The Broken Bridge by Philip Pullman

Author:Philip Pullman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2017-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

GINNY WASN’T SURE what she was going to say to Rhiannon, so it was a good thing the next day was Sunday, when she didn’t go to the Dragon. Instead, after lunch (difficult, with Dad trying to be cheerful and fatherly and Robert being grim and silent), she went off on her own and caught the train to Porthafon.

At the corner of Jubilee Terrace she almost turned back, because outside Rhiannon’s sister’s house there was a man washing a car—obviously Helen’s husband. Washing cars was discouraged if not actually forbidden because of the water shortage, so getting it clean was clearly very important to him. He was a neat, trim little man with hairy arms and the famous neat mustache, and he looked at her with open curiosity as she went past him and rang the doorbell.

Helen answered it seconds before her husband got there, chamois cloth dripping in his hand.

“Ginny…Come in.”

A quick, hostile glance at him, and she closed the door behind them, shutting him out.

“Come on through. I’m in the garden,” she said.

Ginny had forgotten how definite she was, how clear and decisive and un-Rhiannon-like. They sat down on the little patch of grass, with children playing on a swing next door and a man on the opposite side of the fence dozing under a newspaper. It felt very open compared to her back garden; she imagined everyone would be listening.

“I’ve heard about your brother,” Helen said.

“From Rhiannon? Or from Dad?”

Helen hesitated. “Both,” she said.

“Do you see Dad a lot, then?”

“Well…quite often.”

She looked frankly at Ginny, as if inviting her to ask more. But Ginny didn’t want to, yet.

“So. What’s this brother like?” Helen said.

“Difficult. I have to keep telling myself he’s my brother, or I wouldn’t believe it. Half-brother. And that his mum only died last week. It’s no wonder he’s unhappy. And what he thinks of us, God knows. I try and ask about his mother….Actually I don’t anymore, ’cause he got angry, but I was just so curious, I wanted to know. And Dad won’t tell me….”

“Why won’t he?”

“He just clams up. He won’t say anything except stupid vague answers that don’t mean anything. I want to know about my mother, for instance. I thought they were married, but they weren’t; he was married to Robert’s mother. Did you know that?”

Helen nodded, looking careful.

“What else has he told you, then?”

Helen blew out her cheeks and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s not easy….”

Ginny felt a flash of anger. “What d’you mean, it’s not easy? What d’you think it’s like for me? There’s everyone knowing more about me than I do myself—what d’you think that’s like?”

Helen looked down. Ginny pressed on recklessly:

“Are you having an affair with Dad?”

“What? Ginny, I can’t answer—”

“Is that what it is? You can tell me, for God’s sake! I don’t mind or anything! I mean, are you?”

“Have you asked him?”

“Yes,” said Ginny, staring at her flatly.

“And? What did he say?”

“He said no, of course not, what a stupid idea.”

“Well, then…”

“But he’s a liar, isn’t he? He lied about my mother.

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