out his hand andunwrapped the twist of