The boy hadn't spoken since his twin had gone. He just kind
of lumbered through the house, hands
grasping onto toys but not really holding them. Not really playing with them. When
hungry, he sat at the breakfast table and mouthed whatever food ended up on his
fork. His mother would walk past, ruffle his hair, say "Cheer up, Bud!"
But she didn't understand. She couldn't. She hadn't been gutted.
"He's only popped to the shops, Bud," she said,
putting plates in the dishwasher.
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