Lawrence. The colours, they all look the same to him. He’s colour-blind. What did you say to him? The green one, the grey one? Is that when he got so angry?’
‘Now you mention it, yes. That was when he lost his cool and yelled at me and smashed the plane.’
I shrugged at her and swilled some more gin. It was so strong that it caught the back of my throat and made my eyes water. A real Borneo stengah , the kind I’d drink on the balcony of my house with a saucer of olives... and my binoculars ready for the crocodiles which eased their bulk out of the undergrowth and into the river as the light was failing.
‘He over-reacted a bit, don’t you think? I mean, quite a lot of people are colour-blind, red and green and brown, that’s the commonest kind. I had an uncle, I remember my Dad telling me about him, he found out he was colour-blind during the war because he wanted to join the RAF or something and it meant he wouldn’t be able to...’
I stopped myself just in time. I made a pretence of spluttering on my gin. Juliet was suddenly very composed again, as though the alcohol had pickled her by now and she was preserved in pristine condition.
She levelled her eyes at me. ‘Think about it, Christopher. Yes, that’s why he gets angry. They told him at school he’s colour-blind. Usually it’s a trivial thing, it’s just one of those things, it’s nothing but a curiosity. But think about it. For a boy who idolises his father, who idolised his father, and who wanted more than anything else in the world to be like him, to be a...’
She paused, lifted her glass to her lips. But then she sniffed at the intense perfume and set it down. ‘Too strong for me.’ She made a smile with her lips, but it slipped off almost straightaway. ‘But now you know why I keep him at home, out of school.’
I frowned at her. ‘Because he’s colour-blind? Alright, so he gets angry, I understand all that. But is there anything more you want to tell me?’ I tried to lighten the mood again, because I’d seen her eyes welling with tears. ‘Hey, do you want another drink? I can make one of your nice lemonade versions, if you like?’
She started to stand up. Me too. It took us two or three attempts, because the sofa and all its cushions were as difficult to escape as the pitcher-plants I had in my faraway garden. At last we wobbled together, giggling a bit, and for a few moments she took hold of my arms to steady herself. Then she looked up at me and sniffed and said, ‘There’s a bit more to tell you, Christopher, yes. You’ll get the story from me or from Lawrence. But not now. Right now I need to go to bed and sleep off your great big, hefty big, swirly big gin and tonics...’
I closed the French window. She turned off the lights. I followed her to the foot of the stairs, waited, and she went up ahead of me. She turned at the top, on the first landing, where it was so dark I could hardly see her. Her disembodied voice floated down to me.
‘Don’t go away, Christopher,’ she said softly. I heard her take a long breath, and then it all came out in one breathless release of words. ‘I know you’re concerned about your father and you’re thinking about slipping away and leaving us to our own devices... me and Lawrence, we were in the tower this morning, I came up with more coffee for you and he said you’d gone out and we saw the smoke in the trees and guessed what you were doing... we thought you were going, going for good without even saying anything to us...’
She stopped. No more breath. There was a long empty silence. I couldn’t see her at all. I thought she might have vanished into her bedroom. But then her voice came again, even more quietly, no more than a whisper in the benighted house.
‘Don’t go away just yet. We both need you. We all need you.’
I WAS DREAMING of fireflies.
Sometimes, faraway in the place I called home, I might fall asleep on my balcony. Only nine o’clock, I might have
‘Now you mention it, yes. That was when he lost his cool and yelled at me and smashed the plane.’
I shrugged at her and swilled some more gin. It was so strong that it caught the back of my throat and made my eyes water. A real Borneo stengah , the kind I’d drink on the balcony of my house with a saucer of olives... and my binoculars ready for the crocodiles which eased their bulk out of the undergrowth and into the river as the light was failing.
‘He over-reacted a bit, don’t you think? I mean, quite a lot of people are colour-blind, red and green and brown, that’s the commonest kind. I had an uncle, I remember my Dad telling me about him, he found out he was colour-blind during the war because he wanted to join the RAF or something and it meant he wouldn’t be able to...’
I stopped myself just in time. I made a pretence of spluttering on my gin. Juliet was suddenly very composed again, as though the alcohol had pickled her by now and she was preserved in pristine condition.
She levelled her eyes at me. ‘Think about it, Christopher. Yes, that’s why he gets angry. They told him at school he’s colour-blind. Usually it’s a trivial thing, it’s just one of those things, it’s nothing but a curiosity. But think about it. For a boy who idolises his father, who idolised his father, and who wanted more than anything else in the world to be like him, to be a...’
She paused, lifted her glass to her lips. But then she sniffed at the intense perfume and set it down. ‘Too strong for me.’ She made a smile with her lips, but it slipped off almost straightaway. ‘But now you know why I keep him at home, out of school.’
I frowned at her. ‘Because he’s colour-blind? Alright, so he gets angry, I understand all that. But is there anything more you want to tell me?’ I tried to lighten the mood again, because I’d seen her eyes welling with tears. ‘Hey, do you want another drink? I can make one of your nice lemonade versions, if you like?’
She started to stand up. Me too. It took us two or three attempts, because the sofa and all its cushions were as difficult to escape as the pitcher-plants I had in my faraway garden. At last we wobbled together, giggling a bit, and for a few moments she took hold of my arms to steady herself. Then she looked up at me and sniffed and said, ‘There’s a bit more to tell you, Christopher, yes. You’ll get the story from me or from Lawrence. But not now. Right now I need to go to bed and sleep off your great big, hefty big, swirly big gin and tonics...’
I closed the French window. She turned off the lights. I followed her to the foot of the stairs, waited, and she went up ahead of me. She turned at the top, on the first landing, where it was so dark I could hardly see her. Her disembodied voice floated down to me.
‘Don’t go away, Christopher,’ she said softly. I heard her take a long breath, and then it all came out in one breathless release of words. ‘I know you’re concerned about your father and you’re thinking about slipping away and leaving us to our own devices... me and Lawrence, we were in the tower this morning, I came up with more coffee for you and he said you’d gone out and we saw the smoke in the trees and guessed what you were doing... we thought you were going, going for good without even saying anything to us...’
She stopped. No more breath. There was a long empty silence. I couldn’t see her at all. I thought she might have vanished into her bedroom. But then her voice came again, even more quietly, no more than a whisper in the benighted house.
‘Don’t go away just yet. We both need you. We all need you.’
I WAS DREAMING of fireflies.
Sometimes, faraway in the place I called home, I might fall asleep on my balcony. Only nine o’clock, I might have
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