home with them.
So she didn’t touch me, just crouched down by my chair. ‘Can you show me, Evie darling? Do you mind?’ she asked.
And so I was the one who lifted my shirt and showed her. ‘Here. It moves here,’ I said. ‘Feel,’ I said, making the invitation to touch.
Five minutes later, the GP was on his way out for a home visit. Just like that. And then I knew that I could tell Amy things, little things, and she would understand: she would know all the things I couldn’t say.
And she did.
And, really, that’s my favourite thing about Amy: she understands without my having to say any of those things that can’t be said without pain welling up as dull and dirty and deep as a freshly re-broken bone.
Some things should never be said. Not out loud in clear, simple words. You talk around them. You leave gaps and blanks. You use other words and talk in curves and arcs for the worst things because you need to keep them like mist. Words are dangerous. Like a spell, if you name the mist, call out all of the words that describe it sharp and clear, you turn it solid, into something that no one should ever hold in their hands. Better that it stays like water, slipping between your fingers.
‘Ben, do you really have to persist with this horrible idea of making the dragon into a necklace?’ Amy is saying. ‘I know you and Evie think it’ll be rather a good joke, but other people might think it’s morbid.’
‘Ninnies like you might think it’s morbid,’ Uncle Ben retorts. ‘Other people, even if they don’t get the joke, will just look at the beautiful carving your talented daughter has accomplished – with the help of yours truly, of course – and think it’s a work of art.’
‘A rather unusual work of art,’ Paul concedes, as Amy looks beseechingly at him.
A waiter comes up then, so of course Amy, Paul and Uncle Ben launch into an argument about who will be paying . . . until it turns out that Uncle Ben left his credit card at the front desk when we came in. I’m busy weighing the fortune cookies that came on the little tray with the bill, trying to sense which one feels luckiest.
‘Got a good feeling, that one?’ Paul asks, turning away from the waiter and leaving Amy to carry on the argument with Uncle Ben. They’ll probably be at it all the way out to the car.
I grin and shove the rest of the little foil-wrapped parcels in his direction, ripping into mine and crunching the cookie open.
‘O, Highest Oracle! Great Oracle! Tell us, O Mightiest of Mighty Oracles, what hath the future in store!’ Uncle Ben cries.
‘“Dreams are the fire that warms the soul. Let them guide you,”’ I read.
Uncle Ben nods sagely. ‘Works for me. Here, Great Oracle! Reveal to me my fortune.’
I grin and tear open his cookie. ‘“When opportunity presents, seize it.”’
Amy groans. ‘As if my brother needed any encouragement.’ But she smiles as she passes her cookie to me.
‘“A friend is a present you give yourself,”’ I read.
‘Oh, I like that,’ Amy says, looking relieved. But then Amy is always doing things like not walking under ladders and, whenever we see a single magpie, it’s always ‘Hello, sir, and how is your lady?’ It always makes me laugh: sometimes I wonder if that’s the real reason she says it.
Paul puts his arm over my shoulders, bending his head close to mine as we contemplate his fortune. ‘“You are almost there,”’ I read.
‘Oh, good,’ Paul says. ‘Saves me the humiliation of having to ask directions.’
‘Hey ho, we’ve got a spare. Think that has to go as payment to the oracle,’ Uncle Ben says, tossing the last cookie across the table to me.
‘Well, that’s one way to save her the effort of breaking it open,’ Paul says as I tear into the foil package and the cookie crumbles out in pieces. ‘What’s the final word?’
‘“Determination is all you need now.”’
Paul stiffens beside me, but it is Uncle Ben who gives a heavy sigh
So she didn’t touch me, just crouched down by my chair. ‘Can you show me, Evie darling? Do you mind?’ she asked.
And so I was the one who lifted my shirt and showed her. ‘Here. It moves here,’ I said. ‘Feel,’ I said, making the invitation to touch.
Five minutes later, the GP was on his way out for a home visit. Just like that. And then I knew that I could tell Amy things, little things, and she would understand: she would know all the things I couldn’t say.
And she did.
And, really, that’s my favourite thing about Amy: she understands without my having to say any of those things that can’t be said without pain welling up as dull and dirty and deep as a freshly re-broken bone.
Some things should never be said. Not out loud in clear, simple words. You talk around them. You leave gaps and blanks. You use other words and talk in curves and arcs for the worst things because you need to keep them like mist. Words are dangerous. Like a spell, if you name the mist, call out all of the words that describe it sharp and clear, you turn it solid, into something that no one should ever hold in their hands. Better that it stays like water, slipping between your fingers.
‘Ben, do you really have to persist with this horrible idea of making the dragon into a necklace?’ Amy is saying. ‘I know you and Evie think it’ll be rather a good joke, but other people might think it’s morbid.’
‘Ninnies like you might think it’s morbid,’ Uncle Ben retorts. ‘Other people, even if they don’t get the joke, will just look at the beautiful carving your talented daughter has accomplished – with the help of yours truly, of course – and think it’s a work of art.’
‘A rather unusual work of art,’ Paul concedes, as Amy looks beseechingly at him.
A waiter comes up then, so of course Amy, Paul and Uncle Ben launch into an argument about who will be paying . . . until it turns out that Uncle Ben left his credit card at the front desk when we came in. I’m busy weighing the fortune cookies that came on the little tray with the bill, trying to sense which one feels luckiest.
‘Got a good feeling, that one?’ Paul asks, turning away from the waiter and leaving Amy to carry on the argument with Uncle Ben. They’ll probably be at it all the way out to the car.
I grin and shove the rest of the little foil-wrapped parcels in his direction, ripping into mine and crunching the cookie open.
‘O, Highest Oracle! Great Oracle! Tell us, O Mightiest of Mighty Oracles, what hath the future in store!’ Uncle Ben cries.
‘“Dreams are the fire that warms the soul. Let them guide you,”’ I read.
Uncle Ben nods sagely. ‘Works for me. Here, Great Oracle! Reveal to me my fortune.’
I grin and tear open his cookie. ‘“When opportunity presents, seize it.”’
Amy groans. ‘As if my brother needed any encouragement.’ But she smiles as she passes her cookie to me.
‘“A friend is a present you give yourself,”’ I read.
‘Oh, I like that,’ Amy says, looking relieved. But then Amy is always doing things like not walking under ladders and, whenever we see a single magpie, it’s always ‘Hello, sir, and how is your lady?’ It always makes me laugh: sometimes I wonder if that’s the real reason she says it.
Paul puts his arm over my shoulders, bending his head close to mine as we contemplate his fortune. ‘“You are almost there,”’ I read.
‘Oh, good,’ Paul says. ‘Saves me the humiliation of having to ask directions.’
‘Hey ho, we’ve got a spare. Think that has to go as payment to the oracle,’ Uncle Ben says, tossing the last cookie across the table to me.
‘Well, that’s one way to save her the effort of breaking it open,’ Paul says as I tear into the foil package and the cookie crumbles out in pieces. ‘What’s the final word?’
‘“Determination is all you need now.”’
Paul stiffens beside me, but it is Uncle Ben who gives a heavy sigh
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