Torn Read Online Free

just as well have been a projected film for all the attention she’d been paying them. But now that she was temporarily alone she needed to divert her thoughts and what better diversion than to watch children play?
    The variety amongst them was marked. Some were clustered around the tables engaged in constructive play. Many, unable or unwilling to remain focused, had given up. The free-ranging boys were generally louder and more boisterous, their attempts to seek attention more direct. Some marched about as if competing for the most exaggerated, convulsive gesture. They turned, they twisted, they flailed the air. Only Rory stood apart from the general activity, an observer for much of the time. If and when he did join in he was quick to take offence at some over-boisterous play. Too often his elbows would come out, his brow darken, his mouth compress. And he was not above giving tit for tat.
    After a typical altercation she observed him squaring up to Jordan – a boy with light tufty hair and chipmunk cheeks. They looked like a couple of gunfighters from an old style western. Both were scowling deeply, Rory with his arms folded belligerently above his pot tummy. Of the two, Jordan looked the best equipped for the shoot-out. In the absence of a toy gun, forbidden in the nursery, a complete set of plastic construction tools were tucked gunslinger style into the waistband of his joggers. For no apparent reason, Rory gave up on the confrontation, stomped over to the Wendy house, and kicked it. The girls inside, pottering happily with their miniature domestic appliances – like a coven of Stepford Wives – gazed out imperiously at the vandal. Bianca shooed him away. Rory froze, hands clenched into fists, his narrow shoulders raised spikily. Jessica held her breath. But instead of striking back at the offender he turned and ran to where his mum sat, head butting into her ribs. She raised her arm to allow him access.
    â€˜Mummy! B’anca hitted me!’ he mumbled against her sweater.
    â€˜Poor boy.’ She stroked his straight dark hair. ‘But I expect she was just busy and didn’t want to be disturbed, you know? Like me sometimes. I’m sure she didn’t mean to hit you.’
    â€˜What’s all this about hitting?’ Sheila had come back with a tray of mugs and a plate of biscuits. She put the tray down on a side table, well away from the mêlée of activity, and waved to the other women in the room indicating the freshly made coffee. Rory still stood, his face pressed against Mum’s bosom; as damp breath warmed her ribs. Jess shook her head at Sheila.
    â€˜He’s fine. If there was any contact it was unintended. Bianca just flapped her hand at him,’ she whispered.
    Sheila called out to another girl who seemed at a loose end. ‘Sasha, why don’t you show Rory how good you are at painting?’
    Rory raised his head from its humid nest and stared at Sasha suspiciously.
    â€˜Come on!’ Sasha said, imperiously, ‘You can look at my painting of Bluebell.’
    â€˜You sure he’s all right?’ Sheila queried.
    â€˜Just being over sensitive.’ It was impossible for Jess to resist making the boy/girl comparison as her son followed Sasha over to the easels. Rory was shorter and sturdier than his willowy companion and though similarly dark, the girl’s jaw-length hair was curlier than his.
    â€˜How is he generally these days?’ Sheila handed over a mug. ‘Be careful, it’s hot.’
    â€˜Much better than he was.’
    â€˜Sleeping any better?’
    â€˜Seems to be … touch wood.’ She smiled but felt her cheek muscles grow tight. ‘He does still plague me with questions sometimes. But there’s no doubt he’s more relaxed, more accepting. I just have to remember to count my blessings.’ Her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she stared into the coffee mug. ‘I so wish Sean hadn’t