Paradigm (9781909490406) Read Online Free Page B

they disappeared into the nothingness of the clouds and sometimes she imagined she was bound up in the smoke rings and floating high above everything else, even higher than the flats. Watching the smoke was one of the things Alice loved most.
    On the day the Storms started, there was a lot of smoke—but Alice saw none of it. That morning, as her mother curled into a ball of sleep next to her, Alice heard the first echoes of rain on the window; they were only slightly louder than the grumbling in her stomach. The flat was cold with patches of dampness flowering in the corners, and the cupboards were empty except for some stale biscuits. She stuffed them into her mouth and washed them down with a glass of pale orange squash. A white sun eked through the gap in the curtains and threw a sliver of light onto the carpet, barely reaching in from the balcony outside.
    While her mother was still dozing on the mattress, Alice wormed her hand underneath the mattress and felt for the wad of notes, a little tacky to the touch. She drew them out carefully and stuffed them into her pocket.
    â€˜I’ll go shopping later on,’ her mother groaned from the floor as Alice was leaving.
    â€˜I’m hungry now,’ said Alice under her breath and slipped on a T-shirt before tiptoeing down the stairs and out of the front door. Shivering in the cold, she felt the world slide sideways and rock her back and forth like a golf ball on a ship deck. Bright lights dazzled her eyes as she made her way towards the lifts. Everything smelled of rotting fruit, even the cold, wet air. Alice was beginning to think that maybe she really was ill after all.
    Usually she enjoyed hanging over the edges of the balcony, picking at the peeling paint and watching the city, but that morning the swirl of the wind and pattering of the rain made her feel sick. Something just did not feel quite right.
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    I nside the supermarket shop at the bottom of the plaza that folded into the shadow of Prospect House, Mr Shah was packing things into boxes. He looked her up and down suspiciously. Alice held up the wad of cash and he smiled neatly.
    â€˜You shouldn’t be out on your own,’ he said. ‘The riots have started again and police are shooting. People are shooting people. Shooting just for standing on the street, can you believe it? I am closing up tonight. No more Shah’s Market. We’re going back up North. Back to where people are not mad as bats. London is for fools. You should stay inside or else the police will get you and that mother of yours. Scoop you up like sh...’ Shah’s words came out like a round of bullets, short and painful before he realised that, whatever he thought, she was still a customer.
    â€˜I just need some food,’ said Alice in a whisper. ‘I don’t care about the police.’
    â€˜You look cold,’ he said. ‘You should have put a jumper on—it’s very cold outside today. Cold. Cold. And the rains are coming. There’s another hurricane on the way. This one’s going to be bigger than Alison, you know.’
    Alice grabbed a small trolley and started throwing cans into the basket. Tomatoes, tinned meat, dried goods—things for a storm. Cheap things. Things she could reheat. She looked at her arms, covered in goosebumps, as she pushed the trolley and she realised she was shaking. Using the trolley as support, she went up and down each aisle in a methodical, quiet daze.
    â€˜River is up again,’ called Mr Shah down the aisle. ‘Going to flood the whole city if this rain carries on. I’ll be gone, long gone.’
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    M r Shah ran everything through the scanner at double speed and Alice packed the food into thin plastic bags, matching his dexterity. By the time she had finished there were eight sagging bags of food bulging from the web of plastic. Mr Shah looked at Alice and then at the pile of shopping as she handed over the cash.
    â€˜You want to