The Thief of Broken Toys Read Online Free

anyone handling loss in
that way. It was the clichéd idea of being stuck
in the moment, and not moving on.
    Ray rested his hand on Toby’s bedroom
door, readying himself for what he would see.
The room beyond was not as it had been on
the day Toby died. He was not in it, for a start,
motionless and cold in his bed, waiting to be
found by his adoring parents, who couldn’t
understand why he was still asleep — they’d
never had to wake him before; he was always
up before them, ready to poke them in the ear
and force them to rise . . .
    The bed was stripped now, all the bedding
discarded. Elizabeth had bought a load of new
bedding, but left it on the old mattress in its
packets, never to be made. Later, after she left,
Ray had spread blankets across the mattress
to hide as much as he could, but still had not
made the bed properly. That would be like
waiting for someone else to come.
    â€œRise and shine, Tobes,” he said, pushing
the door open. The room smelled of dust and
damp — there was a problem with the old
stone walling in one corner, something their
local builder had never been able to solve. The
curtains were permanently open, the view out
onto the dusky garden obscured only by glass
that desperately needed cleaning.
    He still came in here sometimes. It wasn’t
a shrine or anything; he’d tried many times
to convince himself of that. There were a
couple of boxes of books that he’d packed
away, stacked in one corner and still awaiting
their trip to the charity shop. A pair of folded
curtains were dropped casually on the floor in
one corner. It wasn’t a bedroom anymore, but
it was still Toby’s room. That was for sure. He
felt his son in here, and as he knelt by the bed,
he experienced a shattering flashback.
    The worst memories were those he thought
he’d forgotten.
    He and Toby kneel by the bed because his
son has been taught how to pray in school.
Ray’s not comfortable with this.
I don’t want
him force-fed and brainwashed
, he’d said. But
Elizabeth had calmed his anger.
We were. We
made up our own minds
. So just for that evening
Ray kneels with his son, and smiles when the
boy makes up his own prayers.
Thank God for
Mummy and Daddy, and the sea, and chocolate
ice cream, and the Power Rangers, the film not the
telly program. Thank God for pancakes and Mars
Bars, and crisps, and curry, and
. . . He frowns,
glancing sidelong at Ray to make sure he has
his eyes closed.
    Dad!
    Sorry, son. Carry on.
    Thank God for food and drink, and stuff. Oh,
and for Jesus Christ. Amen
. He glances up at
Ray.
The man in the collar said God knew his son
was going to die. Why did he let that happen?
    It’s just a story, son. Made up. Like Aesop’s
Fables, only not as good
.
    Okay. Dad, my Ben 10 watch is broken.
    Ray squeezed his lips tight at the memory,
and frowned. Had he ever fixed that watch?
Had he? He remembered telling Toby he’d look
at it, that maybe the batteries had run out,
but he couldn’t recall ever hearing its strange
distorted sound again, nor seeing its glow on
his son’s wrist.
    He reached under the bed. There was a
plastic box under there where he’d stored a
load of Toby’s toys, and as he pulled it out, he
knew he was about to be assailed by memories.
The blue click-on lid was covered with dust.
    Removing the lid, he leaned it against the
bed and just stared. Inside the box was a riot
of colours and shapes, toys he remembered
and some he did not. Action figures pointed
weapons at him, remote controlled cars sat
motionless, cuddly toys huddled together in the
box’s corners. He moved some toys aside and
something growled.
    Ray gasped and sat back, listening to the
noise. He remembered it, a long low growl that
emanated from an alligator with a man’s body.
He couldn’t recall which TV program or comic
it came from, but he pictured Toby sitting on
their living room floor with this and other
figures, indulging in