Stealing Time Rebecca Bowyer (love story novels in english TXT) 📖

on one of those thismorning. Using the technique and treatment plan your facilitydeveloped.”

Varya nodded and moved towards the couch.She sank down, her legs seeming to give way beneath her.

“I don’t understand. Varya? Talk to me.What’s going on?” She went and sat beside her friend, desperatelyhoping for a reasonable explanation about why she would keep herown son locked up unnecessarily. Eventually Varya lifted her faceand Zoe saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It’s my fault. The treatment won’t beenough and it’s all my fault.”

The words tumbled out on top of each otherthen, like a broken dam wall. Varya told her everything. It was arelief, to be able to talk to someone about it again, properly.

But Zoe understood completely, as apaediatrician and a mother. Varya began to wish she had confided inher friend long before now.

“Oh Varya, I’m so sorry.” Zoe’s own eyesfilled with sympathetic tears. “I know you feel like it’s yourfault. And I know you think that your mother and Kir are safe fornow, so you have time. But living like that, it’s no life for them.Connor’s right, you have to go to Sebastian and ask for hishelp.”

Varya nodded. “I know. But if Mum leaves theTime Lock, she doesn’t have…”

Zoe held her hand and finished the sentenceVarya couldn’t. “She doesn’t have long to live. I know. But you’llget through this, Var’. You need to do it, for Kir’s sake.”

“I can’t lose my mum, Zoe. I don’t know whatI’d do without her.”

Zoe smiled through her own tears. “We alllose our mums, eventually. And it’s awful, but it’s also normal andinevitable and necessary.” She patted Varya’s hand. “And I’ll behere for you.”

“I’m so scared, Zoe.” Varya wiped at hertears and took a few deep, shaky breaths. “Let’s just get throughthis first, we’ll get Daniel back. Then I’ll go to Sebastian, Ipromise. I just need some time to prepare mentally. And Kir is safefor now.”

Chapter forty-three

Elena

The sunshine is soft but warm in this little world ofours. It’s a mid-afternoon spring sun, the kind that doesn’t burn.There’s no frost or dampness left on the grass and the gentle heatreleases the wonderful new grass smell into the otherwise odourlessair.

I watch Kir chase Mon-Mon, his favouritemagpie, around a tree. Mon-Mon squawks at him, waiting for him tocome within centimetres of his tail feathers before hopping away. Ismile. The bird is in no danger. I know that he will fly up intothe branches of the big gum tree if Kir starts to annoy him. OnceMon-Mon misjudged and Kir managed to grab him, pulling a smallblack feather from amongst his black plumage. Mon-Mon got hisrevenge by flying up into the gum and defecating into Kir’soutstretched hand. Kir refused to play at all for several daysafter that. Mon-Mon hasn’t used that particular punishmentagain.

“Can we go to the music shop?” Kir isbouncing up and down in front of me. I don’t want to go to themusic shop, it’s a good half hour walk from here. I am tired. ButKir is not. I glance over at Daniel, who is sitting against the gumtree staring into space and wonder whether nine years old is oldenough to be left in charge of an energetic four-year-old.

I check my watch, which tells the true time,and sigh. It is still hours until bedtime. Until I’ll tuck Kir intohis little bed and close the blackout curtains against theafternoon sun. The same sun he’ll wake up to on the morning of thesame day. I wonder if Mon-Mon gets tired, if he sleeps. I’ve neverseen him do so, but then I wouldn’t. He’s a bird.

I brace myself and push up from the parkbench. I hold out my hand and paint a smile on my face.

“Yes, baby boy. Let’s go to the music shopand see what they have today. Daniel, would you like to come?”

“Yay!” Kir hurls two fistfuls of grass intothe air and twirls. I’ve told him not to pick the grass. I can seebare patches in the distant lawn where he pulled too many in theearly days before it occurred to me that they might not grow back.We’ve moved play areas since then. He’s getting better atremembering.

Daniel joins us, a pace or two behind, andas we walk, I watch two white butterflies duel in the flowers.Butterflies or moths? I never could remember. The smaller animalsseem to have stayed with us in this world, moving and thriving.After all these years I still can’t see a pattern. The dogs stayfrozen, next to their owners, out for a never-ending walk. But afew of the birds and the bees, they roam freely. I wonder ifMon-Mon’s feather has grown back, or whether that’s something elsethat will never return.

We pass the Green Coat Lady, as we’vecreatively named her. I’m not sure why she got named after herclothes while a bird gets an entirely new name from Kir. I supposeit’s because the bird can be a playmate. I shiver slightly as wepass, as though passing a graveyard. Except that the inhabitant ofthis body has simply walked on into the future. She’s older, GreenCoat Lady, even older than me, I think sometimes. Chances are she’swalked into her Rest Time by now. I wonder briefly if I couldsomehow move this figure, stash her where I don’t have to look ather any longer. I glance back and notice Daniel gives her a wideberth.

“Slow down, Kir!” I call out, panicked, as Iturn back and realise I’ve lost sight of him. He’s only gone aroundthe corner, past the pharmacy, but I worry anyway. He doesn’t hearme. His mop of curls reappears as he bounds across the road, givinga high-five to the blue SUV parked right out the front of the musicstore. It’s not like he’s going to get run over. That car hasn’tmoved in years. Kir waves and sticks his tongue out at the toddlerin the rear seat. I swear sometimes that little girl moves her eyeswhen he passes by. I’m not good with ages of children, it’s beentoo long since I was surrounded by them, but if I had to guess I’dsay she’s about two?