gale …
That sort of thing. I think it’s because he likes to imagine the tree as being Mum, but I’ve only just realised that. I mentioned it to Clem about a year ago, and he just rolled his eyes as if I’d just said that I’d discovered that honey was sweet.
The vicar from St Woof’s was already at the tree when our little group got there. He’d come over the back way.
We’re not exactly religious, but the vicar is an old friend of Dad’s from way back, in that way that adults can be friends even though they’re years apart in age. Dad was one of the last people to go to St Wulfran’s Church before it closed down.
That evening the vicar was wearing his vicar stuff – the black tunic with the white collar – under his zip-up jacket.
We gathered beneath the tree’s leafy branches, looking back down the hill towards the sea, and we did exactly what we do every year.
1 Dad reads a poem. It’s always the same one: Mum’s favourite, Dad says, by someone ancient called Alfred Tennyson. It starts like this:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning at the bar,
When I set out to sea …
I don’t really understand it, even though Dad has explained it to me. It’s about dying, basically, which is sad, but Dad has a nice voice and I like hearing it.
2. The vicar says a prayer with old-fashioned words. I have heard this every year now, and can almost remember it all: Almighty God, we pray for Cassandra, and for all those whom we see no longer … Then my favourite bit: and let light perpetual shine upon them. I mouth along with the words when I can remember them.
3. Then Dad takes out his Irish penny whistle, and Clem his big old tenor recorder that he got as a prize in primary school. They both play an old hymn called ‘Amazing Grace’. Under any other circumstances it would sound awful: the high-pitched whistle, and Clem’s squeaky and inaccurate playing. But somehow, on that cool evening in summer, the tune is perfect, rising above Mum’s cherry tree and floating off into the wind and down to the ocean.
And all the while, Jessica has this face on like she’d rather be anywhere else.
While the vicar was saying the prayer, I cracked open my eyes a little, and saw her: eyes wide, gazing around everywhere, not praying at all. Then our gazes met for a second, and she just stared at me. I’m sorry to say it, but I hated her at that moment.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
