One Boy Missing
“George acted as a sort of housemaid, filling their bowls with cornflakes, bran, wheat germ, a handful of fruit medley. As Patrick watched him work, he bit his lip; not only was it inedible, but there was so much of it. George covered his creations with milk and looked at Patrick. ‘Sugar?’ ‘Yes, please.’ He placed the bowl in front of him. ‘There you go.’ ‘Thanks.’ Moy had got used to his father’s concoction. He’d learned to hold his breath, chew with vigour and swallow fast. ‘Thanks,’ he said t...o George, taking his own bowl.
Patrick, sitting on his hands, stared at the small mountain of cereal. George looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘I don’t know if I can eat it all.’ ‘You haven’t even tried.’ He dug down to the cornflakes, collected a spoonful and began. Meanwhile, George wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘You don’t talk much,’ he said.
‘Dad,’ Moy warned.
‘You always feel better when you talk…when you share things. It’s the way people work, isn’t it?’ Patrick just looked at him, and tackled the bran.MoreLess
Patrick, sitting on his hands, stared at the small mountain of cereal. George looked at him. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘I don’t know if I can eat it all.’ ‘You haven’t even tried.’ He dug down to the cornflakes, collected a spoonful and began. Meanwhile, George wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘You don’t talk much,’ he said.
‘Dad,’ Moy warned.
‘You always feel better when you talk…when you share things. It’s the way people work, isn’t it?’ Patrick just looked at him, and tackled the bran.MoreLess
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