to be with his brother, not to catch fish. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he
ventured.
‘Doesn’t matter!’ echoed Keir
scornfully. ‘If catching a fish doesn’t matter, then what’s the point of
fishing?’ Keir allowed himself a smile of quiet satisfaction; he was rather
pleased with that remark, flattering himself that he had made an excellent
point.
It seemed to Arthur that fish
looked very happy in the river. So why not leave them there? That was his
opinion, at least, but one he kept to himself when Keir was around. On the
other hand, he was quite content to trot along with his older brother and be
part of what he was doing. Despite everything, Arthur loved his brother, which
was something else best kept to himself; Arthur had learned from experience
that Keir was very touchy about anything to do with feelings. Once, when Arthur
was much smaller, he had tried to kiss Keir on the cheek, and Keir had screwed
up his face and jeered at him for being a sissy. Arthur had never forgotten
that, but nevertheless nothing could alter the fact that for Arthur, Keir was
the wisest, the most grown up, and altogether the best older brother any boy
could have.
‘Keir?’ he whispered.
A sigh of exasperation.
‘What!’
A nod up at the sky. ‘Do you think they are
watching us?’ Keir looked blank. ‘Do I think who is watching us?’
‘The aliens,’ said Arthur.
Keir was thoroughly
exasperated. His concentration had been disturbed yet again, and his brother
was talking rubbish. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no such
thing as aliens.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Grow up.’ Keir reeled in a
fish. ‘Even if there were any,’ he added disdainfully, ‘why would they waste
time watching you?’
‘I expect you’re right,’ said Arthur.
‘Of course I’m right. They’d
have better things to do.’ ‘Like what?’
Keir groaned with frustration.
That was another irritating thing about Arthur, he was forever asking
questions. Ending a conversation with him was like trying to wipe honey off
your fingers. ‘Like . . . well, you know . . . invading another planet or
something.’
Arthur sat up sharply, eyes
bright with excitement. ‘You think they might invade earth?’
‘Don’t be bloody daft!’ ‘Why
not?’
‘Because . . . ’ Keir
floundered for the definitive response, the one that would wipe the sticky mess
off his fingers for good. ‘Because, stupid . . . because they are so many light
years away from us that by the time they arrived, we wouldn’t be here any
more .’
Arthur lay back, closing one
eye and then the other, observing his big toe move first to the left, then to
the right. Why did it seem to move, when actually it hadn’t moved at all? Or
had it? How could you be sure? It was quite hard to be sure about anything. He
was not even sure he understood what Keir meant, though it seemed like the
wisest thing he had ever heard. He regarded his brother with a mixture of awe
and astonishment. It was amazing; Keir was only eight years old, and already he
knew everything.
‘And don’t ask any more silly questions,’ said
Keir, terminating the discussion. He tried hard to focus again on his rod and
line but irritating thoughts crept in to his head disturbing his concentration.
One of the most annoying things about Arthur was the way fish gathered by the
riverbank the moment he appeared. That never happened to Keir. There they were
now, dozens of them, jostling and leaping a few inches from Arthur’s bare feet.
And what was he doing? Taking advantage of his good fortune? No. He could have
bent down and scooped a handful into his basket. Instead, he was wriggling his
toes, gazing at the sky and talking to himself. Once he even saw Arthur reach
into the water, pick up a fish and stroke it. What’s more, he spoke to it! He
actually spoke to a fish as if it were a friend of his! The fish didn’t even
wriggle. He could easily have tossed it in the basket, but no, not Arthur. What
did he
ventured.
‘Doesn’t matter!’ echoed Keir
scornfully. ‘If catching a fish doesn’t matter, then what’s the point of
fishing?’ Keir allowed himself a smile of quiet satisfaction; he was rather
pleased with that remark, flattering himself that he had made an excellent
point.
It seemed to Arthur that fish
looked very happy in the river. So why not leave them there? That was his
opinion, at least, but one he kept to himself when Keir was around. On the
other hand, he was quite content to trot along with his older brother and be
part of what he was doing. Despite everything, Arthur loved his brother, which
was something else best kept to himself; Arthur had learned from experience
that Keir was very touchy about anything to do with feelings. Once, when Arthur
was much smaller, he had tried to kiss Keir on the cheek, and Keir had screwed
up his face and jeered at him for being a sissy. Arthur had never forgotten
that, but nevertheless nothing could alter the fact that for Arthur, Keir was
the wisest, the most grown up, and altogether the best older brother any boy
could have.
‘Keir?’ he whispered.
A sigh of exasperation.
‘What!’
A nod up at the sky. ‘Do you think they are
watching us?’ Keir looked blank. ‘Do I think who is watching us?’
‘The aliens,’ said Arthur.
Keir was thoroughly
exasperated. His concentration had been disturbed yet again, and his brother
was talking rubbish. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? There’s no such
thing as aliens.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Grow up.’ Keir reeled in a
fish. ‘Even if there were any,’ he added disdainfully, ‘why would they waste
time watching you?’
‘I expect you’re right,’ said Arthur.
‘Of course I’m right. They’d
have better things to do.’ ‘Like what?’
Keir groaned with frustration.
That was another irritating thing about Arthur, he was forever asking
questions. Ending a conversation with him was like trying to wipe honey off
your fingers. ‘Like . . . well, you know . . . invading another planet or
something.’
Arthur sat up sharply, eyes
bright with excitement. ‘You think they might invade earth?’
‘Don’t be bloody daft!’ ‘Why
not?’
‘Because . . . ’ Keir
floundered for the definitive response, the one that would wipe the sticky mess
off his fingers for good. ‘Because, stupid . . . because they are so many light
years away from us that by the time they arrived, we wouldn’t be here any
more .’
Arthur lay back, closing one
eye and then the other, observing his big toe move first to the left, then to
the right. Why did it seem to move, when actually it hadn’t moved at all? Or
had it? How could you be sure? It was quite hard to be sure about anything. He
was not even sure he understood what Keir meant, though it seemed like the
wisest thing he had ever heard. He regarded his brother with a mixture of awe
and astonishment. It was amazing; Keir was only eight years old, and already he
knew everything.
‘And don’t ask any more silly questions,’ said
Keir, terminating the discussion. He tried hard to focus again on his rod and
line but irritating thoughts crept in to his head disturbing his concentration.
One of the most annoying things about Arthur was the way fish gathered by the
riverbank the moment he appeared. That never happened to Keir. There they were
now, dozens of them, jostling and leaping a few inches from Arthur’s bare feet.
And what was he doing? Taking advantage of his good fortune? No. He could have
bent down and scooped a handful into his basket. Instead, he was wriggling his
toes, gazing at the sky and talking to himself. Once he even saw Arthur reach
into the water, pick up a fish and stroke it. What’s more, he spoke to it! He
actually spoke to a fish as if it were a friend of his! The fish didn’t even
wriggle. He could easily have tossed it in the basket, but no, not Arthur. What
did he
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