She got to her feet and threw her cigarette stub into the long grass. I need to make a phone call .
Don’t walk over a precipice .
Was he being, like, metaphorical, or was there actually a precipice?
He watched her stumble up the hill. Town shoes. He imagined getting points for the way he’d handled the conversation. Six out of ten? He’d definitely got the better of her. Seven? The sheep bleated again. He felt a little nauseous. The cigarette, probably.
Benjy was doing a kind of boneless gymnastics on the leather armchair at the side of the shop.
Look at this encyclopedia . Daisy heaved him aside and sat down. It’s from 1938 .
His eyes were fixed on the Nintendo.
Back before computers, when they thought there might be people on Mars .
He didn’t look up. I want to find the Encyclopedia of Torturing Barbie .
She turned the page. And what is this thing , she read, which the savage coaxes into being by rubbing one stick against another, and the civilized man conjures in a moment by striking a match? His breath wasn’t good. Had anyone made him brush his teeth this morning?
Louisa appeared suddenly. Benjy … Daisy … She had peeled herself away from Richard and set off in search of a sunny book-free location,but there was something cozy about the two of them in the chair. What have you got there?
Pictorial Knowledge, Volume 5 . Daisy handed it to her.
Woven brick-red cover, the title indented and beneath it an oil lamp radiating beams of wisdom. She glanced at the contents page. “How Steam and Petrol Work for Man.” “A Children’s Guide to Good Manners.” “Folding Model.” She was suddenly back in her grandparents’ house, chicken-wire window in the larder, walnut whips and buttered white bread with fish and chips, the stilts Granddad made her from an old doorframe.
Daisy shifted a little to get more comfortable. Louisa had sat herself on the arm of the chair, Daisy sandwiched between her and Benjy. Louisa’s leg was very close. Red cords tight around her thighs. The smell of cocoa butter.
Louisa turned a page. Arch, suspension, cantilever, girder. How strange that she should be reminded of them here, of all places, when they didn’t have a single book in the house. The fear of getting above yourself. She closed the book and ran her hand gently down the spine. You thought it was all gone, the house demolished, the furniture sold, photos eaten away by mildew and damp. Then you opened a tin of sardines with that little metal key.
He sat on the steps of the town clock, the bag from Richard Booth angled against his calf ( Stalingrad by Antony Beevor, The Odyssey translated by John Hannah, Fighting Fit: The Complete SAS Fitness Training Handbook ). There was a trailer containing two sheep, and three local teenagers standing round a scooter, smoking. The Sharne case was nagging at him again. Breathe in, two, three … Breathe out, two, three … One of the boys revved the scooter and his concentration broke. How restless the mind was. He should run, like Alex, clear it with activity instead of willpower. Breathe in … He noticed an attractive woman going into The Granary and heard that tiny sexual alarm sounding in his head. Oh, but it was Louisa. Then she was gone.How disorienting to see her as other men saw her. He remembered meeting her ex-husband that first time, when Craig came round to fit a new pump in the boiler. Absurdly hairy, as if he was wearing a black mohair vest under his T-shirt. Louisa tells me you’re a doctor . A muscular handshake that went on for just a little too long.
Consultant. Neuroradiology .
Eventually he came to understand that it was a kind of Kryptonite, the degrees, the books, the music, though he remembered Louisa shaking her head and laughing and saying, He wanted it all the time , and he was never quite able to shake that picture.
There wasn’t a precipice, just a huge hill from which you could see Russia probably. An old couple walked past dressed
Don’t walk over a precipice .
Was he being, like, metaphorical, or was there actually a precipice?
He watched her stumble up the hill. Town shoes. He imagined getting points for the way he’d handled the conversation. Six out of ten? He’d definitely got the better of her. Seven? The sheep bleated again. He felt a little nauseous. The cigarette, probably.
Benjy was doing a kind of boneless gymnastics on the leather armchair at the side of the shop.
Look at this encyclopedia . Daisy heaved him aside and sat down. It’s from 1938 .
His eyes were fixed on the Nintendo.
Back before computers, when they thought there might be people on Mars .
He didn’t look up. I want to find the Encyclopedia of Torturing Barbie .
She turned the page. And what is this thing , she read, which the savage coaxes into being by rubbing one stick against another, and the civilized man conjures in a moment by striking a match? His breath wasn’t good. Had anyone made him brush his teeth this morning?
Louisa appeared suddenly. Benjy … Daisy … She had peeled herself away from Richard and set off in search of a sunny book-free location,but there was something cozy about the two of them in the chair. What have you got there?
Pictorial Knowledge, Volume 5 . Daisy handed it to her.
Woven brick-red cover, the title indented and beneath it an oil lamp radiating beams of wisdom. She glanced at the contents page. “How Steam and Petrol Work for Man.” “A Children’s Guide to Good Manners.” “Folding Model.” She was suddenly back in her grandparents’ house, chicken-wire window in the larder, walnut whips and buttered white bread with fish and chips, the stilts Granddad made her from an old doorframe.
Daisy shifted a little to get more comfortable. Louisa had sat herself on the arm of the chair, Daisy sandwiched between her and Benjy. Louisa’s leg was very close. Red cords tight around her thighs. The smell of cocoa butter.
Louisa turned a page. Arch, suspension, cantilever, girder. How strange that she should be reminded of them here, of all places, when they didn’t have a single book in the house. The fear of getting above yourself. She closed the book and ran her hand gently down the spine. You thought it was all gone, the house demolished, the furniture sold, photos eaten away by mildew and damp. Then you opened a tin of sardines with that little metal key.
He sat on the steps of the town clock, the bag from Richard Booth angled against his calf ( Stalingrad by Antony Beevor, The Odyssey translated by John Hannah, Fighting Fit: The Complete SAS Fitness Training Handbook ). There was a trailer containing two sheep, and three local teenagers standing round a scooter, smoking. The Sharne case was nagging at him again. Breathe in, two, three … Breathe out, two, three … One of the boys revved the scooter and his concentration broke. How restless the mind was. He should run, like Alex, clear it with activity instead of willpower. Breathe in … He noticed an attractive woman going into The Granary and heard that tiny sexual alarm sounding in his head. Oh, but it was Louisa. Then she was gone.How disorienting to see her as other men saw her. He remembered meeting her ex-husband that first time, when Craig came round to fit a new pump in the boiler. Absurdly hairy, as if he was wearing a black mohair vest under his T-shirt. Louisa tells me you’re a doctor . A muscular handshake that went on for just a little too long.
Consultant. Neuroradiology .
Eventually he came to understand that it was a kind of Kryptonite, the degrees, the books, the music, though he remembered Louisa shaking her head and laughing and saying, He wanted it all the time , and he was never quite able to shake that picture.
There wasn’t a precipice, just a huge hill from which you could see Russia probably. An old couple walked past dressed
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