Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Title Page
- Intoroduction
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EITHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- CLIMATE EMERGENCY
- Copyright
‘God! Josh! You really don’t get it, do you?’ Dana is shouting now. ‘No. I don’t want you to go! Where’s your backbone? Stand up to me, for God’s sake! Stop being such a pushover!’
I pick up my coat and head for the door in the corner, my face burning.
‘Josh. I’m sorry. I’m not good with people. For some reason I say the wrong thing. I don’t know, maybe I want everything to go to shit.’ She laughs, half-heartedly.
I turn. Behind her crumbled wall of aggression and capability, Dana stands looking like a lost thing. Her shoulders droop, and a light breeze could blow her over.
‘Please stay.’
So I do. The nick and slice of turf at the edge of the beds, the slick roll of cold, wet soil on the end of my fork, the call and return of blackbirds inside the garden and beyond. These are the only sounds of the evening.
THIRTY-NINE
THIRTY NINE
Dana and I leave the garden a long time after the sun goes down.
‘Will he be angry at you, for being out?’
‘He’s away at the moment. On “business”. Out of town.’ Something in the way she says ‘business’ sounds disdainful, sneered. ‘He’s got something he needs to prepare for, apparently.’
‘That’s something, at least.’
Dana smiles, ‘Yeah. I guess.’
She turns the opposite way to me at the main road, the fork and shovel slung over one shoulder, a plastic bag of other tools in the other hand.
‘High-ho,’ I offer, weakly.
She laughs, turns back and we share a clumsy hug. She essentially armless, me trying not to get mud on her back. ‘Thanks. For your help.’ She nods towards the garden.
‘No problem.’ A short silence, a car or two passing on the road, the sweep of their headlights catching Dana’s eyes. ‘So…’
‘Yeah. So.’
‘See you Monday?’
‘Yeah.’
And she’s gone.
*
Mum spends from Friday night until midday on Sunday at Nanna and Grandad’s. I survive on toast, microwave meals, and commenting on the forums of the websites that Alan and Carl have sent me. Mum and I spend Sunday afternoon and the best part of the evening avoiding each other until, after her bath, her bedroom door clicks closed at about half past seven.
Five minutes later, I step out of the front door.
The things that Dana said have buzzed around my head all weekend. But something in the websites I’d spent most of Saturday looking at – something in the pictures, the headlines and videos – had sat on top of her words and kind of squashed the air out of them. The White Lions seem like a kind of calling. I know they can make me feel better.