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‘Lewis was the oldest. He fought in the war and was a prisoner in Japan. Had a terrible time by all accounts. Anyway, he was never the same again and, in 1950 or thereabouts, he simply vanished.’
Senior Airman Frederick Blackstock, on the other hand, was not meant to be anywhere near D for Dog. He was part of the ten-man crew of a B17 which had been shot down over the English Channel a week earlier.
A grave is a footprint of disturbance, that’s what she told Nelson, and she thinks that the disturbance stays in the air—and in the land—for a very long time.
Flint, Ruth’s cat, is standing at the top of the stairs looking accusing. He wasn’t expecting her back until six (Ruth always tells him the exact time) but he manages to convey the impression that she is late and he is starving. ‘Hallo, Flint,’ says Cathbad, who believes that he has a psychic connection with the cat. ‘How are you?’ ‘What would you do if he answered you?’ says Ruth. ‘He is answering me,’ says Cathbad. Flint is certainly communicating something, rubbing himself around Cathbad’s legs and purring loudly. Ruth tries not to think that they’re talking about her.
She had intended to play it cool today, to be the mysterious, aloof professional. But it’s impossible to be a woman of mystery while eating a slice of pepperoni pizza.
I’m a writer.’ She waves vaguely at the books on the shelf behind her. Nelson remembers that Alice O’Brien teaches creative writing. So you can get degrees in that now. Jesus wept.
Go to a show in London, perhaps. She’d like that. As long as it’s not a musical. There are limits to being a good husband.
