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Red Shift
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“Oh. Feeling better?”
“Right as rain.”
“Good.” He went out.
“There’s definitely something wrong,” said Jan. “He’s embarrassed. And listen: they’re arguing.”
“When aren’t they? I’m sorry I panicked at the motorway. We’ll be OK. – I wonder why rain is always right.”
“Didn’t you see him?”
“No. We’ll be OK in Crewe. You can get a cheap day return.”
“Listen!” She held his shoulders. Warmth seeped through and bubbles rainbowed his shirt.
“You’re wonderful,” he said. “Your eyes are like poached eggs.”
“Tom, listen. Something’s wrong—What did you say?”
“Poached eggs. Round and meaningful. I cherish them.”
Jan laughed and wept on to his chest, hugging him. “You lovely bloody idiot. What am I going to do?”
“Don’t swear. It demeans you. Poached isn’t the same as hardboiled. I love your face.”
“I love you.”
The kitchen door opened. Tom’s mother stood with uninterrupted vision. His father was with her.
“Is there no privacy in this camp coffin?” said Tom.
“Your mother and I would like a word with you. Both of you.”
“Why?”
“In the lounge.”
“It’s Sunday, sergeant-major. We have the kitchen, and you have the lounge.”
Jan led the way to the other end of the caravan. Tom’s father turned off the volume control on the television.
“It must be serious,” said Tom.
“Shut up,” said Jan.
“Sit down: will you – please? On the divan.”
They sat. Tom’s father went to the window and peered out, half facing the room, his hands behind his back. “Stand easy,” said Tom. His mother lodged one buttock on the arm of the chair, swinging her foot.
“I want to ask—”
“What?”
“I want to ask you and Jan—”
“What?”
“It’s written all over you,” said his mother.
“Your mother and I – would like to know whether you’ve anything to tell us.”
“What’s your problem?” Tom reached out his hand for Jan. She took it.
“We think—”
“Both of you?”
“Don’t,” said Jan.
“I’m trying to be useful,” said Tom.
“Like hell.”
“Watch that tongue of yours!” said Tom’s mother.
“She’d look pretty silly if she did.”
“Stop arsing around,” Jan whispered.
“I heard that!”
“Let’s try again,” his father said.
Tom opened his mouth, but Jan kicked him.
“Your mother and I. We wondered if you’d had any occasion to do anything to make us ashamed of you.”
Tom stared at the muted commercials on the television screen. I’m wearing my cans. Please, I’m wearing my cans.
“Well?”
“Would you care to rephrase the question in English?”
“You heard me.” His father was shouting: he could see him.
“Yes. We have.”
“What did I tell you?” said his mother.
Другие электронные книги автора Alan Garner
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Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?