Through the Cracks Read Online Free PDF

Adam raised his fist and rushed his father. Adam knew the moves. He gave no warning. He pulled up short before hitting him, snarling in his father’s face, fist shaking in the air. His father dropped the bread bag and crouched by the sink.
    ‘Give it to me.’
    His father took the rope from his pocket. He passed it to Adam and then cringed, waiting for the blows. Adam looped the rope as though about to strike him. But didn’t. Just let his father stay like that, cowering, a moment longer, before slowly pulling away.
    Adam walked out and hurled the rope into the centre of the pool, watched it sink.
    His chin trembled, but he refused to cry.
    They needed bread and they needed meat. The milk carton was almost empty. Adam went into his father’s bedroom and looked at the pairs of shoes against the wall. He chose the brown leather ones without laces. Adam practised walking in them, up and down the hallway. The day was hot. He put on shorts. He kept on the brown checked shirt. He looked at himself in his father’s wardrobe mirror. Adam’s fringe was hanging in his eyes. His arms and legs were long, ghostly white and skinny. Boys on the TV had similar hair to Adam’s but none of them dressed the way he was dressed. His father had jeans, but he wore them often and they reminded Adam of his father; he couldn’t bring himself to put them on.
    ‘Take me to the shops.’
    His father was sitting on the couch. ‘I’m too unwell.’
    ‘I don’t care, take me anyway.’
    ‘I’ve got no money.’
    ‘That’s not true. I found the money. If you don’t take me I’ll take it next door and ask them to take me.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘The money under the house. Are you going to take me or do I have to go next door with it?’
    When his father did nothing Adam moved as though to leave. His father shifted on the cushions.
    As his father got ready, Adam didn’t let him out of his sight. He followed him into the bedroom and then into the bathroom. He watched while his father washed his hands and face. It felt to Adam that if at any time the gun was going to reappear it was going to be right then. His father dried his hands for a long time. His head was down. He was thinking.
    ‘What do you want?’ he said, turning suddenly. ‘I didn’t mean anything before. I was getting rid of the rope. I meant what I said down in the room. I am going to change. Do you want me to say I’m sorry?’
    ‘I don’t want you to say anything, I want you to take me to the shops.’
    ‘They’re closed.’
    ‘I don’t believe you.’
    ‘People will see you’ve hit me. You’ll get in trouble.’
    ‘I don’t think I will.’
    ‘Where have you put the safe key?’
    ‘I’m not telling you.’
    ‘What food do you want? I’ll get anything you want. I can get new things this time.’
    ‘I’m coming. You can’t stop me.’
    They went out through the billiards room, across the decking and down the steps. They walked around to the gate. The sun was high. Concrete shimmered and rippled in the heat. His father had hidden the key for the gate padlock inside a length of hollow metal pipe. It was lying on top of a pile of bigger pipes. His father’s hand rested on the bar as he withdrew the key, his fingers closed a little way around the steel. Adam took a few paces back. He’d left the hose inside, but he had the bottle opener with him. It no longer felt big enough. Adam looked at the things around him – blocks of timber, beams of rusted iron, a metal fencing stake. Adam crouched and picked up the stake. He stayed crouched, watched his father. A car passed in the street. A ball bounced. Two voices drifted up from the other side of the fence. The conversation was fast and jumbled. The voices grew louder. They were right there, on the other side of the gate. Adam lifted his head, opened his mouth as though about to shout, eyed his father.
    His father let go of the bar. He unlocked the gate.
    Adam let go of the stake.
    Monty and