Read Online After Brock by Paul Binding - Free Book Online Page A

seen the photo I knew what my first remark to Dr Pringle should be when he returned. It was brilliant. After it everything would have to be revealed.
    Coffee was certainly taking its time. I stood there by the desk looking again at each picture, and planning how the conversation might go after my opening gambit. But when eventually Dr Julian Pringle did come back into the room, with a tray holding two steaming mugs, a sugar bowl and a plateful of dark chocolate digestive biscuits, he started asking me about how many sugars I took – and, ridiculously, that threw me.
    So what I came out with wasn’t this piece of brilliance at all. But not all that bad. ‘You said just now you thought I would come round to see you today?’
    â€˜I did, yes! And if you hadn’t in some way got in touch with me , then I was going to contact Emily’s parents this evening and ask for your phone number or email. But I’m very pleased it’s you wanting to see me .’

    I merely asked: ‘Why are you pleased?’
    Dr Pringle looked away from me. Balancing his mug a little awkwardly he sat himself down in the armchair nearest the window, then gestured me to take a seat opposite him. ‘Surely you don’t need to ask that, Nat? I would like to get to know you. You responded to the Bach so well, and the ideas of the Kodály method.’ And he gave a quick nod in the direction of the photo of the composer with his young wife.
    That can’t be the real, let alone the principal, reason for him wanting to know me? I thought, somewhat put off my stride. Best for one of us at least to be more direct.
    â€˜I think you know my dad?’
    â€˜Know?’ repeated Dr Pringle, now looking me full in the face, ‘no, I’m sorry to say I do not.’
    I was shoved even further off my stride now, and this made me oddly agitated. I stirred my mug with unnecessary vigour. ‘But…’ I began, then other words failing me, ‘Leominster,’ I said. And this time it was my turn to nod in the direction of a photo, of the great Priory in the Herefordshire market town.
    Dr Pringle was, I now saw, every bit as ill-at-ease as myself. ‘I said I don’t know him. But I knew him. Of course I knew him – years and years ago, it all was.’
    â€˜I was sure of it.’
    â€˜How is Peter?’
    Dad’s always called Pete, he’s quite insistent about this. He even wants me to call him Pete now. Well, he’s better at being a mate than a parent, which is why Josh got on so well with him. So for a split second or two I didn’t know who Dr Pringle was talking about. ‘He’s very well,’ I said lamely, then remembering how the kite business was limping along, ‘he’s got worries, of course. Business ones, I don’t know about any others. He and my mum separated six years back,’ I added, in case he wasn’t aware. Which he plainly wasn’t.
    â€˜That must have meant hard times for them both,’ he said diplomatically, after a pause. ‘I heard you were born, of course, but otherwise – well – I have had no news about Peter’s married or domestic life. Why should I?’ Yes, why should you? I thought to myself. But again, why shouldn’t you?
    â€˜Are you the only one?’
    I didn’t follow him.
    â€˜Only…?’
    â€˜Peter’s only child?’
    I gave a laugh as well as another over-energetic stir of the coffee-mug. ‘As far as I know, yup! And I’m quite definitely my mum’s only one too!’
    For at least half my life I have regretted this. I’ve often envied Josh his brothers and sisters. Mine’s been a lonely lot. I’ve never even had what I once pined for even more than siblings, the company of an animal in my home. Perhaps this explains my present habit of tracking of foxes in the night.
    â€˜And Peter’s business in Shropshire? A