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

think?’
    â€˜I suppose so – I imagine it’s much like most rural Catholicism, though, don’t you? Overblown, full of incense and ignorance –’ She stopped, suddenly embarrassed. ‘You’re not Catholic, are you?’
    â€˜Lapsed,’ he said, looking at her in amusement. ‘It’s all right, please don’t worry. You don’t go to church in London?’
    â€˜No, never.’ None of their friends went to church. ‘Do you?’
    â€˜Sometimes. More out of nostalgia than anything else, I suppose. I take Tom occasionally – part of his education.’
    They had reached the bottom of the hill, where the street divided: a great wooden barn stood at the corner, set on stilts in a spacious yard, and three small grubby children in oversized clothes were taking turns with a makeshift go-cart, rattling over the concrete. They stopped and waved, calling.
    â€˜Bom dia, bom dial’
    One of the children, a little boy, wore glasses; Claire remembered him from last year. She saw Robert and the others pause by the gate and smile; the children ran towards them and Tom began to climb the bars. Frances put out a restraining arm; he hung over the top bar, grinning, as Claire and Oliver came up.
    Robert turned to them. ‘Oliver – I was just telling Frances, this is a threshing barn, for the maize. When it’s dry, they bring it in and beat it over a hollow manger: you’ll hear them. Then they sweep up the grains from the floor. We went to watch them last year, didn’t we, Jess?’
    Jess nodded, running her sandalled foot up and down in the dust.
    â€˜And you wrote about it at school, didn’t you?’ Claire said encouragingly.
    â€˜Mmm.’ She went on scuffing.
    â€˜Did you?’ said Oliver. ‘That sounds interesting.’ She looked up at him, and they smiled at each other. ‘It’s rather magnificent,’ he went on, turning to the barn again. ‘Must be a good two hundred years old?’
    â€˜Easily,’ said Robert. ‘Most of the houses in the village are older than that.’
    They stood gazing at it: the trailing vines overhanging the flight of worn stone steps to the doors, the weather-beaten wood, with its peeling black paint. High on the rooftop, pigeons cooed. Frances put her hand on Tom’s arm again as he made to clamber over; he shook her off.
    â€˜I want to have a go in that cart thing.’
    â€˜I want to go to the river,’ said Jack. ‘Come on. It’s hot.’
    â€˜Yes, let’s go,’ said Claire. ‘You’ll like it down there, Tom. Are you a good swimmer?’
    â€˜I’ve done my ten metres.’ He clambered down again, reluctantly.
    â€˜I’ve done my fifty,’ said Jack.
    â€˜So?’ Tom flushed. ‘So? What’s so great about doing fifty?’
    â€˜Well, it’s better than ten, isn’t it?’
    â€˜I’m sure,’ said Robert, moving between them, ‘that by the end of the fortnight you’ll be both be doing a hundred. But the river’s a bit deep in places, and it goes down quite suddenly, doesn’t it, Jack, so you’d better be careful, okay?’
    â€˜You didn’t mention that,’ said Frances.
    â€˜Well, most of it’s pretty shallow. Has he brought armbands?’
    â€˜I’m not wearing arm bands,’ said Tom.
    â€˜Oh, yes you are,’ said Oliver.
    Frances said carefully, ‘Let’s discuss it when we get there.’
    Jack said, ‘I haven’t worn armbands since I was in reception,’ and Tom reached out and shoved at him.
    â€˜Shut up!’
    â€˜You shut up,’ said Jack, recoiling, rubbing his arm.
    â€˜No, you shut up.’ And Tom lunged towards him again, red in the face.
    â€˜Tom!’ said Oliver and Frances together, and Oliver moved swiftly over and grabbed him. ‘Stop that at once, do you hear?’
    â€˜Get off