Read Online The Blinding Light by Renae Kaye - Free Book Online Page B

or the arse-end of an ugly house.”
    He shook his head. “Now you’re wrong, Jake. Across from my house is a large park. It’s filled with trees and during the daylight hours there are birds in the trees that make a wonderful sound. At the moment I can hear the caw of a crow and the faint call of a baby magpie asking for food. There are honeyeaters and nectar birds feeding from a tree that’s in bloom over to the left. To the right there are swings and most days after school I can hear the shouts and screams of children playing. Across the back of the park is a basketball hoop and behind the swings there are at least two gaslit barbeques that people frequently use during the summer months. There are no flowers, but there’s a huge variety of trees that flower and bring bees and birds to the park at different times of the year. And once a fortnight, the Council sends a lawn-mowing team to cut the grass, which makes a lovely smell.
    “Today there’s a group of women in the park, at least four. I can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but they’re young, not old. Can you tell me what they’re doing? There’s a sound I can’t quite identify.”
    I was reasonably sure my mouth was hanging open in amazement. “You can tell all of that?”
    “Sure. I’m blind but there’s nothing wrong with my other senses. So what are the women doing?”
    I looked across the park. “There are six women. It’s some sort of mothers group or something. They all have prams. They’ve spread a couple of blankets out on the grass and their babies are rolling around while they chat.”
    “Ahh. Of course. I can hear the sound of babies’ toys. There’s a rattle and tinkle of a bell.” He sat back and breathed in the fresh air. “Tell me about your father, Jake. You mentioned your mother and sisters, but nothing about your dad.”
    I was a bit startled by the sudden change in subject, but he had commanded my presence and my conversation, hadn’t he? I was happy enough to go along. “Which one?”
    “Which one what?”
    I took a sip of coffee and feasted my eyes on his profile. “Which dad do you want to know about? The loser who was responsible for my conception, or the loser who raised me for four years and then left?”
    His eyebrows went up and I noticed absentmindedly that his brows were a shade of light brown whereas his hair was blonder. He was really rather majestic looking, as if he were a prince in some foreign country. He should’ve been a model. “Both.”
    I wondered where I should start. Didn’t some chick once dance on the mountain and sing about starting at the very beginning? “My real dad’s name is Troy. He and Mum were dating in high school. He didn’t stick around after Mum told him she was pregnant. They were both in year 12.”
    “Wow. How old was your mum when you were born, then?”
    “Mum was eighteen. By a fluke, my dad was still seventeen. His birthday is two days after mine. He lives in Sydney now. He rings me on my birthday and I ring him at Christmas. That’s about all the contact we have. I don’t think badly of him. He wasn’t in any position to be a father. It was probably better that he didn’t come in and out of my life all the time.”
    “Still, it’s sad,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “I never knew my biological father. Sometimes I wish we could at least meet so I can ask him if I look like him, and whether there are any genetic diseases in my family and all that. But I loved Max with all my heart. He was my true father. So what happened to you after that? You said another man raised you?”
    “So when I was a couple of months old, Mum let Alex move in with her.”
    “Alex?”
    “Yeah. I call him ‘Dad’ most of the time, but he isn’t really my father. For a while they did really good together. Alex was working and things looked good. Then they decided to have a baby. Eleanor—or Ellie as we call her. I was two when she was born. Things were good. I remember it.” I