behind the mahogany bar that five-year-old Luke helped him build by holding tools, he clears his throat. Rather less loudly he says "Have you been looking for your folk at all?"
"My..." Having gathered why Maurice is keeping his voice down, Luke says "I wouldn't know where to start."
"Maybe they'll come looking now we've been on the box."
"Why, do you want to find out who you might have had?"
Maurice all but fills a relatively diminutive glass with Chardonnay and takes tiny steps with it towards Luke. Once he has planted the glass on the table that squats protectively over its brood he says "I was thinking of you, Luke."
"I didn't mean you wanted them instead." As Maurice's lip droops to meet his whisky glass Luke says "Whoever I should have been, I can't help wondering what kind of life they've had."
"You're who you should have been and don't go thinking different."
Luke suspects that some of the fierceness is intended to prevent Maurice from reflecting on his real son's fate. Maurice takes a gulp of whisky and sits forward to mutter "No need to tell Freddy what we've been talking about, all right? If you ever turn anything up, let me know. I ought to be the one that tells her."
He seems both eager and reluctant to learn the truth, which leaves Luke still more uncertain which he is himself. "I won't," he says and is taking more than a sip from his glass when Freda reappears, having hung up her apron to reveal a black and silver dress that might have borrowed its colours from her hair. "Are there two hungry boys in here?" she cries. "Bring your drinks through."
Luke follows her into the dining-room, where a chandelier poises crystal icicles above the elongated oval table draped with lace, and Maurice tramps at his heels, scragging a bottle of wine in either hand. Freda serves salad and then a Bolognese somewhat suffocated by extra pasta. "Tasty," Maurice says as usual, and Luke declares "It is." Freda dabs her lips after a minuscule drink of wine and says "Are we taking you back, Luke?"
"I hope I've never really been away."
She laughs as if he has made a joke instead of failing to grasp her question. "I was just remembering all our family dinners together."
"So do I."
"Go on then," Maurice says. "Remember some."
"Your mother would pass round all the photos they'd taken that year every Christmas, and your father wouldn't let her pass the next one till he told us all the details. You said by the time they'd shown us Istanbul we could have walked through it ourselves."
"Well, I'd forgotten that. You don't miss much."
"Grandmother Laing used to hold her food up to the light with her fork till you told her not to set me an example, Freda. And Grandfather Laing tried to convince me she was a scientist instead of being fussy what she ate."
"He did." Freda wags her head as if she's shaking more of a reminiscent smile onto her face. "What else are you going to bring back to us?"
"Your Aunt Beatrice thought children never ought to eat nuts or they'd choke. She'd even go through all the chocolates at Christmas to make sure I didn't get one with a nut in. She always used to tell me I wasn't a squirrel."
"You aren't a squirrel, Luke." He can hear the hearty voice addressing him in the manner adults often use on children, as if they're sharing a joke with a larger audience. Perhaps he concluded that was how you were supposed to behave, entertaining everyone in the room. He's tempted to reproduce the voice, except this might be more like a seance than a reminiscence. Instead he says "And Uncle Don used to eat anything he dropped on his chair at dinner, and not just that day either."
"We had to see nobody else sat there, didn't we, Maurice? And we hid the chair when he wasn't here and got a new one after he left us."
"You only let him carry on like that because he made out he was deaf. She'd never let us get away with it, would she, Luke?" Maurice says and gazes at him. "But by God, you had a sharp eye even at that age.
"My..." Having gathered why Maurice is keeping his voice down, Luke says "I wouldn't know where to start."
"Maybe they'll come looking now we've been on the box."
"Why, do you want to find out who you might have had?"
Maurice all but fills a relatively diminutive glass with Chardonnay and takes tiny steps with it towards Luke. Once he has planted the glass on the table that squats protectively over its brood he says "I was thinking of you, Luke."
"I didn't mean you wanted them instead." As Maurice's lip droops to meet his whisky glass Luke says "Whoever I should have been, I can't help wondering what kind of life they've had."
"You're who you should have been and don't go thinking different."
Luke suspects that some of the fierceness is intended to prevent Maurice from reflecting on his real son's fate. Maurice takes a gulp of whisky and sits forward to mutter "No need to tell Freddy what we've been talking about, all right? If you ever turn anything up, let me know. I ought to be the one that tells her."
He seems both eager and reluctant to learn the truth, which leaves Luke still more uncertain which he is himself. "I won't," he says and is taking more than a sip from his glass when Freda reappears, having hung up her apron to reveal a black and silver dress that might have borrowed its colours from her hair. "Are there two hungry boys in here?" she cries. "Bring your drinks through."
Luke follows her into the dining-room, where a chandelier poises crystal icicles above the elongated oval table draped with lace, and Maurice tramps at his heels, scragging a bottle of wine in either hand. Freda serves salad and then a Bolognese somewhat suffocated by extra pasta. "Tasty," Maurice says as usual, and Luke declares "It is." Freda dabs her lips after a minuscule drink of wine and says "Are we taking you back, Luke?"
"I hope I've never really been away."
She laughs as if he has made a joke instead of failing to grasp her question. "I was just remembering all our family dinners together."
"So do I."
"Go on then," Maurice says. "Remember some."
"Your mother would pass round all the photos they'd taken that year every Christmas, and your father wouldn't let her pass the next one till he told us all the details. You said by the time they'd shown us Istanbul we could have walked through it ourselves."
"Well, I'd forgotten that. You don't miss much."
"Grandmother Laing used to hold her food up to the light with her fork till you told her not to set me an example, Freda. And Grandfather Laing tried to convince me she was a scientist instead of being fussy what she ate."
"He did." Freda wags her head as if she's shaking more of a reminiscent smile onto her face. "What else are you going to bring back to us?"
"Your Aunt Beatrice thought children never ought to eat nuts or they'd choke. She'd even go through all the chocolates at Christmas to make sure I didn't get one with a nut in. She always used to tell me I wasn't a squirrel."
"You aren't a squirrel, Luke." He can hear the hearty voice addressing him in the manner adults often use on children, as if they're sharing a joke with a larger audience. Perhaps he concluded that was how you were supposed to behave, entertaining everyone in the room. He's tempted to reproduce the voice, except this might be more like a seance than a reminiscence. Instead he says "And Uncle Don used to eat anything he dropped on his chair at dinner, and not just that day either."
"We had to see nobody else sat there, didn't we, Maurice? And we hid the chair when he wasn't here and got a new one after he left us."
"You only let him carry on like that because he made out he was deaf. She'd never let us get away with it, would she, Luke?" Maurice says and gazes at him. "But by God, you had a sharp eye even at that age.
Similar Books
