green … full-throated ease … something, something … quite forgot.’
I smiled softly. ‘You can just recite me poetry.’
‘But I can’t remember any of it – only fragments. Tell me some you know.’
‘I don’t know any. I think I did English Lit at some stage; I just never turned up to be sure.’
‘You must have read some books – what are your favourites?’
‘Telling Lies for God, Reason Versus Creationism. The Origin and The Origin of the Species.’
‘Really escapist stuff then.’
The wind swirled around us and we felt its chill at the same moment.
She came and sat in the chair next to me.
‘I feel like I want to sit on your knee,’ she said, ‘curl up and never get off.’
‘You can if you want.’
‘I do want to read to you, Shannon. It would be so nice to get lost in a book. And if you haven’t read many novels … there’s some I know you would love.’
‘Apart from the fact we’ve got none, what would you read by? We’d be waiting for full moons just so we could see the words.’
‘We could have an hour or something in the afternoons.’
‘You mean before Rohan gets back.’
She shrugged.
‘But isn’t the point that we’ve got nothing to read?’
‘There are books at the farmhouse.’
I nodded. ‘Oh … I see …’
‘No, don’t look at me like that. I mean it. And there are not just some, there are hundreds – it’s amazing. You wouldn’t believe it; it’s like a library. All the good authors, all the good books.’
‘And you’d pick up your clothes and things while you were there.’
‘Think of any novel you’ve wanted to read. It’ll be there.’
‘It’s not me, anyway. I understand why you’d want to get your things. It’s Rohan.’
‘But truly, it’s not just that. Don’t you see how good it would be? We could sit in the sun and forget for a while and go somewhere else, go home. I need it. And, Shannon, there are all the poets too – some that would just blow you away. Some that I know you’d relate to.’
‘It’s not me you’ve got to convince.’
‘He won’t let me go.’
‘You’ve asked him?’
‘No.’
‘Because I was going to say there’s no chance he’ll let you. On principle now – he’ll never let you. He’s pig-headed that way.’
She pulled back from me.
‘It’s because he’s so cautious,’ I said. ‘I think a lot of it is wrapped up with Dad. He carries the same guilt over being here without Mum and Dad as I do – but for him it’s … something to make right. If he survives, if he gets us through, then he gets back his peace. Atonement, or something. That really drives him. He’s so like Dad – there has to be a critical point to reach, a way that’ll make him a better person, but only to himself and in his own eyes. It’s so internal with them. Odd that they do believe in a god, cos from every angle it looks like they are their own gods. No-one to answer to but themselves.’
Denny reached for the guitar. She began to quietly strum.
‘You don’t talk about him much,’ I said. ‘Are you frightened of him?’
‘Are you?’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘Were you frightened of your father?’
‘No. I was … ready around him; prepared for lessons and to be proved wrong. Conversations, every little thing, had to be right . He hated stupidity. No, not stupidity – he hated complacency.’
‘And he thought you were complacent?’
‘He gave that impression.’
She tried a chord. ‘Is that right?’
‘Mmm, sort of.’
‘Show me.’
Once I had the guitar I couldn’t help but drift into a song. She brought her feet up and crossed them on my knee.
‘Lyrics are poetry,’ she said. ‘But once they’re put to music and you’ve heard it, they always need the music to make them sound right.’
I thought about what she said and played softly. She waited for a song she knew and softly sang.
And with her legs resting on mine, her voice in the wind around me, it felt as near as
I smiled softly. ‘You can just recite me poetry.’
‘But I can’t remember any of it – only fragments. Tell me some you know.’
‘I don’t know any. I think I did English Lit at some stage; I just never turned up to be sure.’
‘You must have read some books – what are your favourites?’
‘Telling Lies for God, Reason Versus Creationism. The Origin and The Origin of the Species.’
‘Really escapist stuff then.’
The wind swirled around us and we felt its chill at the same moment.
She came and sat in the chair next to me.
‘I feel like I want to sit on your knee,’ she said, ‘curl up and never get off.’
‘You can if you want.’
‘I do want to read to you, Shannon. It would be so nice to get lost in a book. And if you haven’t read many novels … there’s some I know you would love.’
‘Apart from the fact we’ve got none, what would you read by? We’d be waiting for full moons just so we could see the words.’
‘We could have an hour or something in the afternoons.’
‘You mean before Rohan gets back.’
She shrugged.
‘But isn’t the point that we’ve got nothing to read?’
‘There are books at the farmhouse.’
I nodded. ‘Oh … I see …’
‘No, don’t look at me like that. I mean it. And there are not just some, there are hundreds – it’s amazing. You wouldn’t believe it; it’s like a library. All the good authors, all the good books.’
‘And you’d pick up your clothes and things while you were there.’
‘Think of any novel you’ve wanted to read. It’ll be there.’
‘It’s not me, anyway. I understand why you’d want to get your things. It’s Rohan.’
‘But truly, it’s not just that. Don’t you see how good it would be? We could sit in the sun and forget for a while and go somewhere else, go home. I need it. And, Shannon, there are all the poets too – some that would just blow you away. Some that I know you’d relate to.’
‘It’s not me you’ve got to convince.’
‘He won’t let me go.’
‘You’ve asked him?’
‘No.’
‘Because I was going to say there’s no chance he’ll let you. On principle now – he’ll never let you. He’s pig-headed that way.’
She pulled back from me.
‘It’s because he’s so cautious,’ I said. ‘I think a lot of it is wrapped up with Dad. He carries the same guilt over being here without Mum and Dad as I do – but for him it’s … something to make right. If he survives, if he gets us through, then he gets back his peace. Atonement, or something. That really drives him. He’s so like Dad – there has to be a critical point to reach, a way that’ll make him a better person, but only to himself and in his own eyes. It’s so internal with them. Odd that they do believe in a god, cos from every angle it looks like they are their own gods. No-one to answer to but themselves.’
Denny reached for the guitar. She began to quietly strum.
‘You don’t talk about him much,’ I said. ‘Are you frightened of him?’
‘Are you?’
‘He’s my brother.’
‘Were you frightened of your father?’
‘No. I was … ready around him; prepared for lessons and to be proved wrong. Conversations, every little thing, had to be right . He hated stupidity. No, not stupidity – he hated complacency.’
‘And he thought you were complacent?’
‘He gave that impression.’
She tried a chord. ‘Is that right?’
‘Mmm, sort of.’
‘Show me.’
Once I had the guitar I couldn’t help but drift into a song. She brought her feet up and crossed them on my knee.
‘Lyrics are poetry,’ she said. ‘But once they’re put to music and you’ve heard it, they always need the music to make them sound right.’
I thought about what she said and played softly. She waited for a song she knew and softly sang.
And with her legs resting on mine, her voice in the wind around me, it felt as near as
Similar Books
