Golden Boys Read Online Free Page A

think I see bone,’ says Syd.
    Declan winces. ‘That is really disgusting.’
    â€˜Shut up!’ Syd screams at the dog, who’s still barking.
    Someone from the house calls the animal in, and silence returns as it always does to these streets. Occasionally music will float beyond a window, and on weekends there will be the odd lawnmower, a random car horn beeping farewell; but typically there is this silence, and the surreal sense of living on after the rest of existence has ceased. It’s easy to believe the houses are empty, the occupants obliterated in some worldwide catastrophe, and that a boy like Syd Kiley can now rummage through strangers’ cupboards at leisure. He can hardly imagine anything he’d enjoy more, being the last person alive, with access to all that stuff. Now he cocks his head to gaze into the depths of Avery’s injury; this close he can smell a fleshiness, the taste of Avery raw. ‘Look at that. That’s a piece of road.’
    They are a couple of blocks from Avery’s home; Declan asks, ‘Can you walk? Do you want me to go and get your bike?’
    â€˜Or a wheelchair?’ suggests Syd. ‘A walking-stick? We could bring Peter’s pram.’
    â€˜I’m OK,’ says Avery wanly. ‘I’ll just stay here a minute.’
    â€˜I really can see bone,’ says Syd.
    The three boys sit back on the naturestrip, their feet in the gutter. Avery’s sandals have thin soles and are slightly too small for him; by January, when summer has parched the grass into a crisp matting, the boys will be constantly stopping while Avery plucks prickles from his heels. Syd sits with his head bowed, the sunshine pressing firmly on the nape of his neck, thinking about this and about nothing. Between his own sandalled feet is a patch of bitumen, very grey and stony. With some work he assembles a wad of spit, and feeds it out as a sparkly thread. The thread breaks before it reaches the ground, marking the road with a dark spot shaped like a thorn. An interesting stone, clear like a diamond, catches his eye. He plucks it up and holds it above the gory swatch of Avery’s wound. His brother and his victim watch in silence, Declan’s blue eyes almost closed. Syd glances at Avery. ‘Dare me?’
    â€˜Go on,’ says Avery.
    â€˜I will,’ Syd threatens.
    â€˜I said do it,’ Avery replies.
    So Syd lets the stone drop, and it lodges in the cushion of blood and must sting, because Avery gives a shuddery flinch. The boys watch as the stone topples painstakingly from its perch, lolling along a bloody rivulet before dropping to the road wearing a ruby cap. Syd sniffs, satisfied. Declan buries his face in his folded arms. There’s a hoop of sunburn between his shoulders already.
    There is no hurry to leave; they are headed nowhere. After a while Avery asks, ‘Are you going away for the holidays?’
    â€˜Mum hasn’t said.’ Declan speaks into his knees. ‘Probably.’
    Their mother always takes them somewhere, even if only for a week or two to a caravan park a few blocks back from the beach; on the weekend their father will drive down for the day and give the kids dolphin rides through the green water. Neither of the Kileys asks if Avery will likewise be going away. He is the child who haunts these streets, lurking in the places where pest species are found, the side door of the kiosk at the cricket ground, the bottle depot behind the Scouts’ hall, the grassy veins of unowned land that divide houses here and there. It’s possible he has never gone anywhere beyond the reach of his battered bicycle, and that he is obliged by the natural order to stay. If he were to leave, something would have gone wrong.
    Syd feels a surge of impatience, shuffles his feet so his sandals chuff the road. He has no authority but he says, ‘Let’s go.’
    Declan lifts his head and looks at Avery, who says,