It was late, and Gil was hungry. Dad made sandwiches, and then took his own plate and went and shut himself in his study. Well then, Gil thought. He sat in the kitchen, stripped the crusts off his sandwich and ate it quickly. Then he went up to his room. By the time he got to the top of the stairs he was exhausted, as if he’d swum thirty lengths at the pool. The booklet that Jude had given him crackled in his trouser pocket as he sank on to the end of his bed. Gil wondered why Dad hadn’t taken it off him and thrown it in the bin the moment they’d got home. Maybe he didn’t care if Gil read it or not. Gil knew he probably ought to read it, but it was too soon. He felt as if he’d just stepped off a rollercoaster ride that had lasted most of the morning, and his head needed some time to return to normal. Gil keeled over sideways on the bed and gradually let his mind begin to sort out the tangle of things he had discovered that morning.
