Cold Reality
Ryan expects the whack of pebbles off his window, but he doesn’t expect, when he opens it, for Alex to point to the back door.
“Climb up,” Ryan hisses. He’s done it a thousand times before, but this time, Alex shakes his head, sways on the spot, and points at the door again.
Ryan thinks, innocently enough, that Alex has sneaked from his father’s stash of alcohol again. He’s done it before, and God knows his co-ordination isn’t up to tree-climbing once he’s tipsy, so he’s not really that bothered, and pads downstairs quietly so as not to wake Nan. She’s dozed off in front of the television again, snoring like a cargo train on rusty tracks, and the clock on the mantelpiece says it’s only quarter past midnight.
Alex is leaning against the wall when Ryan eases open the back do
