Beneath the Skin by Sandra Ireland

the brush. He wanted to loop his arm around her, offer a bit of comfort, but he was afraid she might take it the wrong way, so he just said, ‘I do, bonny lass. I know what it’s like.’
    Mouse nodded. ‘Oh God, we’ll just have to dump them. Can’t stand that smell.’
    They worked in silence, Mouse holding the bag and Walt scooping up the corpses. He took the bag and knotted it. Mouse told him to stick it in the bin, but to make sure it was the right bin and not Mrs Petrauska’s. The thought of Mrs Petrauska’s reaction to finding dozens of rotting birds didn’t bear thinking about. Walt found a red baseball cap lying on top of the bins. Was it William’s? He held it up. It was grubby, well worn, with a peak that had once been white underneath but was now mushroom-coloured. He didn’t think Mouse would let the boy wear such a thing, but he decided to take it with him, just in case. As he was about to walk away, a glimmer of something caught his eye. The funny little window, the one he’d noticed the time he’d come out to inspect the pipework, was ominously dark, and yet . . . He could have sworn he’d seen movement, or the ghost of a movement, like the flitting of a moth across a beam of light. He peered closer, but the grimy square remained stubbornly blank. Imagination plays tricks on you all the time; he knew that firsthand. Still . . . Whirling the dirty red cap around his index finger, he walked uncertainly back to the house.

18
    In the kitchen, Mouse was hugging the kid. Smothered in her jumper, he was standing patiently, one eye visible between his fringe and her sleeve.
    â€˜The birds are gone,’ Walt announced. ‘Extinct.’
    She didn’t get the joke. ‘You definitely put them in our bin?’
    â€˜I put them in the one marked “Dance Studio”.’
    â€˜What?’ She swung around, realised he was trying to lighten the mood and rolled her eyes. William escaped. ‘Where are you going?’
    â€˜Just up to my room,’ he said.
    â€˜Don’t go near Auntie Alys’s room. She needs to rest.’
    â€˜Here, kid. Is this yours?’ Walt held up the cap by its grubby peak.
    â€˜It is not,’ Mouse said straight away. ‘Look at the state of it!’
    William gazed at it with interest, but knew better than to touch it. ‘I could keep it though. For my collection.’
    â€˜No!’ Mouse glared at Walt. ‘You should have put that in the bin too.’
    Walt shrugged and hooked the offending article onto the back of a chair. As William scurried off, Walt went over to wash his hands at the sink.
    â€˜Is she sleeping?’ He turned on the tap and scrubbed his hands with liquid soap.
    Mouse folded her now-empty arms and hugged herself. ‘No. She’s lying quietly though, staring at the ceiling.’
    â€˜Should I go up?’
    â€˜Why should you?’ She looked at him sharply.
    He shrugged. ‘Because she’s my boss? I feel responsible.’
    â€˜Don’t.’
    â€˜You heard what she said to me. I shouldn’t have left her.’
    â€˜You don’t need to feel responsible, and Walt . . .’ She looked him full in the face, sternly, as if she were scolding William. ‘Don’t get too close to her.’
    â€˜I wasn’t. I’m not.’
    â€˜Good. Alys is very vulnerable. She may look all flirty and confident, but underneath, she’s her own worst enemy.’
    â€˜I get the picture.’ He dried his hands slowly on a towel. He had the picture in his head: Alys giving him the come-on, touching her mouth to his. Maybe he’d been on his own too long. Mouse was eyeing him as if she’d just found a stash of porn under his bed. Turning away, she started rummaging through the cupboard under the sink, pulling out cloths and rubber gloves and bleach. He felt dismissed but something made him linger, a strong