Tentatively lifting his head and bare shoulders, he looked over to his brother’s bed. Which lay open and empty, in daylight, pyjamas sprawled across it. Sinking back, Michael blew a long stream of air into the chill room, sadly watching the cloud of his own breath. Late: and cold. And the heater at the other side of the room. He closed his eyes and hoped the problem would disappear. That his mother would come, or perhaps his brother if he were feeling friendly. But no, his brother was not friendly. He was dressed already even to his scarf wrapped twice across his face. –No, you can’t have the blower on, you just sit in front of it. And it’s late, he said. Michael smiled and shut his eyes at this, because now he came to think of it, he didn’t care if he was late or not, and Alan did. –If you don’t put the heater on, I won’t get out at all, he pointed out. Alan glared and then moved to set up the heater, gathering as he did so two socks and a pair of underpants quite usefully.
