Page 122 of Bare
When Neil glanced at Rory, Rory was looking out the window, mouth curved, the half-smile. Full.
'Knowledge as a present,' Neil said. 'I like that.'
'Mr Ashworth the English teacher likes that,' Freddie said. 'Dad just thinks it's cute.'
'How do you know the difference?'
'Because Mr Ashworth uses his teacher voice and Dad uses his normal voice and you just used your teacher voice.'
'I have one voice.'
'You have at LEAST three. Teacher voice, Dad voice, and Rory voice.'
'Rory voice.'
'The voice you use when you talk to Rory. It's lower. And slower. And you smile more.' He considered this. 'It's your best voice.'
Rory was looking out the window and his shoulders were shaking.
The Barn received them with woodsmoke and light. Tess at the door. Patrick behind her. The collie at their feet. The same table, the same candles, the wax thicker now, months of dinners layered in the drippings.
Beth stood beside the table in dungarees and a serious expression. She was holding a book: The Blue Planet: A Natural History of the Oceans. Held it like a credential.
Freddie stood in the doorway. Rucksack over one shoulder. The whale drawings in a folder, Neil's influence, the folder gene inherited. He looked at Beth. Beth looked at him.
'I'm Freddie,' said Freddie. 'I know about whales.'
'I'm Beth,' said Beth. 'I know more.'
'Probably. You're older.'
'I'm also right more often.'
'That's because you've had more practice.'
Beth studied him. The assessment took three seconds. Verdict: acceptable.
'Do you know about barnacles?'
'Not much.'
'I'll teach you. Barnacles are incredible. They attach to things and never let go.'
'Like my dad with coffee.'
They disappeared. Into the corner of the bar, books open, drawings spread, the immediate and total absorption of two children who'd found their person. Within five minutes they were arguing about whether a narwhal's tusk was a tooth or a horn. Within ten they were collaborating on a drawing of a blue whale with a bow tie. Within fifteen Beth was explaining barnacle reproduction and Freddie was listening with the concentration of a postgraduate student.
Neil sat at the table with a glass of wine. His son making a friend. The friend was Rory's family. The families becoming one family, sitting in a pub in the countryside on a Saturday in November. Ordinary and complete.
Tess served lamb. Patrick's bread. Patrick's potatoes. Patrick's treacle tart, which Freddie ate with the reverence of a religious convert. Kieran was there with Carol, quieter than the last time, grown into himself, the blazer replaced by a jumper that fit. He spoke to Neil with ease now, past the awkwardness, arrived at the comfort of extended family.
'How's college?' Neil asked.
'Surviving. The history coursework is killing me.'
'Which topic?'
'Civil rights. American. The full sweep, Reconstruction to Obama.'
