How the Light Gets In Read Online Free Page B

his hand on my knee. He is nervous, like me, and I feel calmer in his company than in Margaret’s.
    ‘I have a feeling,’ he says, ‘that having you in our house will be pure pleasure.’
    The air is thick with our happiness. I hold my breath and look at the quilt.
    ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Thanks a lot.’
    Henry leaves the room, and for a moment I feel calm.
        
    We climb into Margaret’s black four-wheel drive, a high monster of a vehicle. I prefer the Mercedes. Maybe I could get a licence while I’m here and drive it fast on some open country roads.
    We drive through the centre of B—, past the shopping strip and the town hall and the brand new civic centre, heading somewhere to have dinner. The sun is hot and bright.
    ‘We drive the kids around a lot,’ says Henry, whose invisible eyebrows are visible now, wet with sweat and shining.
    ‘We’re not kids ,’ says Bridget.
    ‘Kids belong to goats,’ says James.
    Henry ignores this exchange and taps the windscreen. ‘Bullet-proof,’ he says. ‘All the windows are bullet-proof.’
    The business district is full of low-rise glassy buildings, tinted windows reflecting identical office buildings across the street. There isn’t a single old car on the road and all the rubbish is where it should be. No police sirens, no car horns, no used syringes and no graffiti.
    ‘It’s such a peaceful town,’ I say.
    James laughs a sudden and ugly laugh, full of derision. He wants me to look at him and when I do, he smirks, his face and body agitated by an emotion so strong I can smell it.
    Henry looks at me in the rear-vision mirror, smiling, as though worried I might have leapt out the window since he last checked on me. I know that the Hardings expect me to talk and so I try to think of something good or nice to say. I look around for inspiration in the streets.
    We stop at traffic lights and a woman is wheeled across in a wheelchair, her young face contorted by involuntary grimaces.
    As the wheelchair is lifted onto the kerb, I say, ‘Do you know that witches who were burnt at the stake in the seventeenth century have descendants with Huntington’s chorea? All that horrible grimacing might have been what caused people to think these women were witches in the first place.’
    Nobody responds.
    I wish I hadn’t spoken at all. I don’t like the sound of me. I’m an impostor. A fraud. James says something under his breath to Bridget, and she pushes the heel of her hand into his forehead.
    Margaret points out the window. ‘Your school is at the end of that street.’
    ‘When does school start?’
    ‘In about four weeks,’ she says. She turns around in the front passenger seat. ‘You’ll have ages to settle in first.’
    Henry looks at me in the rear-vision mirror. ‘But before school starts, we’re going on a two-week vacation.’
    ‘A nice long road trip,’ says Margaret, ‘so we’ll get to spend some quality time together. As a family.’
    ‘That sounds great.’
    ‘We’re mainly going for you,’ says Bridget. ‘Mom never takes holidays.’
    ‘That’s really nice,’ I say. ‘I’ll be able to see more of America.’
    I don’t care about scenery but maybe I’ll find a college I can go to next year.
    James laughs his ugly laugh again. ‘What’s so funny?’ I ask.
    He’s staring at me and I stare back.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘Just how you say things. You’re weird.’
    ‘Don’t be nasty,’ says Margaret and suddenly, from the front passenger seat, her hand reaches out for mine. I don’t know what to do with it. I look out the window and put my hands under my legs. She turns around in her seat but I don’t look at her. My hands are wet. She wouldn’t really want to know about them. She reaches around and squeezes my knee instead.
    ‘Everything okay?’ she asks.
    ‘Yes,’ I say.
    ‘Why are you all red then?’ asks James.
    Bridget hits him on the arm.
    ‘Shut up, James!’
    We pull into the car park of a large family