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Authors: Raffaella Barker
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days later, I ran out and found her perched on a log trying to crow. Every day she ritualistically made the attempt and, as her crowing improved, long tail-feathers sprouted and her comb grew raspberry red and large like Cedricâs. In three months her transformation was complete and Emerald became a cockerel, a fit sparring partner for the insufferable Cedric.
Chapter 20
Patrick loved getting up early and he made runny porridge on the Aga. Va Va heard loud classical music blare from the wireless on the kitchen windowsill and ran down to beg Patrick to draw faces on her porridge with trickles of golden syrup. The children knew that Patrick was susceptible to a certain look, eyes wide and innocent.
âDaddy, can we have biscuits for pudding and then go and buy some sweets at Mr Cardewâs?â
âAnything, loves, anything,â he agreed absently, leaning over the white, cold washbasin in the cloakroom as he shaved.
After breakfast he kissed their sticky faces and shut himself in the study. The children knew they must not disturb him, but would creep to the door and crouch outside on the flagstones, listening as he played back poems he had read into a tape recorder. He sounded different when he talked to them, and Va Va asked why.
Patrick looked grave, but he winked and said, âNow my love, you are getting serious.â She had no idea what he meant.
The study was exciting. It was warm and smelt of cigarettes; it was usually forbidden territory, piled high with books andpapers. Va Va sat on Patrickâs knee and talked into the tape recorder while Brodie wrote wispy letters in a notebook. Patrick liked the childrenâs interruptions, but one day, when the milkman, the man who drove the Sunshine Bread van and the butcher had all waved cheery good-mornings to him through the window, he took his books and his green chair upstairs and made the big spare room his study.
He hated talking to anyone during the day. He once went to the village shop, and only once. Mr Cardew, the shopkeeper, jaunty in his Camp Coffee apron, greeted him with delight. âMr Lincoln, come for some gaspers, have you?â He rubbed his hands together, beaming. âCanât write those poems without something to light the fire, can we?â and he cackled mightily.
Patrick was horrified. He never went to the shop again, but drove five miles to Aylthorpe to buy his cigarettes.
Chapter 21
Sasha Warton and I were in the same stream for all classes. To my relief we became friends in the maths class, where my confusion at the problems set was as deep as my surprise at finding myself in division one. For a time my academic career flourished, and I played in the lacrosse team and swam in the swimming team. I conceived a satisfactory notion of myself as prefect material, and sustained it by always standing up when staff came into a room and by smiling winningly at anyone who addressed me.
Sashaâs parents were divorced. She lived with her mother during the week, in a small, very clean house near the school. Sometimes I stayed the night with her, revelling in the decadence of central heating and a duvet on the bed. Best of all I avoided the long bus journey home and the punishing dawn rush to catch the bus to school from Aylthorpe. I was envious of Sashaâs ordered existence. At weekends, her father collected her from school and drove her to his house. It was near Mildney, so he dropped me off on the way. This was a big worry. Mummy told me it was polite to ask him in, so I did, every time. He always said no, but I was terrified that one day he would say yes, and seehow very different our kitchen was from the shiny bright new one I had seen in his house.
Richard Warton was the only son of Lord and Lady Warton. He lived in a moated red-brick mansion a mile from Mildney and drove a blue sports car. An admirer of the arts, he filled the medieval rooms of his house with contemporary paintings, and textiles woven from
Chapter 20
Patrick loved getting up early and he made runny porridge on the Aga. Va Va heard loud classical music blare from the wireless on the kitchen windowsill and ran down to beg Patrick to draw faces on her porridge with trickles of golden syrup. The children knew that Patrick was susceptible to a certain look, eyes wide and innocent.
âDaddy, can we have biscuits for pudding and then go and buy some sweets at Mr Cardewâs?â
âAnything, loves, anything,â he agreed absently, leaning over the white, cold washbasin in the cloakroom as he shaved.
After breakfast he kissed their sticky faces and shut himself in the study. The children knew they must not disturb him, but would creep to the door and crouch outside on the flagstones, listening as he played back poems he had read into a tape recorder. He sounded different when he talked to them, and Va Va asked why.
Patrick looked grave, but he winked and said, âNow my love, you are getting serious.â She had no idea what he meant.
The study was exciting. It was warm and smelt of cigarettes; it was usually forbidden territory, piled high with books andpapers. Va Va sat on Patrickâs knee and talked into the tape recorder while Brodie wrote wispy letters in a notebook. Patrick liked the childrenâs interruptions, but one day, when the milkman, the man who drove the Sunshine Bread van and the butcher had all waved cheery good-mornings to him through the window, he took his books and his green chair upstairs and made the big spare room his study.
He hated talking to anyone during the day. He once went to the village shop, and only once. Mr Cardew, the shopkeeper, jaunty in his Camp Coffee apron, greeted him with delight. âMr Lincoln, come for some gaspers, have you?â He rubbed his hands together, beaming. âCanât write those poems without something to light the fire, can we?â and he cackled mightily.
Patrick was horrified. He never went to the shop again, but drove five miles to Aylthorpe to buy his cigarettes.
Chapter 21
Sasha Warton and I were in the same stream for all classes. To my relief we became friends in the maths class, where my confusion at the problems set was as deep as my surprise at finding myself in division one. For a time my academic career flourished, and I played in the lacrosse team and swam in the swimming team. I conceived a satisfactory notion of myself as prefect material, and sustained it by always standing up when staff came into a room and by smiling winningly at anyone who addressed me.
Sashaâs parents were divorced. She lived with her mother during the week, in a small, very clean house near the school. Sometimes I stayed the night with her, revelling in the decadence of central heating and a duvet on the bed. Best of all I avoided the long bus journey home and the punishing dawn rush to catch the bus to school from Aylthorpe. I was envious of Sashaâs ordered existence. At weekends, her father collected her from school and drove her to his house. It was near Mildney, so he dropped me off on the way. This was a big worry. Mummy told me it was polite to ask him in, so I did, every time. He always said no, but I was terrified that one day he would say yes, and seehow very different our kitchen was from the shiny bright new one I had seen in his house.
Richard Warton was the only son of Lord and Lady Warton. He lived in a moated red-brick mansion a mile from Mildney and drove a blue sports car. An admirer of the arts, he filled the medieval rooms of his house with contemporary paintings, and textiles woven from
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