The Thief Of Broken Toys by Lebbon Tim

Author:Lebbon, Tim [Lebbon, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Chizine Publications
Published: 2010-05-15T04:00:00+00:00

The storm had cleared, blowing itself out during the night, and now the sky was crumbed with the remnants of white clouds. It was still cool, but the weak autumn sun was already drying the paths and streets in random patterns. The harbour was bustling with a bus load of tourists, cameras humming and beeping, faces smiling, heads wearing hats. Ray passed them by and headed into the warren of back streets.

The bakery was on the corner of two narrow streets. It smelled wonderful, and Ray’s spirits always lifted a little when he approached. The sun peeked over the buildings behind him and reflected from the upper half of the shop’s window, and the lower half was alight with a display of Chelsea buns, cream cakes, custard tarts, fresh crusty rolls, and doughnuts. Part of his reason for coming down was to buy a loaf and a couple of cakes for lunch, but there was another reason. That haunted him, and it seemed to be the only darkness on his mood this morning.

I shouldn’t be feeling good, because Toby’s dead , he thought. But one thing he and his wife had agreed upon from the beginning — from the start of their new life, not the terrible end of their old one — was that guilt would kill them both. Their son had died of a rare condition no one could have foreseen, and to carry guilt for his death, as well as the grief, would be too much. Acknowledging this had done little to lessen it, however. For the first time today, Ray felt without blame.

“Morning, Rachel,” he said, entering the shop.

“Ray! Nice to see you.” And then the question that must always come. “How are you?”

“I’m doing okay,” he said, smiling. Rachel smiled back. She was an attractive woman, and for years the two of them had conducted what he thought of as distant flirting. But not for some time. He glanced to the rear of the shop where Margaret the owner was unloading loaves from their oven, then back at Rachel. “How’re your buns today?” he asked.

“Er . . .” she averted her eyes, and he thought, Shit, fool, that’s just clumsy. He was the grieving father, the village’s figure of unbearable, inconceivable sadness. He had a front to project.

“Soft today, actually,” she said quietly.

“Then I’ll take four.” They exchanged smiles again and he felt better. Better than ever, he thought. “How’s Ollie? I hear he’s been poorly.”

Rachel’s son Ollie and Toby had gone to school together. They’d been friends. Sometimes Ray would drive them both to school when he knew Rachel had to start work early at the bakery. It had always been a friendship of convenience; Rachel was distant and preoccupied. Not cold, as Elizabeth had suggested, but complex. Ray saw a lot going on in there.

“He’s better!” she said. She shook her head, frowning. “One day he’s still in bed, and the doctors . . . they’re just confused. And then last night he woke up, and that was it.

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