The Otherlife by Julia Gray EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author:Julia Gray
- Language: English
- Genre:Teen & Young Adult Fiction on Sexual Abuse
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
There’s a God in the Stonehills’ garden.
I’ve been out here for a while now, waiting for my T-shirt to dry. About a
quarter of an hour ago I made the mistake of going into the library, where
some girls were making Flaming Sambucas, cackling with drunken
hysteria. Clear liquid splashed on the carpet; shot glasses cracked
underfoot. Someone pushed past me. I staggered, and somehow, as one of
the girls was waving a long-handled lighter like a malevolent wand, the
hem of my T-shirt caught fire. Not just any T-shirt: my vintage, ’94,
Pushead-designed Metallica T-shirt, and the most precious item of clothing
Pushing my way through the crowd, I drenched it in the downstairs
bathroom, where a genuine Matisse stands watch over a shell-shaped sink. I
lamented the scorch mark, a dark scar on white cotton. Then I retreated to
the terrace, where the wicker furniture is set out in a mathematical
arrangement and every potted plant is so beautifully maintained that it could
have come straight from a gardening catalogue. Normally when the
Stonehills have parties, there’s a handful of people out on the terrace,
drinking and smoking and shouting, and maybe a few people here and there
on the lawn. But for the moment, I’m the only one.
The low drone of guitars and drums surges in waves from the basement,
where a jam session is going on. In a bit, the Stonehills will let off
fireworks. More and more people will come, alerted by social media.
Sooner or later the police will turn up. They always do. It’s definitely time
to go home, but I’m slightly too drunk to make the decision to leave. I’ve
had three Coronas: too many, considering that it’s a Wednesday night, and I
have an exam in the morning. Nobody here cares about exams. Money will
get them wherever they want to go. I don’t have much in common with any
of these people, apart from a love of metal.
I shouldn’t have come to this party.
All day I’ve been feeling different. On edge, my head full of unwanted
electricity. I’ve been feeling like something unusual is about to happen.
Now I think maybe it is.
Eyes unfocused, I look down the stretch of polished lawn. The garden is
lit by solar lights, glowing like half-buried stars from the flowerbeds.
Counting them, I let my gaze travel further and further back. And that’s
when I see it. Another light. A different light. Right at the end of the
garden, past the fishpond and the organised ranks of roses and miniature
lemon trees. Up where the yew trees grow tall and close together and the
ground rises higher as it reaches the wall.
There’s an old treehouse that the
Stonehills used to play in when they were younger, custom-made by some
bewilderingly expensive company. That’s where it is, this other light. Just
under the treehouse. But it can’t be a solar light. For one thing, it’s the
wrong colour. Also: it’s moving. Fading in and out, circling, dipping … as
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