*
Norm was the first to join him after the meeting. Cocoa, who had been lying unseen below the veranda, gambolled over to greet her master.
‘Cocoa!’ Norm reprimanded, ‘There could be snakes down there! Silly girl.’ He ruffled her ears affectionately, before gently stroking the soft brown curls of her coat.
‘Didn’t know it was there,’ remarked Percy.
Norm looked at him. It was a long, admiring stare. The sort of gaze intended to be noticed, and loaded with respect. That Cocoa was demoted to ‘it’ did not matter. ‘No one is at home so she had to come. They loved your speech, Percy. Really, they loved it.’
Percy nodded.
‘I can hardly believe you are here, amongst us, willingly. It is like a dream come true. What do you think about it all, Percy? Your comments earlier, could you explain your thoughts?’
Percy was faced with a problem, one he fully expected but was yet to solve. In accepting his role and therefore effectively assuming leadership of a large group of enthusiastic devotees, he had left himself wide open to unrestrained contact. Their questionable sanity was not the issue. A matter of much greater importance to Percy was under threat: his privacy. His future, he knew, now held forced interaction with the kind of conversation he could not easily control. It would be nothing like the interesting discourse of The Discussion Group of old, something he could take or leave according to whim. There would be relentless questioning.
‘Can I tell you what I think?’ asked Norm, ‘what we concluded. Any flowers would be thrown onto the stage at the end of the performance, and not wanting the mess, the theatre simply banned them.’
‘Ah, of course. I’d assumed it was about allergies.’
Norm, mishearing, continued. ‘I know it was an analogy, although I think metaphor is what you mean. Or maybe not. Simile, perhaps? There’s a difference but I can never remember what it is. Anyway. You were really saying we should expect the performance we have paid for, and not be grateful for a good show as if it were a favour. Yes? Am I right? We should listen to you; we should expect your leadership and we should not be surprised by it.’ Norm beamed.
Percy said nothing.
‘I love your hair, by the way,’ added Norm, ‘long like that. So Prophet. And that linen shirt, it’s just perfect.’ Norm smoothed his own, lemon and short-sleeved.
Percy resisted touching his hair, and silently sipped his beer, the third Davina had issued. There was nothing he felt he could say to Norm, and for a few excruciating minutes the men sat awkwardly in silence.
‘I hear the little orphan boy loves Sinead,’ said Norm, eventually.
Percy smiled politely, ‘He renamed it Kojak.’
‘Sinead is a girl.’
‘His dad’s decision, I heard.’
Norm was puzzled, ‘Dad? I thought he was an orphan. I knew that didn’t seem right. I’ve met him, you know. Outside your house.’
Percy let his head fall back in the chair. His pale blue eyes lifted to the heavens. The sky was a light black with only three stars breaking through the light pollution, a minuscule reminder to the diminutive city-state of the enormity of the universe. The moon, it seemed, had taken the night off.
The repetitive knocking cry of the nightjar was softened now by distance, the prospect of a better perch drawing the bird away. Percy had once thrown a shoe out of his bedroom window towards a tree containing a noisy nightjar, invisible except for its call. A plastic bottle had followed the shoe, and a bar of soap. But now it seemed a soothing sound, nature drawing near. The bats remained close, constant in their search for food, while the resident geckos held fast until a chance meal triggered a strike.
‘So, Percy, will you perhaps come back to The Discussion Group? We miss you, you know.’
Percy attempted a shrug but his shoulders barely moved.
Norm persevered, ‘I think it is marvellous that you’re here. Such a shame Meera wasn’t here to enjoy it too. It was Meera who first asked you to come. Do you remember? At least Trudy made it.’
Percy remained silent.
‘I was saying to Hester and Trudy that we, the original four, will have to change our name to the dedicated three if Meera doesn’t start showing more interest. She’s probably met a man; you know what people are like. Phrike is number one suspect.’
Percy grunted a little. He was not interested.
Norm continued to chatter away about Meera, the group, Cocoa and her recent corn, and how much she’d liked her shoes. He talked about Davina the not so new maid, and all manner of things, seeming oblivious to Percy’s lack of response.
Eventually Percy spoke. ‘Norm, just be quiet.’
All Percy heard then were soft footsteps and clacking claws as dog and muted master retreated.
to be continued…
###
About the author
Life has so many possible outcomes. From the simple question what if? a thousand stories can evolve. This is how novelist, Barbara Jaques, finds inspiration, through questions of coincidence, uncertainty, superstition and faith.
Born in a tiny town in Alberta to wandering parents before their return to Bristol, Barbara has also wandered a little, although is now settled in Wiltshire with her family, close to her childhood home.
Barbara is also the author of:
The Cult of Following (Novel)
Love of Grace & Angels (Novel)
Percy's Progress: The Cult of Following. Book 1 (Novel)
Nathaniel’s Waiting Room (Novel)
The Front Door (Short Story)
Baggy (Short Story)
Sterling Close (Short Story)
Anita Smith (Short Story)
Waste of Space (Short Story)
The Ring (Short Story)
West of Eden (Short Story)
If you want to receive an automatic email when Barbara’s next book is released, sign up at www.barbarajaques.co.uk. You will only be contacted when a new book is released, your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review at the bookstore you bought this book from. You don’t have to write much, even a line or two would be a massive help.
SPECIAL THANKS
Thank you Barney and Frank for lying so quietly while I write
Useful links:
Barbara’s website: www.barbarajaques.co.uk
Barbara’s Facebook page: https://tinyurl.com/jmovllr
Editor: [email protected]
Cover: www.thedesigncooperative.com.au
Formatting: www.elizabethfreemanweb.com
The Cult of Following, Book Two Page 24
