Read Online Ollie Always by John Wiltshire - Free Book Online

formations, the towering snow-capped mountains in the distance, the glimpses of willow-lined valleys with glints of gold-flecked glacial streams.
    The house sat high on a ridge of schist rock protected from the wind by the rising mountain behind it and strategically placed to enjoy a view that was so breathtaking it was almost intimidating. Here, the true extent of the mountains could be seen, making anyone who had driven the route from the coast realise that up until then they’d been seeing life through a glass very darkly. Here, the peaks stretched to infinity, one soaring pink or turquoise tip leading to another; that one saffron, that gold, the snow filtering the colours of the setting sun as if an insane artist had decided white was insufficient to show off his skills at painting the dying winter’s landscape.
    This was a hill station, so very little garden had been cultivated, mostly azaleas, which in late October were at the peak of their fragile beauty, and this time of the evening were releasing their subtle scent across the cold-browned lawn that graced the front of the single-storey house.
    They couldn’t have arrived at a more beautiful place on earth or at a better time to fully appreciate that otherworldly perfection. If you died, you’d be pretty impressed if heaven looked like this.
    It only got better on the inside. Ronnie Fitzroy liked the charm of an old New Zealand homestead, but she’d been raised in shabby aristocratic frugality her whole childhood, and she wasn’t having it now. Left original on the outside, the interior of this station-owner’s house had been totally renovated the year after she’d bought it. Anyone with enough money in New Zealand lived a very good life indeed.
    Ollie had been coming here during the long school holidays since he’d started at his prep school, so if he’d wanted to, he could have thought of it as home. Nowhere was home, so he didn’t. But he dutifully showed Skint around, ending with allocating him a bedroom for the night. The man seemed completely bemused. Ollie supposed it was a bit of a contrast from sleeping on a mat on the floor.
    He’d known there would be no food in the house, so he’d bought a few things when they’d stopped in Alexandra. Wine mostly. And chocolate. Skint had added some salmon and broccoli and sweet potatoes, which, Ollie had noted, he’d had to pay for. He had no intention of putting anything pink in his mouth, a rule he’d broken once or twice in the past, much to his chagrin, and therefore wasn’t about to offer to cook it either. He took his family-sized bag of Maltesers and his bottle of wine to the deck and relaxed for the first time that day.
    He’d only just gotten the first taste of honeycomb and chocolate under his tongue when his bag was whisked away, and Skint declared, “Dinner in twenty minutes. You’ll ruin your appetite.”
    “Are you my mother?”
    Skint had already disappeared inside. Really annoyed, Ollie was about to follow and retrieve his preferred meal when the other man reappeared with another glass and poured them both some wine. He watched Ollie take his then sat down alongside him and commented, “If you were mine, I’d look after you a bit better.”
    Ollie’s wine went down the wrong way, and while he coughed, he heard Skint add quickly, “My son . You said mother. I meant son.”
    Ollie’s eyes were watering. From the choking. He thought it best not to reply. Skint seemed to think it was a good idea to change the subject too, and he asked, “Why aren’t you living here? Why the cottage?”
    “Crib. It’s…complicated.” The irony of this reply did not escape Ollie. Not wanting to dwell on the very many reasons why he preferred staying in a place that none of his mother’s male friends were likely to try and stay with him, he asked suddenly, “Do you and Janice have children?”
    Skint pouted. It was a distractingly adorable look on a grown man with stubble. “No.” He let his