After Brock by Paul Binding

Pringle, clearly doing his utmost, given his very apparent agitation, to sound like a normal man talking to a normal lad.
    â€˜A working holiday,’ I corrected, ‘my dad’s not too bad, though he does keep me pretty busy. Specially if I can save him doing stuff he doesn’t like.’
    Tiny bit unfair perhaps, and here Josh piped up from where he was standing behind me (wrong phrase – Josh has got a deep gravelly voice which some people say I’ve tried to copy): ‘Nat’s dad is a great guy, Dr Pringle. And I should know, because I’ve stayed with him. And worked for him too. He treats you like a mate, never lets stupid little upsets get the better of him. And he’s interested in loads and loads of different subjects, always ready for something new to come his way.’ Great of Josh to butt in with this nice portrait of Dad, though it’s not the picture of him I would make. ‘I’d leap at another chance,’ went on Josh, ‘of going up to Shropshire, and helping Pete in High Flyers.’
    I was on the point of saying maybe then he shouldn’t go off to Italy next week as planned but join me in Lydcastle instead. But before I could speak, I became aware that Dr Pringle was having what my mum’s mum used to call ‘a funny turn’. His face had turned so white it was now virtually green, with sweat breaking out of it. So strangely overcome did he look that Rollo shoved one of the basket chairs over to him so he could sit down. And he needed to. He seated himself cautiously, almost gingerly, as though afraid he might collapse.
    Then, ‘ What was that you just said?’ he gasped, sounding more distressed even than over my name, ‘ HIGH FLYERS? No, it’s not possible.’ He closed his eyes, as if he preferred blankness to seeing the people he was with. ‘Whatever could that be? A travelling quiz show, I suppose.’
    Josh stepped in, almost as if avenging an insult. ‘ Quiz show? ’ he echoed. He obviously didn’t mind being disrespectful to somebody of high reputation whom it was an honour for his sister to be taught by, ‘ High Flyers is one of the leading kite shops in the whole of the UK.’
    â€˜â€¦You must forgive me! It must have been what our forebears called “a touch of the sun”,’ said Dr Pringle.
    Then he heaved himself up, a little shakily, from the basket chair, and valiantly tried to give us all a friendly smile. ‘Here you go, Nat!’ he said, and he took from his trouser pocket a wallet, from which he extracted one of the cards he’d spoken of. He kind of lurched forward, like somebody still not feeling himself, and handed it to me.
    While the others made clumsy conversation to see him out and say goodbye-till-next-time in as ordinary a way as they could, I glanced at what I’d been given:
    Â Â Â 
    Dr JULIAN PRINGLE
    B. Mus D. Mus. (Royal Academy of Music)
    M.A. Kodály Music Pedagogy (Kodály Institute) 
    [email protected]
    Â Â Â 
    The address below was in Walworth Road. He lived within easy reach of my own home, a convenience I knew I would act on.
    â€˜Well, whatever was all that about?’ said Josh, ‘it was weird!’
    â€˜Just a bit.’
    â€˜Personal stuff, huh?’
    My impression too, though I wouldn’t admit this. ‘Don’t see how!’
    â€˜Skeletons in the old cupboard?’
    â€˜Not in mine!’ I said.
    â€˜Well, these last ten minutes have been pretty fucking bizarre,’ said Josh, ‘so, Nat, why don’t we go out into the garden, and, mate, you can test me on some of my martial arts postures.’

    Though this was handy for him, I could tell he was asking to distract me. (But from what?) That’s what I like about Josh; he understands my moods, my states of mind, without prying too closely.
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    Mum was engrossed in making an Indian meal for my