Somehow, though, I doubted he'd need help; my memories of Andy were of a quiet, independent boy who simply got on with things.I didn't think that he'd...struggle in London.A brief squall of rain blew through, and umbrellas blossomed like multicoloured daffodils on the pavement outside. I saw one girl who'd not thought to bring one running for cover, already soaked. I shook my head in sympathy; she'd have a long afternoon in damp clothing to remind her next time.I slid off the barstool, smiled a. He couldn’t tell his adopted father the metal often spoke to him, though it didn’t always make sense. It talked of things which had been and things which would be – but he only understood the words it spoke about things which were now.He also couldn’t explain to Ardt the way he could feel the metal with his fingers, the way he could tell where there was the slightest imperfection or problem. He couldn’t explain how he could literally feel his way through the metal, knowing when it was done –. More

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