Read Online Last Guests of the Season by Sue Gee - Free Book Online

jar. ‘Don’t you think? They can all get down.’
    But Jack stayed where he was, next to Claire, slowly finishing his milk, and Jessica affected not to have heard, smiling loftily as Tom got off his chair, catching the edge of the tablecloth as he swung round. Claire reached out just in time to prevent his plate from falling, and Tom, oblivious, went out into the sitting-room. They could hear his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, and a series of clicking sounds. And Robert, coming out after a few minutes with a loaded tray, found him gazing up at the enormous straw cloak which hung on a wooden stand near the dining-room door. A hat surmounted it, a kind of vast straw sombrero; at the base, the ends of a pair of wide trousers were visible, thick and feathery, like shire horses‘ feet. On its stand, the outfit towered above them, taller than Robert by a good few inches, taller even than Oliver, who had brushed past it on his way to bed last night, going up first, earlier than the rest of them.
    â€˜That,’ Robert said now, ‘is a shepherd’s cloak.’
    Tom frowned, reaching out to touch it. Layers of dense combed straw were sewn in bands from shoulder to mid-calf on a coarse fabric backing; he ran his hand downwards, and again. The wooden stand rocked a little.
    â€˜Careful.’
    â€˜It feels nice. The hens would like it.’
    Robert smiled. ‘They would.’ He thought how Jack, by now, would have been – had been, last year – asking questions: why was it made of straw? Did shepherds really used to wear things like this? Did they still? Tom asked nothing. He moved closer, and put his face against it, smelling it, his fingers rustling the layers. Again, the wooden stand began to rock.
    â€˜Tom, it’s very heavy – come away from there. Do you want me to tell you about it?’
    â€˜All right.’ Tom moved reluctantly, and Robert made for the kitchen, saying: ‘It’s made of all that thick straw to keep the rain out.’
    â€˜Oh.’ Tom followed him, running his hands along the panelling in the passage.
    â€˜It must have been very uncomfortable, even so,’ Robert went on, putting the tray on the table by the window shaded with creeper. ‘Don’t you think? Tramping about over the mountains with all that heavy wet straw hanging off you, and rain dripping off your hat brim.’
    â€˜A bit like a sheep,’ said Tom, who had opened the fridge door.
    Robert pictured wet Portuguese sheep in hats. ‘True. What are you looking for?’
    â€˜Oh, just something for the cat.’
    â€˜I don’t think you should encourage that cat, quite honestly.’ Robert carried the breakfast things over to the sink. ‘She’ll become a bit of a pest.’
    â€˜Oh, please.’ Tom turned round, leaving the fridge door open. ‘She’ll die if we don’t feed her. She’ll die.’
    â€˜All right, all right.’ He reached out and shut the door. ‘We’ll die if flies get in the fridge and crap all over the food.’
    â€˜Will we really?’
    â€˜No. But don’t leave it open, there’s a good chap.’
    â€˜Okay.’ Tom leaned up against the draining-board, watching Robert squirt in violently coloured washing-up liquid and turn on the taps. The pipes banged and shook.
    Through the open door to the passage Robert could hear the others wandering away from the breakfast table; he saw Jessica going into her room to get her swimming things, followed by her brother. ‘Why don’t you go and play with the others?’ he suggested, rinsing cereal bowls.
    Tom ignored him, twisting a worn tea towel on a hook. ‘Please can I feed the cat? Is there any milk?’
    Robert looked at him. ‘Are you always this persistent?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Never mind.’ He nodded towards the breakfast tray. ‘I expect there’s some milk left in the