Ann turned to Thomas. ‘I ordered it when you were staying at the guesthouse.’
‘I was only gone a few days,’ Thomas said.
‘I know. I get a lot done when you’re not hanging around getting in the way.’
All day there was crashing and sawing and drilling coming from the back garden. At four o’clock the men were done and called for Ann. She went to check that everything was as it should be. She came out of the building with her arms folded and a large grin on her face. She thanked the men and they packed up and left.
It was a large shed with a sliding roof. ‘A sky shed,’ Ann told Thomas. ‘But it’s more than a shed. Because the telescope will be in the shed all the time, in all weathers, they fit waterproof sheeting to the walls and then they clad them, and look inside.’
Thomas walked into the sky shed and looked around. There was space inside for a desk and a bed even. Ann saw Thomas’s eyes widen. ‘No,’ she said, and pushed him to the door.
Twenty-Five
It was Saturday night. The next morning Thomas was coming and Raymond would show him the house, the transformation, before they drove back to Abbeystead, to walk a new hill or a favourite route. As the sun set on Etherton every road, side street and backyard turned darker and smaller in the dusk. Cats woke on beds, yawned, stretched and padded downstairs, ready for a shift patrolling the alleys. Landlords turned on lights to outdoor signs, made sure drinks cabinets were stacked and barrels ready. Men sucked in their paunches and pulled their best jeans on. Women did their make-up, angling their heads, fishfacing into mirrors. Older children were given the run of the television and left in charge of younger children. Pizzas were pushed into ovens. The streets and pubs began to fill. Raymond sat in his front room, staring at the wall. He could stare at his new walls for hours. They’d burnt his caravan in the end, he’d heard, it had been the cheapest thing to do. But he didn’t care. In the smooth white wall in front of him Raymond saw fields and forests. He saw the hanging hawk and the hunted rabbit, the stream in high field, frozen with ice, the shippen, glowing on a drowsy summer night. In the front room of 11 Granville Road, with his arms at his side, sitting with the qualities of a mountain, Raymond was with it all.
Twenty-Six
Harriet lay in bed, her duvet pulled up to her chin, wide awake. The trees had been groaning and shaking for nearly an hour and now they roared as the storm moved across the valley and into the forest. A block of light fell into her room and her mum stood in the open doorway.
‘Are you OK, love?’ she asked. ‘I think it’s going to get noisy soon.’
‘I’m OK, Mum,’ Harriet said.
‘Not scared?’
Harriet shook her head.
‘Well, come and find me if it gets worse.’
The room turned dark again as the door closed but filled with light seconds later when lightning struck. Two more strikes and then thunder – the loudest noise Harriet had ever heard, an explosion of sound, a deep heavy bombing.
Daniel appeared in front of her.
‘Are you scared?’ he asked. His eyes wide.
‘A bit,’ she lied.
He clambered on her bed and sat with his back to the wall.
‘I’ll stay then,’ he said.
More lightning, more thunder, the trees howling through it all.
Ann returned. She sat on the bed too and they all stared at the curtained window as if it was a cinema screen.
‘The trees sound like they are screaming,’ Harriet said.
The storm was driven by its own energy, it grew stronger, the winds wilder, the rain harder. Harriet wondered if it would ever end or if this would be how it was now. Was this the new world? She’d almost reconciled herself to the idea of an eternal storm when, slowly, the winds began to ease. A few gusts returned but the battle had been lost, the heart gone. Thunder only muttered now, disconsolate in retreat. And then silence for a moment before rain began to fall quietly. Daniel left as quickly as he’d appeared, Ann kissed Harriet on her forehead and tucked her in tightly, her door was closed and she was alone.
Harriet freed herself from the bed and walked to the window, pulled back the curtains and looked out to the trees. They were battered and wild, ripped at and exhausted. She thought of her dad carrying her through those trees as a baby in the black of the night and a chill ran through her. She shivered and smiled. She heard her mum leave the bathroom, cross the landing and close the bedroom door. Her dad snored loudly. Harriet raised her hands to close the curtains but stopped, she would leave them open. She crossed the room, climbed into bed and slept.
Acknowledgements
Thank you:
Kate, Antony Harwood, Kate Murray-Browne, Julian Loose and everyone at Faber.
First published in 2014
by Faber and Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
This ebook edition first published in 2014
Cover Design by Faber
Illustration based on the original © Iveta Angelova/Shutterstock
All rights reserved
© Robert Williams, 2014
The right of Robert Williams to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–0–571–30819–4
About the Author
Robert Williams’ first novel, Luke and Jon, won a Betty Trask Award, was shortlisted for the Premio Orbil in Italy, and received huge critical acclaim in the UK and abroad. His second, How the Trouble Started, was shortlisted for the Portico Prize for fiction. His books have been translated into nine languages. He grew up in Clitheroe, Lancashire and currently lives in Manchester.
By the Same Author
Luke and Jon
How the Trouble Started
Into the Trees Page 20
