Red Shift. Alan Garner

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СКАЧАТЬ next week.”

      “I’m bothered, all right.”

      Tom’s father was finishing the meal, but his mother had taken her tea through to the lounge.

      “Better?”

      “Thanks. It sometimes gets me.”

      “You should’ve said. Can I make you anything?”

      “A piece of bread will do fine.”

      “Moselle?”

      “I’d rather not. Sorry. It was a lovely meal.”

      “Moselle’s good for an upset stomach.”

      “No, thanks.”

      “Your colour’s back.”

      “I’ll finish your wine,” said Tom.

      “Show it a little respect,” said his father. “It’s not lemonade.”

      “To the glorious dead German grape.” Tom raised his glass.

      “Cider’s the worst,” said his father.

      Tom and Jan cleared the table.

      “You feel it in your bones next day. Soon as you drink anything – tea, milk, water – you’re as stoned as when you began. Wicked.”

      “Courting time,” said Jan. “All ancients into the lounge.”

      “Ay, well,” said Tom’s father. “Think on.” He closed the kitchen door after him.

      Tom poured the last of the wine. He hid his face in Jan’s hair. She stepped away.

      “What’s wrong now?”

      “I don’t like the smell of drink,” she said.

      “Have some, then you won’t notice.” She shook her head. “Your loss.” He emptied the glass.

      “Let’s wash up.” Jan pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and ran hot water into the sink. Tom picked up a towel.

      “There’s something bothering your father. He wasn’t himself.”

      “Wasn’t he? Look, I’ve worked it all out. On your pay, and what I can scrounge, we should just about be able to meet, say, every month. Crewe.”

      “Why not come here? It’s not that much further.”

      “Crewe’s quicker, and we shan’t waste time we could spend together. No privacy here. We couldn’t talk. If you make it Saturdays, the shops’ll be open, and it’ll be warm.”

      “I’ve never felt romantic in Crewe.”

      “You will. It’ll be the most fabulous town on earth.”

      Jan gave him a plate to dry. “Fantastic,” she said.

      The kitchen door opened, and Tom’s father appeared.

      “Er.”

      “Yes?” said Tom

      “My glasses.”

      “By the telly?” said Jan.

      “Oh. Feeling better?”

      “Right as rain.”

      “Good.” He went out.

      “There’s definitely something wrong,” said Jan. “He’s embarrassed. And listen: they’re arguing.”

      “When aren’t they? I’m sorry I panicked at the motorway. We’ll be OK. – I wonder why rain is always right.”

      “Didn’t you see him?”

      “No. We’ll be OK in Crewe. You can get a cheap day return.”

      “Listen!” She held his shoulders. Warmth seeped through and bubbles rainbowed his shirt.

      “You’re wonderful,” he said. “Your eyes are like poached eggs.”

      “Tom, listen. Something’s wrong—What did you say?”

      “Poached eggs. Round and meaningful. I cherish them.”

      Jan laughed and wept on to his chest, hugging him. “You lovely bloody idiot. What am I going to do?”

      “Don’t swear. It demeans you. Poached isn’t the same as hardboiled. I love your face.”

      “I love you.”

      The kitchen door opened. Tom’s mother stood with uninterrupted vision. His father was with her.

      “Is there no privacy in this camp coffin?” said Tom.

      “Your mother and I would like a word with you. Both of you.”

      “Why?”

      “In the lounge.”

      “It’s Sunday, sergeant-major. We have the kitchen, and you have the lounge.”

      Jan led the way to the other end of the caravan. Tom’s father turned off the volume control on the television.

      “It must be serious,” said Tom.

      “Shut up,” said Jan.

      “Sit down: will you – please? On the divan.”

      They sat. Tom’s father went to the window and peered out, half facing the room, his hands behind his back. “Stand easy,” said Tom. His mother lodged one buttock on the arm of the chair, swinging her foot.

      “I want to ask—”

      “What?”

      “I want to ask you and Jan—”

      “What?”

      “It’s written all over you,” said his mother.

      “Your mother and I – would like to know whether you’ve anything to tell us.”

      “What’s your problem?” Tom reached out his hand for Jan. She took it.

      “We think—”

      “Both of you?”

      “Don’t,” said Jan.

      “I’m trying to be useful,” said Tom.

      “Like hell.”

      “Watch that tongue of yours!” said Tom’s mother.

      “She’d СКАЧАТЬ